“That’s it!” cried the sheriff. “Say!... But the roads aren’t open yet. How are we going to get out to them?”
Bill thought a moment. “On skis!” he said. “There’s a lot of them in Slawson’s Hardware and Sporting Goods Store. Why don’t you...?”
“Now there’s an idea!” broke in Sheriff Marston. “You go inside and get a cup of hot coffee while I round up a posse ... because we’ll need you to lead the way!”
In fifteen minutes, thirty grim-faced men, all heavily armed with rifles and revolvers, trooped from the hardware store, each bearing a pair of brand new skis. An excited crowd of townspeople saw them off as they fell in behind Bill for the five mile winding trek up through the western hills to the top of Mountain Ridge.
“If the men are still in the shack,” Bill asked of Sheriff Marston, as he skied alongside, “how are you going to get at ’em without injuring Phil and Max?”
“It’s going to be ticklish business,” the sheriff admitted. “From all reports, these bandits will stop at nothing. But I’ve got a little object here that may help considerable.”
“What’s that?” asked Bill, curiously.
“That,” said Sheriff Marston, “is a tear gas bomb!”