"Vill I—oh, schure! Ha-ha! ho-ho! Mister Marco, you are von chenyus."
"Want your drum, eh?" spoke Marco in a loud tone. "Well, go in and get it."
Andy knew something was afoot from what he observed. He hoped it was in the line of preventing his return to Fairview.
In about five minutes the fat German came out of the tent, lugging his big bass drum with him.
"I put him on dot vagon," he puffed. "Good night, Mr. Marco. Vat dey do mit dot poy in dere, hey?"
"Oh, I'll attend to him," declared Marco.
Another half-hour went by. At its end Wagner came hurrying up to the spot. He had a companion with him, a keen-eyed, shrewd-faced fellow, evidently a local officer.
"I have a search warrant here," said the latter.
"All right," nodded Marco accommodatingly, "go on with your search."
"Told you I'd get that boy," announced Wagner, with a chuckle lifting the flap of the tent. "Say! How's this? Andy Wildwood is gone!"