“Look at Adams first,” gasped Keith. “I
think they got him.”

Inspector Johnson kneeled over the limp
tody. “He’s dead,” he said.

Other reinforcements had arrived, consist-
ing of Sheriff Wells of Skagit County, Sher-
Hf Thomas of Whatcom County, and many
deputies.

Provincial Constable Stephenson hurried
to the aid of the men, and F. F. MacKenzie,
M.L.A., drove down to lend assistance.

At the border another group made up of
Percy Peele, collector at Abbotsford; Cus-
toms oficer A. J. Smith, Immigration officer
S. F. White, and E. G. MacKenzie, along
with eight members of the Langley Horse
Troop, were despatched to the scene.

“Throw the lights around, boys,” said
Inspector Johnson.

GOVERNMENT OFFICER KILLED
The first light caught a huddled bundle

in the gulley. The men leaped down, and,
stretched out below them was the body of a
swarthy complexioned man. He had been
shot through the heart.

A quick search of the man by Chief
Matheson revealed a money pouch around
the dead robber’s waist. It contained more
than $3000.

Examination showed that Adams had been
klled by a bullet entering his heart and slant-
ing upward, while the bandit killer had met
death by a slug which emerged at the base
of his spine. Both men must have shot
simultaneously.

“We should look down the tracks,” said
Keith, and he described the departure of the
bandits.

The search didn’t last long. Slumped at
the side of the tracks was a second man. He
was unconscious, barely alive. He had been
shot through the groin and through the

head.

That was the honour amongst those
thieves. Rather than be burdened with a
badly wounded companion, they had chosen
what was later called “bumping off.” They
had shot their own comrade, after taking his
money belt.

Daylight was breaking when officers re-
turned to the scene of the shooting.

Inspector Johnson spoke to Chief Mathe-
son. “This is serious,” he said, “and I, for

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one, am not resting until these killers are
caught.”

Chief Matheson, and his nephew Dougall,
agreed.

“The logical thing, though,” said Chief
Alec Matheson to the American officers, “is
for those men to head right back across the
border.”

“You're right,” from a deputy sheriff,
“but I want to say we intend to see the
death of Adams avenged.”

In Whatcom County, Sheriff Stewart was
laying his plans together with Sheriff Wells.

With all due credit to modern inventions,
radio-telephone and wireless, nothing that

Clifford Adams, 21-year-old Customs Officer,
of New Westminster, slain by bank robbers.

day could have been more effective than
Sheriff Stewart’s plan.

The Canadian side of the border was
packed with armed men, soldiers awaiting to
take their turn overseas—volunteers, and all
available Customs officers.

But in the United States, the wily sheriff
merely placed a telephone call. And it might
be explained that the rural system of tele-
phones was used.

Farmers all down the line from the border
to Ferndale could listen in on each other’s
conversations, and each one was identified
by a certain ring.

They were all notified to keep an eye out
for any suspicious characters.

Soon the telephone in Sheriff Stewart's
office began to buzz. “Just saw two men pass
the farm,” was one message.

“Two suspicious men just asked for
water,” came in one hour later.

“Three men loitering near my gate,” an-
other reported.

Sheriff Stewart, pointing to a map of the
county, said, “See, that’s the way those kill-
ers are coming.”

For hours past the wanted men had been
keeping to a straight line, heading towards
Ferndale, and by that route there was only
one way to come—that was by way of a
drawbridge.

“And that’s where we'll get them,” an-
nounced the sheriff.

Among the posse was a young man named
Dean, a mechanic in Blaine. He came for-
ward with a suggestion.

“Tt will be dark when they get there. Why
not let me rig up a light to throw on them?”

The idea proved excellent.

There Dean worked with feverish activity,
rigging up a huge battery. An extension
was carried to the far end of the bridge and
attached to a glaring automobile headlight.

After a few preliminary trials it worked
in perfect order.

The sheriff called his men around him.
“All we have to do is wait, and remain
hidden,” he said.

“Dean will station himself ready to throw
the switch when I give the word.

SHOOT TO KILL

“No one must shoot until the order is
given. We must make sure these are the
men. When they come over Pll ask them
to halt and raise their hands. If they don’t
do that immediately I'll say ‘Fire, and when
I say that I mean every man shoot — and
shoot to kill.”

The men settled down in strategic post-
tions and minutes changed into hours.
Tension was high.

Then it came. Clop-clop-clop-clop—slow,
stealthy treads. Two or three men, walking
quietly, across the bridge.

Clop—their hobnails reverberated on the
steel; clop—clop—they came closer.

The signal came.

A blinding light fell upon three men.

“Halt,” cried the sheriff.

But the bandits had other plans. One

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