“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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