The hand that demanded an answer by striking the door in such a manner was authoritative. As was the man himself. Even dressed in what was locally called an Oregon Tuxedo —worsted whipcord pants and timber cruiser coat of many pockets— the impression the small package of bristled moustache and close cropped grey hair gave was, that when push came to shove, this gentleman was no gentleman. His eyes let it be known that if he didn't have the answers now, he soon would have. The curious part of this first impression, for Jed, was he had the feeling he had met this fellow before. But where?

"How do you do, Jed," he began by marching into the small cabin without invitation, "My name is Herbert Anthoney. Colonel MacPherson sent me. I know about the gold you found. I'm posing as a representative of the FAA. I want your help in solving the mystery of the plane crash. And I want to know who killed Lt. Butler."

"You said Colonel MacPherson sent you?" Jenny asked, holding the elk skin pouch behind her back.

"That's correct. You must be Jenny?"

"Yes. Where is my father?""

"We had to send him to Japan —don't bother asking me why, that's classified— on a moment's notice. He flew the Polar Route. That's why he didn't have time to stop on the way."

"Something to do with the MacArthur gold?" Jenny asked with a mixture of relief, and re-directed anxiety.

"You know about that, Jenny? You, too, Cowboy?"

"Hap sent us this clipping, Sir," Jed volunteered. And as if picking up a clue, added in what Jenny had classified as horsepucky, "we was sorta wondering if'n I'd found some of that Army gold?"

"Son of a bitch! Excuse me Jenny, honey, but your father does get a bit carried away now and then. Jed, I presume you wear a white hat if Jenny trusts you, so, yes Cowboy, all this does have something to do with the quote, unquote, MacArthur gold. Not a word of this to anyone, understand? Understand? Good! And now, Jenny isn't there something you are holding behind your back that I should see?"

"That's OK, sugarplum. Give him a look-see. Fellow can't trust the Yew-nighted States Gubermint, who can he trust. Just a look, though. That gold's mine. Finders, keepers."