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. 5’
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Donated by the
Grand Rapids Public Library
The May G. Quigley
Collection
of Children's Literature
December 2001
The University of Michigan-Dearborn
Mardigian Library








FRANK MERRlWELL’S BRAVERY





FRANK IVIEBBIWELIIS BRAVERY
BY
BURT L. STANDISH
AUTHOR OF
"Frank Merriwell’s School Days," “Frank Merriwell’s Chums," eta
PHILADELPHIA
DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER
604-8 Sov'r1-1 WASHINGTON SQUARE


Copyright, 1903
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell's Bravery


CONTENTS
-
CRAPTER
l—Two Travelers . e o
II—“Hands up!” • e •
III-A Thrilling Accusation
IV—For Life and Honor
V—Hurried to Jail
VI—Solomon Shows His Nerve .
VII–In Jail . • e
VIII—The Lynchers • e e
IX—The Assault on the Jail
X-In Cade's Canyon
XI-Black Harry Appears
XII—A Chance in a Thousand
XIII-A Thrilling Rescue
XIV—Walter Clyde's Story
XV—Professor Septemas Scudmore
XVI—The Mad Inventor
XVII-Gone • © o
XVIII—Miskel . • • © ©
XIX—Old Solitary • •
XX—Mouth of the Cave • e
XXI-Human Beasts •
XXil–Professor Scudmore Returns .
XXIII–Last of the Danites
PAGE
16
2 I
29
35
43
50
55
62
68
73
77
. 84
96
I O2
109
I I4
I 22
I 30
I 37
I45
I52


ii CONTENTS
CMAPTER PAGE
XXIV—Yellowstone Parr • © o . I 59
XXV—Fay • - • • © • 164
XXVI—Old Rocks . • o • e . 170
XXVII—The Hermit . • - o • 176
XXVIII–Vanishing of Little Fay • • . 181
XXIX—Face to Face . • • • © I88
XXX-Search for the Trail . • o . 195
XXXI—A Fight with Grizzlies . o • 2OI
AXXII—Trailed Down • - © • . 207
XXXIII—The Rescue . - - • • 2I4
XXXIV—In Sand Cave • - • • . 219
XXXV-A Peculiar Girl • • • - 231
XXXVI—Friends and Foes - - • . 237
XXXVII—Boy Shadowers - - • - 243
XXXVIII—“Queer” Money • e • . 249
XXXIX—Pursued . • - • • - 255
XL-Eluded - • • • - . 261
XLI—Big Gabe • - • • • 267
XLII—Over the Precipice • • • . 273
XLIII—A Frightful Peril . • • - 28O
£LIV—A Girl's Mad Leap - • - . 285
XLV—Queen of the Counterfeiters . © 292
XLVI—After the Fight . • e © . 298


Frank Merriwell’s Bravery.
CHAPTER I.
-rwo TRAVELERS.
“Well, that’s a pretty nervy piece of business!”
It was Frank Merriwell who spoke the words, more to
himself than to any one else.
Frank was westbound, from Oklahoma City at the time,
continuing the extensive tour mapped out after his Uncle
Asher had died and left him so much money.
As readers of former books in this series know, Frank
was not making the tour alone. Professor Scotch, his
guardian, was with him as was also Barney Mulloy, his
old schoolmate from Fardale. But, as the professor and
Barney had not wanted to stop at Oklahoma, they had
gone on ahead, leaving Frank to catch up with them later.
The “nervy piece of business” to which Frank referred
was the following account of a hold-up published in a
leading Oklahoma newspaper:
“BLACK HARRY’S LATEST STROKE.
HE HOLDS UP AN EXPRESS TRAIN, AND SHOOTS AN EAST-
ERN BANKER.
ll
“As we go to press, an imperfect account of Black
Harry’s latest outrage reaches us from Elreno. Ten days
ago this youthful desperado was unknown to fame, but
within that number of days he has ‘eft a red trail from


Two Travelers. 11
“Mr. Dawson was taken to Elreno, where a surgical
operation was performed. He is still alive, but his chance
of recovery is small. His daughter, who seems to be a
girl of spirit, has stated that, if her father dies, she will
know no rest nor spare no expense till Black Harry is
run to earth.”
The article terminated abruptly, showing it had been
hastily written, and had been inserted at the last moment
before publication.
“Truly an outrage!” Frank continued. “It would be a
good scheme to organize a hunting party, and give this
Black Harry a run for it.”
“]ust my idea,” said an oily voice, as a man slipped into
the seat beside the young traveler, without as much as
saying “by your leave.” “The people out here do not
seem to mind these things. I suppose they are used to
them.”
Frank glanced the speaker over, with a pair of search-
ing, brown eyes. He saw a slender figure in a well-worn,
suit of gray. The striking features of the man’s face
were his eyes and his nose. His eyes were too near to-
gether, and his nose was long and pointed. He was
smooth-shaved, and there was a cunning, foxy look about
his face.
Frank did not seem in any hurry about speaking; he
continued to inspect the man, who moved restlessly be-
neath the scrutiny, and said:
“I have not been very long in this country, but I have
noted the peculiarities of the people. They do not seem
to have time to bother much about an affair like this
train hold-up, and the shooting of an occasional tender-
foot, as they call all Easterners. If they should happen to
capture Black Harry, they would give him their full at-
tention for a short time—a very short time. They would


12 Two Travelers.
be pretty sure to lynch him, as they would consider that
the easiest way of disposing of him, and they would not
consider it worth while to spend time in giving him a
regular trial. To be sure, this train robbery and tragedy
occurred in Indian Territory, but I understand that Hank
Kildare, the sheriff at Elreno, has ofiered three hundred
dollars reward for the capture of Black Harry himself.
and fifty dollars each for his men. Er—ah—ahem! My
name is—Walker. I am from Jersey.”
Frank bowed.
“How do you do, Mr.—er—ah--Walker. I presume
that what you say about Black Harry’s chances, if he is
captured, is quite true—he will be lynched.”
“Oh, it is not certain, of course; he might obtain pro-
tection by ofiicers of the law. But he would stand a good
show of being lynched. And Elreno is the worst place in
Oklahoma for him to show his face in at present.”
“I should presume it might be. Dawson, the wounded
banker, is there?”
“And his daughter—can she identify this young des-
perado the moment she sees him ?”
“Without doubt.”
“Black Harry will be very foolish if he goes to El-
reno.”
“He is not likely to go there, I fancy.”
“I don’t know about that. He is a dare-devil fellow.”
“So it seems.”
“And he might take a fancy that Elreno would be the
last place where he would be expected to appear, and so
he would go there.”
“He might do that.”
“Now, in your own case, if you were Black Harry, for
instance, you might put on a bold face, and show yourself
in Elreno, while everybody outside that town would be on
the lookout for you.”
1'
1


TWO Travelers. 13
“Possibly, you are right.”
“I think such a trick would be very like Black Harry.
He might go so far as to take the train to Elreno from
some place that would make it seem that he could not
have been in the locality where the hold-up was commit-
ted. If he were to come into Elreno on this train, for in-
stance, it would be a blind.”
“How far is Oklahoma City from the place where the
train was robbed ?”
“Between thirty and forty miles, direct.”
“That distance could be made on horseback between the
time of the robbery and this morning—do you think so?”
“Well, it is very likely. What do you think, Mr.—ah-
er—I beg your pardon?”
“My name is Frank Merriwell.”
“Really?”
Walker lifted his eyebrows in a very odd manner, which
Frank did not fail to observe.
“You appear as if you doubted me,” came a trifle
warmly from the lad's lips, while the color rushed to his
cheeks.
“Oh, not at all—not at all! You are in Oklahoma on
business?”
“No, sir.”
“Not?”
“No.”
“Pleasure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How? Traveling?”
“I am.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Didn't notice you had company.”
“I have not, at present.”
“H'm ! Ha! Your friends—are they on this train?”


I4 Two Travelers.
J!
“No, sir.
Walker elevated his eyebrows again. His nose seemed
longer and more pointed than ever. It was a nose that re-
minded the boy of an interrogation point. It seemed
built to thrust itself into other people’s business.
“Ha! Not on the train ?”
“NO.”
“You expect to meet them ?”
“Yes.”
“Where ?”
“In Elreno.”
“How many of them ?”
“Two.”
“No more ?”
“No.”
Frank was answering curtly, and his manner announced
his dislike for his inquisitive companion. Still, he was
courteous and cool, holding himself in check.
“I presume your companions are older than yourself ?”
questioned the prying Ierseyite, his small eyes glistening.
“One is; the other is a boy about my age.”
“Ha! H’m! _Iust so. You are from the East, I pre-
sume ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It seems to me that I have seen you before, but I can-
not remember where it was. And I do not remember
your name. Do you mind giving me the names of your
traveling companions?”
“Not at all. They are Professor Horace Orman Tyler
Scotch, of Fardale Military Academy, sometimes known
as ‘Hot’ Scotch, as he has a peppery temper, and the
initials of his first three names form the word ‘hot.’ The
other is Barney Mulloy, a youth who was born in Ireland,
and has not recovered from it yet. The latter was a class-
mate of mine at Fardale, and he is traveling with me as a


Two Travelers. 15
friendly companion, which he can afford to do, as I pay all
the bills.”
“Haw!” exclaimed Walker. “You must have money to
burn!”
“No, I have not. My uncle left me a comfortable for-
tune, and his will provided that, in order to broaden my
knowledge of the world, I should travel in company with
my guardian. He selected Professor Scotch as a proper
man to become my guardian, and specified that I might
take along a schoolmate as a companion, if I so desired.”
“Re-e-markable!” cried Walker. “A most astonishing
will! And how does it happen that you have become sep-
arated from your guardian and friend ?”
“We were going through to Texas on the Chicago,
Rock Island and Pacific. I wished to visit Guthrie, the
capital of Oklahoma, and they did not care to do so. I
left them at Caldwell, in Kansas, with the understanding
that they were to proceed to Elreno, and wait for me
there.”
‘(H,m !!,
Walker’s nose seemed pointing at the boy like an ac-
cusing finger. Doubt was expressed all over that foxy
face.
“You tell it well,” said the man, with another queer
lifting of his thin eyebrows.
“What do you mean by that ?” demanded the youth,
sharply, wheeling squarely toward Walker. “Do you in-
sinuate that I am not telling the truth ?”
Before Walker could reply, a commotion arose in the
seat directly behind them. .


CHAPTER II.
“HANDS UP !”
“Aw! Thay, weally, this ith verwy impudent, don’t
yer know !” drawled a languid voice. “What wight have
you to cwout yourthelf into a theat bethide a gentleman,
thir ?”
“I don’d seen der shentleman anyvere,” replied a nasal
voice, a voice that had the genuine Jewish sound.
“Thir! Do you mean to thay I am no gentleman, thir ?”
“Vell, I don.’d mean to say nodding aboud id. I don’d
vant to hurd your veelings.”
“You insulting w’etch !”
“Don’d get excided, mein friendt.”
. “Will you leave thith theat, thir ?”
“Cerdinly I vill—ven I leaf der drain.”
“I thall call the conductor !”
“Don’d vaste your preath—peckon to him.”
“Thir, I would have you understand that my name itl;
Cholly Gwayson De Smythe.”
ll
Vell, I vos bleased to meed you. Anypody vould be
pleased shust to dake a look ad you.”
“Thir!”
“My name vas Solomon Rosenbum, vid the accent or.
der bum. Shake handts vid yourself.”
By this time everybody in the car was staring at the Jew
and the dudish fellow beside whom Solomon had taken a
seat. The latter was a youth of uncertain age, with an
insipid mustache, a sallow face, and spectacles of colored
glass, which seemed to indicate that he had weak eyes-


“Hands Up!” 17
He was dressed, as far as possible, in imitation of an Eng-
lish tourist.
The Jew, who had given his name as “Solomon Rosen-
bum, vid der accent on der bum,” was a rather disrepu-
table-looking man of about thirty, having the appearance
of the Jew peddler, and carrying a pack, which he had
stuffed down between his knees and the back of the next
seat, thus completely fencing in Cholly De Smythe. -
“Will you wemove yourthelf fwom this theat?”
squawked the dude, in a flutter.
“Say, mein friendt, you vas nervous. Now, I dell you
vat you do vor dat. Shust dake a pottle of Snyde's
Shain-Lighdning Nearf Regulardor. Id vill simbly gost
you von tollar a pottle, dree bottles vor dwo tollars. I
haf shust dree pottles left. Will you dake 'em?”
Solomon began to untie his pack.
“Stop it!” squealed Cholly, in terror. “I don’t want
your nawsty stuff, don’t yer know !”
“Berhaps I know petter dan vat you do. I haf studied
to pe a horse toctor, und I make a sbecialty uf shack-
asses.”
“You wude thing!”
The other passengers in the car were enjoying all this,
and the laughter that had begun with the first passage be-
tween the two now threatened to swell to a tumult.
“Uf one pottle don'd gure you, der dree pottles vill—or
kill you, und nopody vill mindt dot.”
“Go 'way!”
“Vill you half der dree pottles?”
“No, thir!”
“Well, dake von uf dem ad sefenty-fife cends.”
“Get out !”
“I always haf von brice vor all uf mine goots, und I
nefer make a bractice uf dakin' off a cend; but I see dat
you was on der verge uf nerfus brosdration, und I vant


18 “Hands Up!”
to safe your life, so I vill sell you von pottle vor a hellufer-
tollar.”
“I don’t want it—I won’t take the nawsty stuff!”
“Dat vas too sheap at hellufer-tollar, but in your gase I
vill make an eggsception, und you may haf von pottle vor
a qvarter. Dake id qvick, before I shange my mindt.”
“Help! Take the w'etch away!”
“Moses in der pulrushes! Vat you vant? Vas you
dryin’ to ruin me? Dot medicine gost me ninedy-dree
cends a pottle, und I don’d ged a cend discoundt uf I puy
dwo pottles. Dake a pottle ad dwenty cends, und I vill go
indo pankrupcy.”
“Conductaw ! Conductaw !” squawked Cholly.
“What is all this noise about?” demanded the conductor,
as he came hastily down the aisle and stood scowling at
Cholly.
He had overheard all that passed, and he was enjoying
it as much as any of the passengers.
“Conductaw,” said the dude, with great dignity, “I wish
you to instantly wemove this verwy insolent cwecher. He
cwoded in thith theat without awsking leave.”
“Have you paid for a whole seat?”
“I have paid one fare, thir, and **
“So has this gentleman. He is entitled to half of this
seat, if he chooses to sit here. Don't bother me again.”
The conductor walked away, and Cholly looked at Sol-
omon, faintly gasping:
“Thith gentleman! Gweat Scott!”
Then he seemed to collapse.
Solomon grinned, and lifted his hat to the conductor.
Then he turned to Cholly.
“Vill you half a pottle uf der Nearf Regulador ad
dwendy cends?”
“Let me out !” gurgled the dude. “I will not stay heaw
and be inthulted !” -
!”


“Hands Up l” 19
“Set down,” advised the Jew. “You ain’d bought a
pottle uf medicine, und I can’d boder to mofe vor you.”
Cholly fell back into his seat, giving up the struggle.
He turned his head away, and looked out of the window,
while Solomon talked to him for ten minutes, without
seeming to draw a breath. Cholly, however, could not be
induced to purchase a single bottle of the “Nearf Regu-
1ador.”
All through this, Mr. Walker had not seemed to re-
move his keen eyes from the face of the boy at his side.
The lad apparently enjoyed the affair between the Jew
and the dude as much as any one in the car, laughing mer-
rily, and seeming quite at ease.
Somehow, Walker did not seem to be pleased at all.
He appeared like a man with a very little sense of humor,
or he had so much of grave importance on his mind that
he did not observe what was going on behind him.
When Cholly De Smythe had collapsed, and the Jew
had ceased to talk, the boy squared about in his seat, and
seemed to settle to take things in the most comfortable
manner possible. He pulled his hat over his forehead,
and continued his perusal of the newspaper.
This did not satisfy his seat mate.
“You seem to be very interested in that paper,” said
Walker.
“I am,” was the curt return, and the boy continued
reading.
“You are not much of a talker.”
“You are.”
“H’m! Ha! I am; I am very sociable.”
“S0 I observed.”
“I have been wondering what we would do if a band
of robbers was to hold up this train.”
“I am sure I cannot tell what I would do. I scarcely


20 “Hands Up l”
think any person can tell what he would do in such a case
till he meets the emergency.”
“I presume you go armed ?”
“In the West—yes.”
Walker’s thin nose seemed to resemble a wedge which
he was driving deeper and deeper with each question.
“Would you mind permitting me to look at your re-
volver ?”
“Yes.”
The boy uttered that word, and remained silent, with~
out offering to take the weapon out.
Walker coughed.
“H’m! Ha! I think you misunderstood me.”
“I think not.”
“I asked you if you would mind letting me look at your
revolver.”
“And I said I would mind.”
“Oh !”
The Jew’s voice sounded in Walker’s ear.
“I haf a revolfer vat I vill sell you sheep. Id vas a
recular taisy, selluf-cocker, und dirty-dwo caliber. Here
id va.s, meester. Id vas loated, so handle id vid care.
Vat you gif vor dat peautiful revolfer, meester ?”
Walker took the weapon, glanced into the cylinder, to
see that it was actually loaded, and then suddenly thrust
it against the head of Frank, crying, sharply:
“Hands up, Black Harry! You are my prisoner!”


CHAPTER III.
A THRILLING ACCUSATION.
The words rang through the car, startling the passen-
gers, and causing them to stare in astonishment at the
man and the boy.
The man with the revolver was quivering with excite-
ment, while Frank, at whose head the weapon was held,
seemed strangely calm.
Exclamations were heard on all sides.
“Black Harry !”
“Is it possible ?”
“Not that beardless boy !”
“It’s a mistake!”
“If that’s Black Harry, his Braves are near, and there is
liable to be some shooting before long.”
“Sufierin’ Moses!” came from the Jew, who owned the
revolver. “Ish dat der ropper vat ve read apout der
baper in? Stop der cars! I vant to ged off !”
“What do you mean by this crazy act?” calmly de-
manded Frank, looking straight into Mr. Walker’s eyes.
“I mean business, and I am not going to fool with a fel-
iow of your reputation a minute! If you don’t put up
your hands, I’ll send a bullet through your head imme-
diately !”
“Then I shall put up my hands, for I have no fancy for
having the top of my head blown ofi.”
Up went the boy’s empty hands.
“That’s where you are sensible,” declared the man with
the foxy face. “I have dealt with your kind before, and
I know better than to let ’em monkey with me. I am a


22 A Thrilling Accusation.
man with a reputation for catching criminals. At the
sound of my name, the professional crooks in the East
tremble.”
“Walker does not seem to be such a very terrible name.”
“Walker—bah! That's not my name!”
“No?”
“Not much !”
“Pray, what is your name, then?”
“I am Burchel Jones, the famous detective,” declared
the owner of the gimlet eyes, swelling with importance.
“Out in this country the fools call me a tenderfoot, but I
will show them the kind of stuff I am made of. When
they want to catch their desperadoes and robbers, they
should send for a tenderfoot detective.”
The boy laughed outright.
“You are more sport than a barrel of monkeys,” he
said, merrily. “What do you think you have done, any-
way?”
“I have captured Black Harry, the terrible desperado,
who has been giving them so much trouble out here of
late.”
“You think I am Black Harry?”
“I do not think anything about it—I know it.”
“How do you know it?”
“By your face.”
“Have you ever seen Black Harry?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“On the northbound Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific
express.”
“You were on that train?”
“I was, and I saw Black Harry's face when he was un-


A Thrilling Accusation. 23
masked by Robert Dawson—saw it distinctly. You are
Black Harry!”
“You were never more deceived in all your life. My
name is Frank Merriwell, as I can easily prove.”
“Your real name may be Frank Merriwell, but you are
the boy desperado who is known as Black Harry, and you
are the chap who shot Mr. Robert Dawson.”
The detective spoke with conviction, and it was plain
that he really believed what he said. The boy began to
look grave, as the situation was not exactly pleasant.
“You came from Elreno to Oklahoma City on the first
train this morning, did you?” asked the youth.
“I did.”
“How did it happen that you took this train back?”
“I spotted you. The moment I saw your face I knew
you, and I shadowed you till the train started. I boarded
the train with the determination to capture you. I seldom
fail when I have resolved on a thing, and I did not fail
this time.”
“Then this is no joke?”
“You will find it is no joke.”
“Well, I can’t ride from this place to Elreno with my
hands held above my head, as you must very well know.”
“Of course you can’t. I’ll have to put the irons on you.
Here, young man, hold this revolver to his head while I
handcuff and search him.”
He spoke to Cholly De Smythe, who had been watching,
with staring eyes, his jaw dropped, and a look of amaze-
ment on his face.
“Haw?” squawked the dude, aghast. “What ith that
you want, thir?”
“Take this revolver, and hold it to this boy's head. If
he moves, shoot him as if he were a dangerous dog.”
“Good gwacious!” gurgled Cholly. “I nevah touched


24 A Thrilling Accusation.
a wevolver in awl my life! You will hawve to excuse
me, thir.”
“If you are determined to treat me as if I were a mad
beast, I beg you to let some one who knows something
about firearms handle that revolver,” said the captive. “I
will give you my word not to make any trouble if you
Iower the weapon.”
“Your word does not count with me,” declared the
crafty detective. “I wouldn't trust you a second—not a
Second.”
“I can show you my card, letters, and other papers to
prove my claim that I am Frank Merriwell, a traveler.”
“Black Harry would be likely to have such letters and
papers ready for just such an emergency. That trick will
not count.”
“Oh, well, don't fool around with that loaded gun held
up against my head! Put on the irons, and give me a
chance to rest my arms. Hurry up!”
“Shust led me dake dat revolfer, mine friendt,” said
the voice of the Jew. “Uf dot poy tries any funny pus-
iness, he vill be deat, vid der accent on der deat.”
“Can I trust you?” cautiously asked Burchel Jones.
“Vell, I dunno. You can uf you vant to. I always
make a bracdice uf doin’ a cash pusiness.”
After some hesitation, the tenderfoot detective decided
that he could not do better than trust Solomon, and the re-
volver was surrendered to the Jew.
“Don’d you vink!” commanded Solomon, as he screwed
the muzzle of the weapon up against the lad's head. “Uf
you do, you vas a deat poy!”
The detective searched the youth, removing a hand-
some revolver from one of his pockets. That was the
only weapon found anywhere on his person.
Burchel Jones was disappointed, for he had expected to
find “guns” and knives concealed all over the lad.


A Thrilling Accusation. 25
“Oh, you’re slick—you’re slick!” he said. “But you.
can’t fool me. I know how to deal with rascals like you.
I have handled hundreds of ’em—hundreds upon hun-
dreds.”
“You must be a very old hand in the business,” said the
captive, with a laugh. “Still, you seem to need assistance
to capture a boy, who has made no offer to resist you, al
though he knows very well that you have no legal right to
arrest him.”
“Oh, you are ready with your tongue—altogether too
ready.”
Having searched the lad, Jones produced some man-
acles, and snapped them on the wrists of his prisoner.
ll Q, ' I‘ 7
There, he said to Solomon, you neednt hold the re-
volver to his head any longer. I have him foul now.”
ll 77 ll 1
Dank you, nodded the Jew. You vas much op iged
vor der use of my revolfer.”
(( ,,
Of course, of course.
“V’y you don’d puy dot revolfer, den, und gif a poor
man a drade ?”
“Oh, get out. I don’t want it any longer.”
((
Vell, I am glad uf dat, vor it vas long enough alretty.
Uf you like id so vell, v’y you don’d bought id?”
“I have one of my own.”
“Vell, haf dwo. I gif you a drade on dat revolfer. I
sell you dat revolfer vor elefen tollar.”
“Don’t want it.”
“Ten tollar.”
“Don’t want it.”
“Nine.”
"No.”
“Eight.”
“Say, shut up! I wouldn’t take it for five !”
“Vell, you may M5 him vor vour tollar, und dot vas


26 A Thrilling Accusation.
less dan haluf vat id vas vort’. Shall I put a biece uf
baper roundt id ?”
“I won’t buy it at any price.”
“Moses in der pulrushes! Do you vant me to gif him
to you? I vill dake tree tollar, und dat vas der rock-pot-
tom brice. Here you haf him.”
But the detective still declined to take the weapon,
which made Solomon exceedingly disgusted and angry.
“You vas der meanest man vat I nefer met!” he cried.
“Uf I hat known how mean you vas, I vouldn’t helluped
you capture dot ropper! I hat better do pusiness vid der
ropper anyhow.”
Burchel Jones was well satisfied with himself. At Yu-
kon he sent a dispatch to Hank Kildare, the sheriff at El-
reno, saying:
H
Have captured Black Harry. Bringing him in irons.
Have Miss Dawson at station to identify him when train
arrives. BURCHEL JONES,
“Private Detective.”
Iones was surprised at the quiet manner in which Frank
had submitted to arrest, but he felt that the lad had been
cleverly taken by surprise, and had seen by the eye of the
man with the revolver that the best thing he could do was
to give in without a struggle. .
The boy saw it was quite useless to attempt to convince
the man that any mistake had been made, and so, after
the first effort, ceased to waste his time in the vain strug-
gle. He remained calm and collected, much to the dismay
of the some nervous passengers, who were certain the
train would be held up by Black Harry’s Braves, who
would be on hand to rescue their chief.
.Iones heard one man declaring over and over that he
knew the train would not reach Elreno without a hold-up,
and the detective immediately declared:


A Thrilling Accusation. 27
“If an attempt is made to rescue Black Harry, it will be
very unfortunate for Harry, as I shall immediately shoot
him. I do not propose to let him escape, to continue his
career of crime and devastation.”
The boy smiled, in a scornful and pitying way.
When the train drew into Elreno, a great crowd was
seen on the platform of the station, and, for the first time, a
troubled look came to the face of the youthful prisoner.
“The whole town has turned out to see Black Harry
and the man who captured him,” said Jones, swelling with
importance.
Frank said nothing; he knew well enough that such a
crowd was dangerous in many cases. What if it were
generally believed that he was, in truth, Black Harry, and
the mob should take a fancy to lynch him? His chance
of escaping a speedy death would be slim, indeed!
The train stopped, and, with his hand clutching the
boy's shoulder, Jones descended to the platform.
“Thar he is ''”
The cry went up, and the crowd surged toward the
tWO.
“Stan back hyar!”
A man that was six feet and four inches in height, and
weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds, forced his
way through the throng, casting men to the right and left
with his muscular arms. He had a hard, weather-tanned
face, and looked as if he did not fear the Evil One himself.
“Are you Burchel Jones, ther detective?” asked this
man, as he loomed before Jones and his captive.
“I am, sir,” was the dignified reply; “and this is Black
Harry. I surrender him to you, and claim the reward
offered for his capture.”
“Thet ther skunk known as Black Harry?” said the
giant sheriff, in evident surprise. “He don’t look like a
desperado. Wal, we'll soon settle all doubts on thet yar


28 A Thrilling Accusation.
ooint, fer Miss Dawson is hyar, an’ she will recognize him
ef he is Black Harry. Come on, boy.”
Kildare, the sheriff, for such the giant was, again forced
a path through the crowd.
In the station door, a woman and a girl were standing.
The girl was not more than seventeen, and was very
pretty, despite the traces of grief upon her face.
Kildare led the boy up before the woman and girl, and
he spoke to the latter:
“Take a good, squar’ look at this yar kid, Miss Dawson,
an’ see ef yer ever saw thet face afore.”
The girl looked at Frank, and then fell back, horror and
loathing depicted on her face. She stretched out one
hand, with a repellent gesture, as if warning them to keep
him away, and with the other hand she clutched at her
throat, from which came a choking sound. The woman
offered to support her, but she sprang up in a moment,
pointed straight at the youthful captive, and literally
shrieked:
“He is the wretch who shot my poor father !”


CHAPTER IV.
FOR LIFE AND HONOR.
A sudden, mad roar went up from the crowd on the
station platform. They swayed, surged, struggled, and
shouted:
“Lynch him!”
That cry was like the touching of a torch to dry prairie
grass. Men climbed on each others' shoulders; men
fought to get nearer the prisoner, and the mob seemed to
have gone mad in a moment.
“Lynch him l’’
A hundred throats took up the shout, and it became one
mighty roar for blood, the most appalling sound that can
issue from human lips.
The face of the menaced boy was very pale, but he did
not cower before that suddenly infuriated mob. He
showed that he had nerve, for he stood up and faced them
boldly, helpless as he was.
Burchel Jones, the detective, looked as if he would give
something to get away from that locality in a hurry.
A black scowl came to the face of Hank Kildare, and
his hands dropped to his hips, reappearing from beneath
the tails of his coat with a brace of heavy, long-barreled
revolvers in their grasp. The muzzles of the weapons
were thrust right into the faces of the men nearest, and the
sheriff literally thundered:
“Git back thar, you critters, or by thunder, thar’ll be
dead meat round hyar! You hyar me chirp!”
Lona Dawson, the banker's daughter, was badly fright-
ened by the sudden outbreak of the mob, and, with her


30 For Life and Honor.
older companion, she retreated into the waiting-room of
the station.
“Death to Black Harry!”
A man with strong lungs howled the words above all
the uproar and commotion.
“Bring the rope!” screamed another.
And then, as if by magic, a man struggled to the shoul-
ders of those about him, waved a rope in the air, and
yelled:
“Hyar’s ther necktie fer Black Harry !”
And then, once more, there was a roar, and a surge, and
a struggle to get at the handcuffed boy.
“Stiddy !” sounded the voice of Hank Kildare. “Back!
back! back! or, by the eternal skies, I’ll begin ter sling
lead !”
But twenty hands seemed reaching to clutch the ladand
drag him away. The sheriff saw that he would not be
able to retain his prisoner if he remained where he was.
“Inter ther station, boy !” came from the giant sherifi"s
lips. “It’s yer only chance ter git clear o’ this yar gang !”
“Howly shmoke !” cried a familiar voice just behind the
handcuffed youth. “Pwhat are they doin’ wid yez,
Frankie, me b’y ?”
“Yes,” quavered another voice, likewise familiar, “what
is this crazy mob trying to do? This is something appall-
ing !”
“Barney! Professor !” cried the boy, joyously. “Now
I can prove that I am what I claim to be !”
“I’ve got him !” .
A big ruffian roared the words, as he fastened both
hands upon the manacled lad, and tried to drag him into
the midst of the swaying mob.
“Thin take thot, ye spalpane!” shouted the Irish boy,
who had appeared in company with a little, red-whiskered
man at the door of the station.


For Life and Honor. 31
Out shot. the hard fist of the young Irishman, and-
smack !—it struck the man fairly in the left eye, knocking
him backward into the arms of the one just behind him.
“It’s toime ye got out av thot, me b’y,” said Barney
Mulloy, as he grasped the imperiled youth by the collar,
and drew him into the waiting-room of the station.
“That’s right, that’s right !” fluttered the little man, who
was Professor Scotch. “Let’s hurry out by the back door,
the way we came in. We were detained, so we did not
arrive in time for the train, but we came as quickly as we
could.”
“And arrived just in time,” said Frank. “I am in a
most appalling position.”
“Well, well!” fluttered the professor. “You can ex-
plain that later on. Let’s get away from here.”
“Look!”
Frank held up his hands, and, for the first time, his
friends saw the irons on his wrists. They cried out in
amazement.
“Pwhat th’ ould b’y is th’ m’anin’ av thot ?” demanded
Barney Mulloy, in the most profound astonishment.
“It means that I have been arrested; that’s all.”
“Pwhat fer?”
“Robbing, shooting, murdering.”
“G’wan wid yez !”
“This is no time to joke, Frank,” said Professor Scotch,
reprovingly. “Are you never able to restrain your pro-
pensity for making sport?”
“This is a sorry joke, professor. I am giving you the
straight truth.”
“But——but it is impossible—I declare it is!”
“It is the truth.”
“Who arristed yez ?” asked Barney, as if still doubtful
that Frank really meant what he was saying.
“A private detective, known as Burchel Jones. He


32 For Life and Honor.
surrendered me to the sheriff of Canadian County, Hank
Kildare. That’s his voice you can hear above the howl-
ing. He is trying to beat the mob back, so he can get me
to the jail before I am lynched.”
“Before you are lynched !” gurgled the little professor,
in a dazed way. “What have you done that they should
want to lynch you ?” -
“Nothing.”
“Pwhat do they think ye have done ?” asked Barney.
“I presume you have heard of Black Harry ?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they say I am that very interesting young gen-
tleman.”
Small man though he was, Professor Scotch had a deep,
hoarse voice, and he now let out a roar of disgust that
drowned the stentorian tones of Hank Kildare.
“This is the most outrageous thing I ever heard of!”
fumed the professor, in a rage. “Somebody shall suffer
for it! You Black Harry! Why, it is ridiculous !”
Barney Mulloy seemed to regard it as extremely funny,
for he laughed outright.
“Thot bates th’ worruld!” he cried. “But it’s dead
aisy ye kin prove ye’re not Black Harry at all, at all !”
“I don’t know about that. I have been identified.”
“Pwhat’s thot ?”
“I have been recognized by a person who has seen
Black Harry’s face.”
“W'ho is that fool person?” demanded Scotch, furiously.
“Show me to him, and let me give him a piece of my
mind!”
“There is the person.”
Frank pointed straight at Lona Dawson, who was re-
garding him with horrfied eyes from a distant corner of
the waiting-room.
“Thot girrul ?”


For Life and Honor. 33
“The young lady?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
“Miss Dawson, daughter of Robert Dawson, the banker,
whom Black Harry shot during the train hold-up last
night. Dawson tore the mask from the young robber's
face, and she saw it. A few moments ago she declared
that I was the wretch who shot her father.”
The girl heard his words, and she started forward,
panting fiercely:
“You are ! You are! I will swear to it with my dying
breath! I saw your face plainly last night, and I can
never forget it. You are the murderous ruffian from
whose face my father tore the mask!”
Professor Scotch was fairly staggered, but he quickly
recovered, and swiftly said:
“My dear young lady, I assure you that you have made
the greatest mistake of your life. I know this boy—I am
his guardian. It is not possible that he is Black Harry,
for 39
“Were you with him last night?”
“No. We were–”
“Don’t talk to me, then I Black Harry or not, he shot
my father!”
“But—but—why, he would not do such a thing!”
“He did I’”
It seemed that nothing could shake her belief.
“Av yez plaze, miss,” said Barney, lifting his hat, and
bowing politely, “it’s thot same by Oi have known a long
toime. Oi went ter school with thot lad, an a whoiter by
nivver drew a breath. He'd foight fer ye till he died, av
he didn't git killed, an it's nivver would he shoot anybody
at all, at all, onless it wur in silf-definse. Oi give ye me
wurrud thot is th’ truth, th' whole truth, an nothing but
th’ truth.” *


34 For Life and Honor.
The girl was umnoved.
“I have sworn to avenge my poor father!” she declared.
“He shall not escape!”
“It is useless to talk here,” said Frank. “She believes
she is right, and her mind will not be changed till she
sees the real Black Harry at my side. It must be that the
fellow is my double, and so my life will be in peril till he
is captured, and meets his just deserts. From this time
on for me it is a fight for life and honor.”
1


CHAPTER V.
HURRIED TO JAIL.
At this moment another wild roar rose outside the sta-
tion, telling that something had again aroused the mob.
Hank Kildare was in the doorway, blocking it with his
gigantic form, his long-barreled revolvers holding the
crowd at bay, while he hoarsely cried:
“You galoots know me! Ef yer crowd me, some o’yer
will take his everlastin’ dose o' lead!”
They dared not crowd him. He could hold them back
at that point, but there were other ways of reaching the
interior of the waiting-room, where the prisoner was.
“Ther back door!” howled a voice. “We kin git at
him thet way!”
“Hear that?” fluttered Professor Scotch. “They're
coming, Frank! We must get out before they get in that
way! Quick!”
He caught hold of the boy, and started to urge him
toward the rear door; but Lona Dawson placed herself
squarely in their path, flinging up one hand.
“Stop!” she cried, her eyes flashing. “You cannot
pass! You shall not escape!”
A look of admiration came into Frank's eyes, for she
was very beautiful at that moment.
“As you will,” he bowed, gallantly. “I may get my
neck stretched by remaining, but your wish is law.”
“Well, I like that!” roared the professor, in a manner
that plainly indicated he did not like it.
“Av ye choose ter make a fool av yersilf, Frank, it's not


36 Hurried to Jail.
yer friends thot will see ye do it in this case!” cried Bar.
ney.
The Irish lad grasped Frank by one arm, while the pro-
fessor clutched the other, and they were about to rush him
toward the door, for all of any opposition, when the door
flew open with a bang, and a man pitched headlong into
the room. This person carried a bundle, which burst
open as he struck the floor, scattering its contents in all
directions.
“Moses in der pulrushes!” exclaimed the nasal voice
of Solomon Rosenbum, and the Jew sat up in the midst
of the wreck. “Dat vas vat I call comin’ in lifely, vid der
accent on der lifely l”
“The dure!” shouted Barney. “They're coming round
to get in thot way!”
The frightened station agent thrust his head out of an
inner office, and said:
“The door can be braced. The brace is just behind it.”
Not a moment was to be lost, for the mob was at the
very door, and would be pouring into the station in a mo-
ment. Barney sprang for the heavy brace, but he would
have been too late if it had not been for the singular Jew.
Solomon leaped to his feet, sprang for the door, and
planted his foot with terrific force in the stomach of the
first man who was trying to enter, hurling that individual
back against those immediately behind.
“Good-tay!” cried the Jew. “Uf I don'd see you some
more, vat vos der tifference!”
Slam! The door went to solidly. Bang! The bar
went against it, being held in position by heavy cleats on
both door and floor.
“Holdt der vort!” rasped Solomon, with great satisfac-
tion. “Dot was very well tone. I didn’t vant dose beo-
ple comin’ und drampin’ all ofer mine goots. Id vould
haf ruint me.”


Hurried to Jail. 37
The mob beat against the door, howling with baffled
rage. '
“Thot wur a narrow escape, Frankie, me b’y !” said Bar-
ney.
“That’s what it was,” admitted Frank, who realized that
his chance for life would have been less than one in a
thousand if the crowd had burst into the room.
“Vell, I don’d sharge nodding vor dat, uf you puy a
goot pill uf goots vrom me,” said the Jew.
“The window !” came from Professor Scotch. “They
are about to come through the window!”
Crash! Jingle! Jangle! The window was smashed,
and the mob was seen swarming toward it.
Suddenly, Solomon Rosenbum sprang toward the open-
ing, a revolver in his hand.
“Holdt on, mine friendts !” he cried, waving the weapon.
“Uf anypody dried to get in py dis vindow, he vill ged
shot, vid der accent on der shot!”
“Begobs, thot is roight!” shouted Barney Mulloy, as
he suddenly produced a “gun,” and took his place at Sol-
omon’s side. “Kape off, me jools, av ye want ter kape
whole skins!”
The mob hesitated. Thus it had been bafiied at every
turn, and the mad heat of the moment was beginning to
subside. Still, it could be aroused again in a twinkling.
Hank Kildare alone could not have protected his pris-
oner from the crowd, but he had done all one man could
possibly do. Now, of a suddenfhe retreated into the sta-
tion, closing and bolting the door.
“That,” he said, with a breath of satisfaction, “so fur,
everything is all right. An’ now it is ter see ef-—”
He was interrupted by pistol shots outside, and bullets
began whistling in at the broken window.
With an exclamation of anger, the fearless sheriff flung
his massive body into the window, roaring:


38 Hurried to Jail.
“Hold up thar, you critters! Don't you know anything
a tall? Thar is ladies in hyar, an’yer might shoot 'em ef
yer keep flingin' lead round so promiscuous like!”
“We want Black Harry!” yelled a voice.
“Wa-al, ye’ll hev ter want!” returned the sheriff. “You
galoots know me purty well, an ye know I ain’t in ther
habit o' talkin' crooked. I tells yer right yar an now
thet ye can’t hev Black Harry. I offered ther reward fer
ther critter, an’ I’m goin’ ter hold him, you bet! He'll be
lodged in jail, ur Canadian County will be minus a
Sheriff I’’
It was plain that his words impressed them, but they
were reluctant to give over the hope of lynching the boy
prisoner.
“Look yere, Kildare,” said a thin, wiry, iron-jawed
man, who wore a huge sombrero and leather breeches,
“I’m Bill Buckhorn, o' 'Rapahoe, an’ thet's a place whar
we don’t 'low no critter like this yere Black Harry ter go
waltzin’ round more then sixteen brief second by ther
clock. We ketches such cusses, an’ then we takes 'em out
an’ shows 'em how ter do a jog on empty air. Over in
'Rapahoe we allows thet thar is ther way ter dispose o'
sech cases, and I’m ready ter show you people o Elreno
ther purtiest way ter tie a runnin’ knot in a hemp necktie.
Whatever is ther use o’ foolin’ around an dallyin’ with
ther law when it's right easy tergit rid o' critters like this
yere Black Harry without no trouble a tall, an’ make
things lively in ther town at ther same time? Pass him
out, sheriff, an I'll agree not ter do yeary bit o’ damage!”
“Wa-al, you are kind!” returned Kildare, contemptu-
ously. “You’re mighty kind, an I allows thet I preciates
it. I reckons you galoots over in thet forsaken, "way-
back, never-heard-of hole called 'Rapahoe sets yerselves
up fer a law unto ther resto Oklahoma an all other parts
o' creation! You allows thar don't nobody else but you


Hurried to jail. 39
7
critters know what is right an’ proper, an so you has ther
cheek ter come over hyar an’ tell us what ter do! You
even offers ter show me how ter tie a runnin’ knot in a
rope, an’ I will admit thet I’ve tied more knots 0’ thet kind
then you ever heard of! Take my advice, my gentle
stranger frum ’Rapahoe, an’ go get right off ther earth,
afore something happens ter yer which yer won’t like none
whatever!”
This bit of sarcasm was appreciated by the assembled
citizens of Elreno, and they raised a howl at Bill Buck-
horn, scores of voices hurling derisive epithets at the lank
stranger.
Buckhom grew intensely angry, and he howled:
“You galoots make me sick! You’re short qn fer
hawse sense, an’ thet’s plain enough!”
“Take a tumble !”
“Puckachee !”
“All right! All right !” cried the man from ’Rapahoe,
waving his hands, each of which clutched a huge revolver.
“You Pin run yer blamed old town ter suit yerselves, an’
I allows thet Black Harry fools yer all an’ gits erway! I
hopes he does, an’ I draws out 0’ this yere game right
now.”
He thrust his revolvers into leather holsters made to re-
ceive them, and strode away, forcing a passage througli
the crowd, and pretending not to hear the derisive epithets
hurled at him.
Hank Kildare smiled, with grim satisfaction. '
“Thet wuz ther best thing could hev happened,” he
muttered. “It took their ’tention erway fer a minute, an’
now it’s likely I kin talk them inter reason.”
He tried it, without delay. He urged them to disperse,
promising that Black Harry should be lodged in Elreno
jail, and properly tried for his life.
“This yar lynchin’ is bad business,” concluded the sher-


40 Hurried to Jail.
iff. “I will allow thet I hev taken a hand in more than
one lynchin’ party, but I'm derned 'shamed o' it. Law is
law, an no gang o' human critters has a right ter take
ther law in their han’s. I hev swore never ter let one o'
my prisoners be lynched, ef I kin help it, an’ I’ll set 'em
free, an’ furnish 'em with guns ter fight fer their lives,
afore I'll see 'em strung up by a mob. At ther same time,
I’d ruther be shot then forced ter do such a thing.”
Kildare was so well known that every one who heard
him felt sure he was not “talking wind,” that being some-
thing he never did.
There was muttering in the crowd. The worst pas-
sions of the mob had been aroused, and now it hated to
be robbed of its prey. -
“Hank Kildare means whatever he says,” declared more
than one. “He’ll fight ter hold Black Harry.”
Some cursed Kildare, and that aroused the anger of the
sheriff's friends, so it seemed at one time as if the mob
would fall into a pitched battle among themselves.
“Let 'em fight,” muttered the giant, who still held the
broken window. “Ef they git at it, I'll find some way ter
slip 'em and put my man inter ther jail.”
But they did not fight. Kildare called on them to dis-
perse, and a few went away; but a great crowd lingered
in sullen silence outside the station, waiting and watch-
1ng.
“They want tergit another look at Black Harry,” mut-
tered the sheriff, knitting his brows. “Ef they do thet,
they’re likely ter break loose again, like a lot o' wild tigers.
How kin I make 'em disperse, so I kin kerry him ter ther
jail?”
“I will appeal to them,” said a musical voice at his
elbow.
He turned, and saw Lona Dawson there.
“You?”


Hurried to fail. . 4|
“Yes. It is possible they will listen to me.
“They mought. I’d clean forgot you wuz hyar. G0
ahead an’ try yer luck, little one.”
He stepped aside, and she appeared in the window.
The moment she was seen, all muttering ceased in the
crowd, and every one gave her attention.
“Gentlemen,” she began, speaking clearly and loud
enough for all to hear, “you must confess that I have as
much interest as any one here in seeing this youthful ruf-
fian brought to justice. I do not wish to see him lynched,
but I wish him to receive such punishment as the law may
give him.”
“Ther law is slow !” cried a voice.
“An’ it often fails !” came from another direction.
“In this case there is no reason why it should fail, for
there is proof enough to convict Black Harry. It will not
fail.”
“He may escape from jail.”
“That is not likely. Now, for my sake, I ask you all to
disperse—to allow the ofiicers to take Black Harry to jail.
If you do not disperse, I shall remain here, and I will pro-
tect the prisoner with my own body and my life, for I am
determined that he shall be legally tried and properly pun-
ished.”
There was a moment of silence, and then a voice
shouted:
“Thar’s stuff fer yer, pards! Ther leetle gal has clean
grit, an’ I’m fer doin’ as she asks. Who’s with me ?”
“I am!” a hundred voices seemed to roar.
“Then come on. Good-by, leetle gal; we’re goin’.”
Every head was bared, and the crowd began to disperse
with swiftness, so that, in a very few minutes, all had de-
prted.
Tlim came the deputy sherifis, with horses, and ars-


42 Hurried to Jail.
rangements for conveying the prisoner to the jail were
swiftly completed.
Frank had advised the professor and Barney not to be
too outspoken, for fear they might also be arrested. He
advised them to keep quiet, but to work for him to the
* 'best of their ability, and lose no time.
A handshake, a hurried parting, and the boy was borne
away to jail.


44 Solomon Shows His Nerve.
ally lively over thar, an’ we must hev somethin ter 'muse
us 'bout so often.
“Now, ef we hed ketched this yere Black Harry—wa'al,
say! Great cats! Does any critter hyar suspect thar’d
been any monkey business with thet thar young gent?
Wa’al, thar wouldn’t—none whatever. Ef we couldn't
found a tree handy, we'd hanged him ter ther corner o' a
buildin', ur any old thing high enough ter keep his feet
up off ther dirt.
“Hyar in Elreno, ye’ll take ther varmint ter jail, an' it's
ten ter one he'll break out afore twenty-four hours, arter
which he'll thumb his nasal protuberance at yer, an' go
cayvortin' 'round after ther same old style, seekin whom-
soever he kin sock a bullet inter. Then you'll hate yer-
self, an’ wish ye’d tooken my advice ter hang ther whelp,
sheriff or no sheriff. You hear me chirp !”
There were others who thought the same, and it was
hinted that Hank Kildare might not be able to take his
prisoner to the jail, after all.
Burchel Jones, the private detective, was in the crowd,
and he hustled about, loudly proclaiming that he was the
man who captured Black Harry. Bill Buckhorn heard
him, stopped him, looked him over searchingly.
“Look hyar!” cried the man from 'Rapahoe. “Is it a
straight trail ye're layin' fer us?”
“What do you mean by that?” asked the man with the
foxy face, in a puzzled way.
“Dern a tenderfoot thet can’t understand plain United
States!” snorted Buckhorn. “Ther same is most dis-
gustin', so says Il Ye’ve got ter talk like a Sunday-school
sharp, ur else ther onery critters don’t hitch ter yer mean-
in’. W’at I wants ter know, tenderfoot, is efyer tells ther
truth w'en yer says yer roped Black Harry.”
Jones stiffened up, assuming an air of injured dignity.


Solomon Shows His Nerve. 45'
“The truth! Why, I can’t tell anything but the truth!
It’s an insult to hint that I tell anything but the truth!”
“W’at relation be you ter George ?”.
“George who ?”
“Washington.”
“Sir, this attempt at frivolity is unseemly! Why should
it seem remarkable for me to capture Black Harry ?”
“Ef a galoot with his reputation let an onery tenderfoot
like you rope him, it brings him down in my estimation
complete !”
“I took him by surprise. I clapped a loaded revolver to
his head, and he could do nothing but put up his hands.”
"‘Wa’al, you might ram a loaded cannon up ag’in my
head, an’ then I’d shoot yer six times afore you could pull
ther trigger,” boasted Buckhorn. “Black Harry ain’t got
no license ter live arter this, an’ I thinks it’s ther duty o’
ther citizens o’ this yere town ter git tergether an’ put him
out o’ his misery.”
“That ith wight,” drawled a voice that seemed to give
the man from ’Rapahoe an electric shock. “The w’etch
ith verwy dangerwous, and I weally hope you will hang
him wight away, don’t yer know. It ith dweadful to
think that the cwecher might get away and stop a twain
that I wath on, and wob me of awl my money—it ith
thimply dweadful !”
“Great cats !” howled Buckhorn, staring in amazement
at the speaker. “Is thar ary galoot hyar kin name thet
critter?”
“Uf anypody vill name id, I vill gif id do ’em!” cried
a nasal voice, and Solomon Rosenbum, with his pack,
newly bound up, was seen on the edge of the crowd, hav-
ing just arrived.
“My name, thir, ith Cholly Gwayson De Smythe,”
haughtily declared the dude. “I do not apweciate youah
inthulting manner, thir. I demand an apology, thir!”


46 Solomon Shows His Nerve.
“Apology!” howled Buckhorn, looking savage. “OE
me ?” .
“Ye-ye-yeth,.thir,” faltered Cholly, shivering.
“W'a’al, I’ll be derned !”
“Do you apologize, thir ?”
“Ter a thing like you? N0!”
“Then I’ll—I’l1 ”
“What ?”
“Thee you lataw, thir.”
'And the dude took to his heels, breaking from the crowd
and running for dear life, literally tearing up the dust of
the street in his frantic effort to get away in a hurry.
“Haw!” snorted Bill Buckhorn. “See ther varmint go!
I reckon I’ll hurry him up jest a little !”
Then the man from ’Rapahoe jerked out a big revolver,
and sent three or four bullets whistling past Cholly’s ears,
nearly frightening the poor fellow out of his clothes.
Buckhorn supplied the revolver with fresh cartridges,
at the same time observing:
“Over in ’Rapahoe such a derned freak as thet thar would
be a reg’ler snap fer ther boys. They’d hev more fun with
him then a funeral. Somehow, this yere place seems dead
slow, an’ it makes me long ter go back whar thar is a little
sport now an’ then.”
“Vell,” said the Jew, with apparent honesty, “v’y don’d
you go pack? Maype uf you sdop a vile, you don’d pe
aple to do dat.”
“Haw? What do you mean, Moses?”
“My name vas nod Moses.”
“Wa’al, it oughter be, an’ so I’ll call yeh thet.”
“All righd, Mouth; led her go.”
“W’at’s thet ?” shouted Buckhorn, surprised. “What-
Tcver did you call me jest then, I want ter know.”
“Mouth.”
“Mouth I”


Solomon Shows His Nerve. 47
“Dat vas righd.”
“Thet ain’t my name."
f“V ell, id oughtier peen; your mouth vas der piggest bart
u you.”
Buckhorn literally staggered. He looked as if he
doubted his ears had heard correctly, and then, noting that
the crowd was beginning to laugh, he leaped into the air,
cracking his heels together, and roaring:
“Whoopl Thet settles you, Moses! You’1l hev a
chance ter attend your own funeral ter-morre !”
The Jew quietly put down his pack, spat on his hands,
and said: "
“Shust come und see me, mine friendt, und I vill profe
dat your mouth vas der piggest bart uf you.”
“I ain’t goin’ ter touch yer with my hands,” declared the
man from ’Rapahoe, once more producing the long-bar-
reled revolver; “but I’ll shoot yer so full o’ holes thet
ye’ll serve fer a milk-skimmer! Git down on yer marrer-
bones an’ pray !”
“Look here, mine friendt,” calmly said the Jew, as the
crowd began to scatter to get out of the way of stray bul-
lets, “uf you shood ad me, id vill profe dat you vas a plow-
hardt und a cowart. Uf you shood ad me, der beople uf
dis blace vill haf a goot excuse to holdt a lynchings.”
“Wa’al, I’m good fer this hull derned county! This
town is too slow ter skeer me any ter mention. Git
down !”
“Uf I don’d do dat ?”
“I’ll shoot yer legs out from under yer clean up ter
ther knees !”
“Vell, then, I subbose I vill haf to—do this!”
Solomon had seemed on the point of kneeling, but, in-
stead of doing so, he dticked, leaped in swiftly beneath the
leveled revolver, caught Buckhorn by the wrist. and


48 Solomon Shows His Nerve.
wrenched the weapon from his hand, flinging it aside, with
the remark:
“I don’d vant to peen shot alretty, und, if you try dat
again, you vill ged hurt pad, vid der accent on der pad!”
Buckhorn seemed to be stupefied, and then, uttering an-
other roar, he lunged at the Jew, trying to grapple Sol-
omon with his hands.
“I’ll squeeze ther life out of yer!” snarled the ruffian.
“Oxcuse me uf I don'd lofe you vell enough to led you
done that,” said the Jew, nimbly skipping aside. “Your
nose shows you was a greadt trinker; shust dry my electric
punch.”
Crack! The knuckles of the Jew struck under the ear
of the man from 'Rapahoe. It was a beautiful blow, and
Buckhorn was knocked over in a twinkling, striking heav-
ily on his shoulder in the dust of the street.
The fall seemed to stun the man in leather breeches, but
he soon sat up, and then, seeing Solomon waiting for
him to rise, he asked:
“Whar is it?”
“Vere vas Vat?”
“Ther club you struck me with.”
“Righd here,” said the Jew, holding up his clinched
hand.
“Haw! Ye don’t mean ter say you didn't hit me with
a club, or something like a hunk o’ quartz?”
“Dat vas der ding vat I hit you vid, mine friendt.
Shust ged up, und I vill profe id py hitting you again.”
“Say !”
“Vell ?”
“I don’t allow thet I'm as well as I might be, an I ain't
spoiling fer trouble none whatever. I'm onter you.
You're a perfessional pugilist in disguise. If you'll let
me git up, I’ll go right away and let you alone.”
“Well, ged up.”


Solomon Shows His Nerve. 49
*You won’t hit me when I do so?”
“Nod if you don'd tried some funny pusiness.”
Buckhorn struggled to his feet, keeping a suspicious
eye on Solomon all the while. He then picked up his re-
volver, but made no offer to use it, for the Jew was watch-
ing every movement, and he noted that Solomon had one
hand in his pocket.
“A critter thet knows tricks like he does, might be able
ter shoot 'thout drawin’,” muttered the man from 'Rapa-
hoe. “I don’t allow it’d be healthy ter try a snap shot at
him.
A roar of laughter broke from the spectators, as they
saw the ruffian put the revolver back into its holster, and
turn away, like a whipped puppy.
“Hayar, you mighty chief from 'Rapahoe,” shouted a
voice, “doyer find this yar town so dead slow as yer did?
Don’t yer 'low yer'd best go back ter 'Rapahoe, an’ stay
thar? Next time, we'll set ther dude tenderfoot on yer,
an’ he’ll everlastin’ly chaw yer up!”
“How low hev ther mighty fallen!” murmured Bucki-
horn, as he continued to walk away.


CHAPTER VII.
IN JAIL.
Great was the disgust of the crowd when it was found
that Hank Kildare had taken his prisoner to jail without
passing along the main street of the town. It was de-
clared a mean trick on Hank’s part, and some excited fel-
lows were for resenting it by breaking into the jail at
once and bringing the boy out and “hangin' him up whar
everybody could see him.”
The ones who made this kind of talk had been “looking
on the bug-juice when it was red,” and they finally con-
tented themselves by growling and taking another look.
In the meantime, Frank found himself confined in a cell,
and he began to realize that he was in a very bad scrape.
Throughout all the excitement at the railroad station, he
had remained cool and collected, but now, when he came
to think the matter over, his anger rose swiftly, and he felt
that the whole business was most outrageous.
Still, when he remembered everything, he did not won-
der that the mob had longed to lynch him.
Black Harry was a youthful desperado of the worst
sort. He had devastated, plundered, robbed, and mur-
dered in a most infamous manner, his last act being the
shooting of Robert Dawson, the Eastern banker.
And Lona Dawson, the banker's daughter, had looked
straight into our hero's face and declared that he was
Rlack Harry!
“It is a horrible mistake!” cried Frank, as he paced the
cell into which he had been thrust. “She believed she


In Jail. 51
spoke the truth. This young outlaw must resemble me.
I cannot blame her.”
The manacles chafed his wrists.
“Are they going to leave those things on me, now that
they have me safe in jail?” he cried.
His door opened into the corridor, and he called to the
guard, asking that the irons might be removed.
“I believe Hank has gone fer ther key,” said the guard.
“He didn't take it from ther detective what put them irons
on yer.”
“Will they be removed when he returns with the key?”
“I reckon.”
“Then I hope he will hurry. I am tired of carrying the
things.
He turned back, to pace the cell once more.
“This is a flimsily-constructed building,” he said. “It
would be an easy thing to break in here and drag a pris-
oner out. I escaped death at the hands of the mob be-
cause I had friends at hand to fight for me, and because
Hank Kildare is utterly fearless, and was determined to
bring me here. But the whole town may become aroused,
and to-night— What if Robert Dawson should die!”
The thought fairly staggered him, for he knew the
death of the wounded banker would again inflame the pas-
sions of the citizens, and a night raid might be made on
the jail.
“They would stand a good show of forcing their way in
here, and then it would be all up with me.”
It was a terrible thing to stand in peril of such a death.
Frank felt that he could not die thus; he would live to
clear his honor.
But what could he do? He was helpless, and he could
not fight for himself. Must he remain impassive, and led
errents go on as they might?


52 In Jail.
t
“I do not believe fortune has deserted me,” he whis-
pered. “I shall be given a chance to fight for myself.”
It seemed long hours before the sheriff appeared, ac-
companied by Burchel Jones, the foxy-faced private de-
£ective.
“Has he been disarmed?” cautiously asked Jones, as he
peered at the boy through the grating in the door.
“Yep,” replied Kildare, shortly. “Do you think I'm in
ther habit o’ monkeying with ther prisoners yar?”
“H'm ! Ha! No, no—of course not! But, you see,
this fellow is dangerous—very dangerous. He is not to
be trusted.”
“Wa’al, he's been mild as milk sense he fell inter my
hands.”
“Trickery, my dear sir—base trickery! By the time
you have handled so many desperate criminals as I have,
you will see through them like glass.”
Kildare grunted.
“Now,” continued Jones, with the wisdom of an old
owl, “mark the curl of his lip, and the bold, defiant stare
of the eye. Mark the covert smile on that face, as if he
were really laughing at us now. All those things are sig-
nificant—mighty significant. You do not dream of the
treachery hidden beneath that boyish exterior; but I, sir,
can see by his eye that he had rather cut a throat than eat
a square meal. The peculiar shape of his lips denote
blood-thirstiness, and his nose, which seems rather finely
formed to the casual observer, is the nose of a person ut-
terly without conscience. His forehead indicates a cer-
tain order of intelligence, but this simply makes him all the
more dangerous. He has brain power and force, and
that explains why he has succeeded in becoming a leader
of desperadoes. That chin is a hard, cruel feature, while
the shape of his ears indicates an utter disregard for any-
thing sweet and harmonious of sound, like music. That


In Jail. 53
is an ear which finds more music in the shrieks of mur-
dered victims than in anything else.”
Frank literally staggered.
“Great Scott!” he gasped. “I never before dreamed
that I was such a villainous-looking creature!”
Kildare began fitting a key to the lock of the door.
“Are you sure he is disarmed?” asked the private de-
tective.
“Yep.”
“Well, you are at liberty to do as you like, but I should
not remove those irons. It would be far better to keep
them on him.”
“Why ?”
“Well, you see—that is—hum!—ha!—such a creature
cannot be held too fast. There is no telling what he is
liable to do.”
Kildare gave a grunt of disgust, entered the cell, and
removed the manacles from Frank's wrists.
“Thank you,” said the boy, gratefully. “They were
beginning to get irksome. I am glad to get them off.”
“Ther man what calls hisself Professor Scotch has dis-
patched East fer yer,” said the sheriff. “He sw'ars thar
has been a mistake made, an he kin prove you are what
ye claim, an not Black Harry at all.”
“That can be easily proven,” smiled Frank. “All we
want is a little time.”
“Trickery! Trickery !” cried Jones from the corridor.
“They will do their best to get his neck out of the noose;
but he is Black Harry, and I shall receive the reward for
his capture.”
“You’ll receive it when it is proved thet he is Black
Harry, so don’t yer worry,” growled Kildare, who had
taken a strong dislike to the foxy-faced detective.
“He has been identified by Miss Dawson; that is proof
enough.”


54 ln Jail.
To this Kildare said nothing; but he spoke again to the
boy:
“Make yerself as easy as yer kin, an’ be shore ye’ll hev
a fair show from Hank Kildare. Thar’s talk in town
about lynchin’, but they don’t take yer out 0’ hyar so long
as I kin handle a shootin’ iron. I’m goin’ ter stay hyar
ter-night, an’ I’ll be reddy fer ’em ef they come.”
“Thank you again,” said Frank, sincerely. “All I ask
is a square deal and a fair show. I know it looks black
against me just now, but I’ll clear my honor.”
Burchel ]ones laughed, sneeringly.
Kildare said nothing more, but left the cell, locking the
door behind him.
At noon Frank was brought an assortment of food that
made his eye bulge. He asked if that was the regular
fare in the jail, and was told it had been sent in by his
friends.
“The professor and Barney, God bless them! I won-
der why they have left me alone so long? But I know
they are working for me.”
It was late in the afternoon when Barney appeared, and
was admitted to the cell. The Irish lad gave Frank’s
hand a warm squeeze, and cried:
“It’s Satan’s own scrape, me lad; but we’ll get ye out
av it if th’ spalpanes will let yez alone ter-noight. Av
they joomp yez, we’ll be here ter foight ter ther last gasp.”
“I know you will, Barney !” said Frank, with deep feel-
ing. “You are my friend through thick and thin. But,
say, do you think there is much danger of lynchers to-
night ?”
“Av Mishter Dawson dies, there will be danger enough,
and, at last reports it wur said he could not live more than
two ur thray hours.”


CHAPTER VIII.
T H E L Y N C H E R S .
When Barney returned to the hotel he found Professor
Scotch in a very agitated and anxious mood.
“This is terrible—terrible!” fluttered the little man,
wringing his hands. “How can we save him?”
“Phwat has happened now, profissor?” asked Barney,
anxiously.
“I have received no reply to my telegrams.”
“Kape aisy; the reploies may come lather on.”
“And they may not till it is too late. I leaned out of
the window a short time ago, and I heard a crowd talking
in the street below. That horrible ruffian, Bill Buckhorn,
was with them, and he was telling them how to make an
attack on the jail. Some of the crowd laughed, and said
Hank Kildare had been very slick about getting his pris-
oner under cover, but he would not be able to keep him
long after night came.”
“Av they make an attack on th’ jail, it's oursilves as
should be theer to foight fer Frankie,” said the Irish lad,
seriously.
“Fight!” roared Scotch, in his big, hoarse voice. “Why,
I can’t fight, and you know it! I can’t fight so much as
an old woman I am too nervous—too excitable.”
“Arrah! Oi think we have fergot how ye cowed
Colonel La Salle Vallier, th’ champion foire-ater av New
Orleans.”
“No, I have not forgotten that; but I was mad, aroused,
excited at the time—I had completely forgotten myself.”


56 The Lynchers.
“Forget yersilf now, profissor.”
“I can’t! I can’t! It’s no use! I would be in the way if
I went to the jail. I shall stay away.”
The professor was an exceedingly timid man, as Barney
very well knew, so he did not add to his agitation by tell-
ing him that, while returning from the jail, he had heard
it hinted that the boy prisoner had two friends in the hotel
who might be treated to a “dose of hemp necktie.”
The professor, however, suspected the truth, and he
kept in his room. Danger could not keep Barney there,
and, having reported the result of his conversation with
Frank, he went out to learn what was going on.
Two persons very much in evidence since the arrival
of the train were the Jew and the dude. The Jew had a
way of insinuating himself into the midst of any little
knot that was gatheredaside from the general throng, and,
if they were speaking guardedly, he seemed sure to hear
what they were saying and enter into the conversation.
As a rule, this was not what would be called a “healthy”
thing to do in such a place and on such an occasion; but
the report of Solomon’s encounter with Bill Buckhorn, the
Man from ’Rapahoe, had been circulated freely, and the
Jew was tolerated for what he had done.
While he appeared very curious to hear anything that
seemed like private conversation, the Jew did not neglect
any opportunity to transact business, and he made so
many trades during the day that the size of his pack
materially decreased.
The dude seemed scarcely less curious than the Jew.
He had a way of listening with his eyes and mouth wide
open, but he lost no time in getting out of the way if
ordered to do so. For all of his curiosity, he seemed very
timid.
The day passed, and night came. Still Professor
Scotch had received no answers to his telegrams.


The Lynchers. 57
Shortly after nine o'clock that evening, the report
spread rapidly that Robert Dawson, the Eastern banker,
was dead.
Immediately there was a swift and silent stirring of
men—a significant movement.
“Thot manes throuble!” was Barney Mulloy's mental
exclamation. “Th’ sheriff should know av it.” *
The Irish lad believed that he was watched, but he
hurried to the professor's room, telling him to lock the
door and keep within till the storm was over, and then he
slipped out of the hotel.
Barney did not hurry toward the jail at once, but he
took a roundabout course, dodging and doubling, to
bother any one who might attempt to follow him.
Finally, having doubled on his own course, he struck
out for the jail.
There was a moon, but it was obscured at times by
drifting clouds, something rather unusual in that part of
the country for a night that was not stormy, and did not
threaten to become so.
Coming suddenly to the main street of the town, which
led straight from the hotel to the jail, Barney paused and
listened.
He heard a sound tlat caused his heart to beat faster,
while he held his breath and strained his ears.
Tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! It was the swift and steady
rush of many feet.
There was no sound of voices, but the crouching boy
knew a body of men was approaching.
Barney drew back, concealing himself as well as he
could, and waited.
Nearer and nearer came the sound.
A cloud passed from the face of the moon, and then
the watching boy saw a band of men rushing swiftly past
his place of concealment.


58 The Lynchers.
The men were masked, and all were armed.
They were moving straight toward the jail.
“Th’ lynchers !” panted Barney. “They are afther
Frankie! Oi must get to th’ joail ahead av thim !”
He ran back along the side street till he came to an-
other that led in the same direction as the one along which
the mob was rushing. Turning toward the jail, he ran as
he had never ran before in all his life.
On the front door of the jail was a push-button that
connected by a wire with a gong within the building. A
push on that button set the gong to clamoring loudly.
“Rattle-ty-clang-clang! rattle-ty-clang !
“Wa’al, what’s thet mean?” growled Hank Kildare, as
he leaped up from the couch on which he had been re-
clining lazily. “What derned fool is punchin’ away at
thet thar button like he hed gone clean daft! Hyar ther
critter ring!”
Kildare looked at his revolvers, then picked up a short-
barreled shotgun, and went out into the corridor that led
to the door. Reaching the door, he shot open a small
panel and shouted:
“Whatever do yer think ye’re doin’ out thar? Will yer
stop thet thar racket, ur shall I guv yer a dost out o’ this
yar gun!”
“Mr. Kildare, is thot yersilf ?” panted a voice, which the
sheriff had heard before, and which he immediately recog-
nized.
“Wa’al, ’tain’t nobody else.”
“Will yes be afther lettin’ me in?”
“What’s ther matter?”
“Th’ lynchers are comin’ !”
Kildare peered out, and the moon, which did not hap-
pen to be hidden at that moment, showed him the boy
who stood alone at the door.
Clank, clank, clank!—the sheriff shot back the bolts


The Lynchers. 59
which held the door, open it swung a bit, out shot his arm,
and his fingers closed on Barney Mulloy's shoulder.
Snap—the boy was jerked into the jail. Slam—the
door closed, and the bolts shot back into place.
“Howly shmoke l’ gasped Barney. “Is it all togither
Oi am, ur be Oi in paces?”
“Ye're hyar,” came in a growl from the sheriff's
throat. “Now tell me w'at yer mean by wakin' me an’
kickin' up all this yar row.”
“Th’ lynchers are comin’.”
“How do yer know?”
“Oi saw thim. Less than thray minutes ago.”
“Where?”
“Back a short pace.”
“How many of them?”
“I didn’t count, but it's a clane hundred, sure.”
Kildare asked Barney several more questions, and he
was satisfied that the boy spoke the truth.
The deputy sheriff had slept in the jail that night, and,
together with the guard, he was now at hand.
“Look out fer this yar boy,” directed Kildare. “One
o' yer git ther hose ready. I'm goin’ ter try my new ar-
rangement fer repellin’ an attack.”
He rushed away.
The deputy sheriff, whose name was Gilson, opened a
small square door in the wall of the corridor, and dragged
forth a coil of hose.
“Pwhat are ye goin’ ter do with thot?” asked Barney,
in surprise.
“Wait, an’ ye’ll see,” was the reply.
Then the deputy spoke to the guard.
“Tyler, be ready ter let ther prisoner loose if the mob
breaks in an' gits past me. You kin tell by watchin'.


60 The Lynchers.
You know it's Hank's order thet ther cell be opened an
ther poor feller give a chance ter fight fer his life.”
“Where is he?” palpitated Barney. “Oi'll shtand by
him till he doies'!”
“Ye kin do better by stayin’ hyar,” declared the dep,
uty. “Ye may be needed.”
Bang! bang! bang!
The lynchers had arrived, and they were hammering
on the door. The gong began to clang wildly.
“Open this door!”
“Why don't Hank turn on ther water up above?” came
anxiously from the lips of the deputy. “Kin it be thet
his tank on ther roof has leaked dry? Ef so, his new
scheme fer repellin’ an attackin' party won’t work very
well.” -
“Open this door!” shouted a commanding voice out-
side.
The deputy sprang to the small panel and flung it open.
“What d'yer want yere?” he demanded.
“We want to come in,” was the answer.
“Wa’al, yer can't.”
“We'll agree to stay out on one condition. If you will
pass out something, we'll agree not to break in.”
“What's ther something?”
“Black Harry.”
“I reckoned so.”
“Will you give him up?”
“No.”
“Then we shall break down the door, and I warn you
that it will be very unfortunate if any of us is injured. It
might bring about the lynching of other parties besides
Black Harry.”
“Wa’al, I warn yer ter keep away from yere. We're


The Lynchers. 61
goin’ ter defend ther prisoner regardless, an’ somebody's
bound ter git hurt.”
“For the last time, will you open?”
“No.”
“Down with the door l”
Crash! crash!—the assault on the door began.


CHAPTER IX.
THE ASSAULT ON THE JAIL.
“Why don't Hank put on ther water?” groaned the
deputy sheriff. “Et'll be too late in a minute!”
Crash! crash! The assailants were using a heavy bat-
tering ram, and the door was beginning to give.
“Oi'm afraid it's all up with poor Frankie!” gasped
Barney.
A wild yell came from the mad mob at the door.
“Death to Black Harry!”
Bang—splinter—crash! The door was breaking, and
the battering-ram was being driven against it with re-
newed force.
There was one last great shock, and down went the
door before the assault.
“No water yet!” cried Gilson. “Now it is too late!”
He flung down the hose, taking to his heels before the
gang of masked men that swarmed into the doorway.
Barney Mulloy heard a hissing noise, and then he
leaped forward and caught up the nozzle of the hose. He
turned the large stop-cock, and a bar of water shot out,
striking the leader of the lynchers in the neck, and hurling
him, gasping and stunned, back into the arms of those be-
hind.
“Hurro!” trumpeted the Irish lad, in delight, his blood
aroused. “Come on, an git washed off th’ face av th’
earth !”
This method of defense proved unpleasantly surprising
to the attacking party. The stream of water swept men
off their feet and flung them, half-drowned, back from


The Assault on the Jail. 63
the doorway into the night. In less than half a minute
Barney had cleared the doorway.
“Hurro!” he shouted, once more. “This is th’ kind av
sport! We'll howld th’ fort till th’ last drop av warther
is gone!”
There was a lull, and Hank Kildare came panting to
the side of the lad with the hose. When he saw the
broken door an exclamation of dismay came from the lips
of the sheriff.
“Something wuz ther matter, so I couldn’t turn ther
water on,” he said. “An’ now they’ve got ther door
down l’’
“But Oi bate 'em off!” shouted the Irish lad, triumph-
antly.
“They'll come in when ther water fails.”
Barney had not thought of that, and his feeling of tri-
umph turned to anxiety and dismay.
“Pwhat kin we do?”
“Where is Gilson P”
“Th’ spalpane run whin the dure wur broke.”
“We might fight, but what if we did shoot down a few
o' ther critters? It w'u'dn’t stop 'em, an' we'd hev killed
somebody. Stay hyar—hold 'em back long as yer kin.”
“Pwhat are ye goin’ ter do?”
“Git ther prisoner up onter ther roof. Mebbe we kin
holl 'em back from gittin' up thar.”
“All roight. Oi'll do me bist here.”
Kildare ran back along the corridor and disappeared.
Of a sudden rocks began to whistle about Barney's
head, and then one struck him, knocking him down. The
nozzle of the hose fell from his hands, and he lay prone
and motionless on the floor.
Wild yells of savage delight broke from the mob.
Then, with a clatter of hoofs, a band of masked horse-
men came tearing down the street, whirled into the open


64 The Assault on the Jail.
space before the jail, and began shooting into the mob.
The horsemen were dressed in black, and every man was
masked.
“It’s Black Harry’s Braves!” screamed a voice that was
full of fear.
Twenty voices took up the cry, and the mob, utterly
demoralized, broke and ran in all directions.
Some of the masked horsemen sprang from their ani-
mals and dashed into the jail, springing over the pros-
trate body of the unconscious Irish lad.
Kildare was removing Frank from his cell when those
masked men came upon them. In a moment the boy had
been tor n from the sheriff, and the men whirled him
away.
Out of the jail rushed E;aCk Harry’s Braves, the boy
was placed astride a horse, and away they went, with him
in their midst.
Frank had believed them lynchers, and he thought
them lynchers as they bore him away.
“It’s all up with me,” he mentally said.
But his hands were free, and he was watching for an
opportunity to escape. He meant to make one more effort
for life, if given an opportunity.
Through the town tore the wild horsemen, yelling like
so many fiends, shooting to the right and left.
Out of Elreno they rode, and then the man on the right
of Frank leaned toward the boy, saying:
“We came just in time, chief. If we’d been ten min- ‘
utes later, the lynchers would have had you sure.”
“The lynchers ?” gasped the bewildered boy. “Why,
you?”
“They had the door down wher we reached the jail,
but a dozen shots set them scattering.”
“But—but—I don’t understand.”
“We did'""‘ mean to strike before midnight, but Benson


The ASSault On the Jail. 09
brought word that they were liable to lynch you, and so
we lost no time in getting here. We rode twenty miles
like we were racing with an express train. You must
allow we did a good job this time, chief.”
“Chief? Why I **
Frank stopped short, choking the words back. At last
he realized who these men were.
They were Black Harry's Braves, and they believed him
to be Black Harry!
He reeled upon the horse he bestrode.
“What's the matter?” asked the man, quickly. “Are you
hurt any way?”
“No.”
The boy's voice was hoarse and unnatural.
“What can I do?” he thought. “How long will it be
before they discover their mistake? I must keep up the
deception, and I may find an opportunity to escape.”
In a moment he had recovered his composure. As old
readers know, Frank was a boy of nerve, and he began to
feel very well satisfied with the situation.
“I have escaped lynching,” he thought, “and these men
believe me their leader. I am out of jail and now I shall
be given a chance to fight for my life and honor. In order
to prove my own innocence, I must capture Black Harry.
This may lead me to the opportunity.”
But for one thing his heart would have been filled with
exultation. That one thing was the memory of Barney
Mulloy, whom he had seen lying prone and motionless
just within the broken door of the jail. Had they killed
his faithful friend?
He feared the Irish lad had met death while trying to
hold back the lynchers.
The outlaws did not seem to fear pursuit, and they
slackened their pace somewhat as soon as they were out
of town.


66 The Assault on the Jail.
“Where shall we go, chief?” asked one.
Frank was at a loss to answer, for he knew that a slip
might betray him, and he was determined to be on his
guard all the time. His hesitation was observed, and the
man said:
“I reckon it will be safe to return to Cade’s Canyon for
a while.”
“I reckon so,” said Frank. “We’ll go there.”
“I warned you that you would make a mistake if you
ventured into Elreno,” said the talkative outlaw, “but you
were determined to have another look at that girl, and so
you took chances. Girls have caused more trouble in this
world than everything else combined.”
“That’s right,” admitted Frank, who was wondering
what girl the fellow meant.
“Did you see her?” asked the man, with a sly chuckle.
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Ha, ha! I like the way you say that, chief. No
offense, but Benson said you saw her in the railway sta-
tion as soon as you landed in Elreno.”
Now Frank knew that Lona Dawson was meant.
“Yes,” he said, “she was there, and she informed the
public in general that she had seen me before.”
“I don’t suppose you will bother with he; any more, and
so we’ll move on as soon as possible, and get out of this
part of the country? It’s getting right hot here.”
“It is all of that,” admitted Frank ; “but I am not for
running away, as if we were scared out.”
“Well, you know our original plan.”
“Certainly.”
Frank spoke as if he knew it well enough, but he was
wondering what it could be. However, the man soon ex-
plained.
“We are to carry the expedition through into Indian
Territory, and disband when the Arkansas line is reached.


The Assault on the jail. 1'97
Then we can scatter and defy pursuit, and we can come
together at Ochiltree, in the Panhandle, at the time set.”
Frank felt like thanking the fellow for the information.
“That’s right,” nodded the boy, speaking carefully;
“but this little affair has made me rather mad, and I don’t
feel like running away so very fast.”
“Especially from the girl.”
“Hang the girl!”
Frank felt that it would not do to allow the fellow to
become so familiar.
“You didn’t talk that way after seeing her last night.
Why, you were sorry we didn’t carry her off when we left
the train.”
“Oh, well, a fellow has a right to change his mind. I
have seen her by daylight.”
“And she didn’t look so well ?”
“Hardly.”
“Still, she is something of a daisy.”
“She’ll do; but I can’t waste my time with her. There
are others.”
“Now you’re beginning to talk right, chief. The boys
felt a little doubtful of you when you went racing off aftei
that girl, and they will be mightily relieved to know you
have come to your senses.”
Frank grunted, but spoke no word. During the entire
ride, he talked as little as possible, but he kept his ears
open.


CHAPTER X.
IN CADE's CANYON.
The moon had swung far down to the west when the
outlaws entered Cade's Canyon amid the mountains and
finally reached an old hut, where they halted.
“You must be rather pegged, chief,” said one of the
men, addressing Frank.
“Well, I am not feeling too frisky,” said the boy. “I
didn't sleep much in Elreno jail, for I wanted to be wide-
awake when the lynchers came.”
The men had removed their masks, but their faces
were shaded by wide-brimmed hats, and Frank was not
able to study their features. However, he had heard the
voices of several, and he felt sure he would not forget
them.
He was not going to be in a hurry about escaping.
There was plenty of time, and he was beginning to be-
1ieve that he must be the perfect double of Black Harry,
else why should these men be thus deceived?
He wondered if none of them would detect the differ-
ence when daylight came.
“If they do—well, I can’t be worse off than I was in
Elreno jail. I’ll have weapons, and I can fight. I may be
able to make it hot for them before they down me.”
Frank was reckless, and he felt a strange delight in
the adventure through which he was passing. Somehow,
now that he had escaped being lynched, he believed he
would be successful in bringing Black Harry to book and
proving his own innocence.
Frank's first care was to obtain some revolvers, and he


In Cade’s Canyon. 69
was soon in possession of a pair of fine weapons. With
these loaded and ready to his hand, he breathed easier.
Of course he had no idea of sleeping, but he entered the
hut and looked the place over.
Morning was not far away, and the time soon passed,
while Frank pretended to sleep. At daybreak he was
astir, and looking the place over.
The cabin was built in a strange spot, standing close
to the verge of a chasm that opened down into the lower
depths of the canyon, through which ran a stream of
water.
Dan Cade, the man who had built the cabin there, was
said to have been crazy. He had lived there years before
the opening of Oklahoma to settlement, and had died
there in that wild gorge. His only friends were the In-
dians, as he hated and mistrusted his own race.
It had often been remarked by those who passed
through the canyon that no man in his right mind would
have built a cabin in such a place. It looked as if the
building was crouching on the verge of the chasm, 'pre-
paring to spring headlong into the creek below. '
Here the outlaws had camped.
Frank found a flight of stairs that led to the cabin loft.
They were shaky, but he ascended to investigate.
There was a square door, shaped like a window, at the
back end of the cabin, and this the boy opened. He thrust
his head out, and found he was looking down the face of
the bluff straight into the stream far below.
The light that shone into the loft revealed, to the boy’s
surprise and wonder, a coil of rope. He examined this,
and found a stout clasp-hook at one end. The other end of
the rope was made fast to a rafter.
For some time Frank wondered to what use old Cade
had putthe rope, but it came to him at last.


ln Cade’s Canyon. 7|
the nearby towns, it was pretty certain that he would be
taken for Black Harry and lynched.
“This is a real jolly scrape !” thought the boy, ruefully.
“What can I do ?”
Well might he ask himself the question.
He walked a short distance down the canyon, and
thought it over. The impulse was on him to get away
as soon as possible, but his sober judgment told him that
he would leap from the frying-pan into the fire.
Frank did not care to be lynched. He seemed helpless
for the time. Although he longed to fight for his honor,
he was unable to strike a blow.
The result of his walk was a determination to stay with
the outlaws and keep up the deception as long as he could.
Black Harry himself must appear sooner or later, and
Frank longed to see the young rascal whom he so much
resembled.
Most boys would have improved the opportunity to get
away, but Frank was not built of ordinary material, and it
was like him to do the unexpected.
He strolled back to the cabin, seeming quite at his ease.
It was not far from sunrise, and the men began to stir.
Several of them came out of the hut, and a fire was built.
Of a sudden, from far up the canyon, came the musica.
blast of a bugle, causing the outlaws to start and look at
each other in surprise.
They listened, and it was repeated.
One of the men turned sharply on Frank, hoarsely cry-
ing:
“What does that mean ?”
“I don’t know,” replied the boy, at the same time feeling
for his revolvers, with the idea that there was trouble on
hand.
“It is your signal!” burst from the man’s lips. “And
that means trickery! There is something wrong!”


72 In Cade's Canyon.
“You’re right!” cried several voices.
More of the braves came running out of the cabin, there
was a hustling for arms, and the men prepared for trouble.
“My signal?” repeated Frank, to himself. “By that he
must mean it is the signal of Black Harry! He is com-
ing!”
Frank felt the blood tingling in his veins.
Black Harry was coming!
“Now,” muttered Frank, “I shall have a chance to
strike a blow for myself! Let Black Harry come on!”


CHAPTER XI.
BLACK HARRY APPEARS.
There was a clatter of hoofs, and a doubly burdened
horse swept into view, bearing straight down upon the
Braves, who were waiting as if ready to fight or take to
flight.
The horse was foam-flecked, and it was plain he had
been driven to the limit of his endurance.
The person who handled the reins was a youthful chap,
and, as he came nearer, Frank gasped with surprise.
“Cholly Grayson De Smythe, the dude! Is it pos-
Sible?”
In his arms, held upon the horse, was a bundle, like a
human form, wrapped in a blanket.
The outlaws looked for a posse of armed men to fol-
low the boyish horseman, but he was not followed, and
he did not hesitate or turn back when he saw the party
awaiting him.
Straight down upon them he rode, and Frank drew
aside, shielding himself behind one of the men.
“It can’t be possible!” muttered Frank. “It’s ridicu-
lous!”
Straight down upon the desperadoes rode the dude,
seeming utterly fearless.
“Halt, thar!” cried one of the men, leveling a rifle at
the young horseman. “Hold up, ur chaw lead!”
The youth gave a surge that flung the horse upon its
haunches.
“Steady Bolivar!” his voice rang out. “Would you
shoot me?”


74 Black Harry Appears.
“Who be you?” -
“Don’t you know me? Ha, ha, ha! Well, I do not
wonder. I'll look different when I peel this mustache and
wash off my make-up. I have her! See here, boys!”
The blanket was flung back, and the face of Lona Daw-
son, the banker's daughter, was revealed !
The girl was not unconscious, and she suddenly
squirmed from the grasp of her captor, slipped from the
horse, and ran into the midst of the outlaws, crying:
“Save me! Protect me!” -
“Stop her, boys!” laughed the youth on the horse.
“Don’t let her get away. I’ve had trouble enough, and
taken risk enough to get her.”
“Wa-al, who be you?” roared one of the band.
“Who am I? Look here; do you know this sign?”
He made a swift motion with his hand, and nearly every
man cried:
“The chief's sign But you are not the chief! He is
here with us! You are an impostor!”
“Am I? Look!” -
He tore off a false wig, jerked away a false mustache,
took a vial from his pocket, turned some of its contents in
his hand, and seemed to sweep the make-up from his face.
The result was a wonderful transformation, and the face
revealed was almost exactly like that of Frank Merriwell.
The men stared in bewildered astonishment.
“It is the chief l’ gurgled one of them.
“Of course I am,” laughed the unmasked youth. “You
wasted your time in carrying off that other fellow who
looks like me. Why didn't you leave him to be lynched?
Then the fools would have thought they had put Black
Harry out of the way.”
“The other fellow?” repeated more than one of the
men. “Who is the other fellow P”
“He is the fellow who looks like me,” laughed Black


76 Black Harry Appears.
this other fellow, who is nearly my perfect double. He
took the train at Oklahoma City, and I sat directly behind
him. I was there when the private detective, Burchel
Jones, who fancies he is so shrewd, arrested him.
“If they had lynched him, I could have disappeared, and
it would have been thought that Black Harry had gone up
the flume. But you fellows thought that I was in the
Scrape, and you came round in time to save him.
“I watched my opportunity to scoop the girl, and I have
brought her here, although I was hotly pursued for a
time, and I did not know but I’d have to drop her and get
away alone. I succeeded in fooling the pursuers, and I
arrived here at last.
“My double and the girl for whom I have risked so
much are in that hut. I propose to break down the door
and go in.”
A wild shout came from the men. They were furious
to think they had been so wonderfully deceived.
“Down with the door !”
“Drag him out!”
“Shoot him l’’
With a hoarse roar of rage the Braves rushed toward
the cabin, and flung themselves against the door, which
went down with a crash, letting them into the hut.


CHAPTER XII.
A CHANCE IN A THOUSAND.
Frank, with his usual daring and gallantry, had resolved
to make an effort to save the unfortunate girl—to rescue
her from the clutch of Black Harry.
Having determined on such an attempt, he lost no
time in catching her up and dashing into the hut with her
in his arms.
Dropping her upon her feet, he whirled, slammed the
door shut, found the wooden bar with which old Cade had
made it fast, dropped the bar into its socket, and cried:
“Hurrah for us! This is the first step to freedom!”
Turning, he found the girl was leaning against the wall,
staring at him in a wondering way, but without fear being
expressed on her handsome face.
“I trust you are quite unharmed, Miss Dawson?” he
said, swiftly. “My unsavory double has—”
“He has not harmed me,” she broke in, swiftly, “but I
feel that I have done you a harm I can never repair.”
“Nonsense! How have you harmed me?”
“By declaring that you were the one who shot my
father.”
“You believed it when you said so, and that **
“Yes, I believed it, but that is nothing that will lessen
the injury I did you. And to think of the terrible peril in
which I placed you! Then, when it was reported that
father was dead, they were determined to lynch you.”
“And your father is not dead?”
“He was not when I last saw him, and the doctor said
's might come out all right.”


78 A Chance in a Thousand.
“That is indeed fortunate.”
“I heard them crying that he was dead, I saw them
preparing to make an assault on the jail, and I left father-’s
side to stop them if I could.”
“Brave girl !”
“Then it was that I fell into the hands of this wretch
who brought me here—the real Black Harry. He was
waiting for an opportunity to capture me—he told me so.
He told me how I had imperiled the life of one who was
innocent, and he laughed at my horror and remorse. He is
a heartless creature !”
“He seems to be all of that.”
(I
And you have placed your life in greater peril for rne
-—you did so after what I did to you! Why should you do
such a thing ?”
"Why, Miss Dawson, you were not to blame for think-
ing me Black Harry. The fellow is my double, and I
ought not to have a double. Do you suppose I would
think of leaving you in his power if there was any pos-
sible way for me to save you ?”
“You are a noble fellow! But you cannot save me-
you cannot escape yourself! They will soon break in
here, and then——”
Frank was listening at the door, and he heard Black
Harry complete his explanation to his Braves, heard their
wild cries, and knew they were going to charge on the
door.
“It will not stand before them!”
He looked around and saw the stairs.
“Up!” he cried to the girl. “Don’t lose a moment !"
He motioned toward the stairs, and she ran toward.
them, hearing the roar that came from the outlaws as they
made the rush for the cabin.
“Come!” she panted, looking over her shoulder, and


A Chance in a Thousand. 79
seeing Frank with a revolver in either hand. “Don’t stay
there! They will kill you!”
“Up!” he shouted again. “I will follow !”
She sprang up the stairs, which creaked and swayed be-
neath her. -
There was a great shock, and the cabin seemed to totter
on the brink of the chasm. Then the door fell, and the
ruffians swarmed into the cabin.
Frank Merriwell was right behind the girl, and he
seemed to lift her and fling her into the loft.
“There they go!” rang the voice of the real Black
Harry. “Up the stairs!”
“This is no time for talk!” cried Frank, as he crouched
at the head of the flio", his teeth set, and the light of
desperation in his eyes.
The braves came rushing up the stairs, and the boy
above thrust out both hands, each of which held a re-
volver.
Frank fired four shots, and the smoke shut out the
faces of the fierce rascals on the stairs. He heard cries
of pain and the sound of falling bodies.
“I didn’t waste my bullets,” came grimly from his lips.
But what could he do now? He had repulsed them
for the time, but they were in the cabin, and it would not
be for long that he could keep them back. They would
soon find a way to reach him.
He leaped to the swinging window and flung it open,
thrusting the revolvers lightly into the side pockets of the
coat he wore. He looked down into the depths of the
chasm, through which ran the stream of water.
“It is a long distance down there,” came hoarsely from
the lad's lips. “I will try it! It is our last hope.”
With a bound, he caught up the coil of rope, then he
rushed to the window and flung it out. As one end was
made fast to a rafter, it hung dangling from the window.


8O A Chance in a Thousand.
Frank looked out, and he saw that the rope reached to
the stream of water.
At the same time, he heard Black Harry calling on his
braves to follow him up the stairs.
“Come!” said Frank, hurrying to the side of the girl,
and grasping her arm. “There is one chance in a thou-
sand that we may do the trick and escape alive. We'll
make a try for that chance.”
She did not question him, she did not hold back, but
she bravely trusted everything to his judgment.
Frank passed through the window in advance. He
twisted the rope around one leg, and he secured a good
hold on it with his hands. Then he said to the girl:
“Be lively now! Get through the window, put your
arms about my neck, cling for your life, and trust to
Frank Merriwell and Providence.”
She did so, and they were soon descending the rope.
Frank went down, hand under hand, as he did not dare
slide at first, knowing that his hands would be torn and
bleeding, and that he must lose his hold before the bottom
was reached. With the twist about his leg to aid him, he
managed to sustain himself and his living burden very
well.
The girl whispered in his ear:
“Courage! You are the noblest fellow I ever saw—the
greatest hero in the whole wide world!”
He made no reply, for his teeth were set, and he was
mentally praying for strength and time.
Down they went—down, down. And then, when nearly
half the distance had been covered, a shout came from
above.
“Here they are! Ten thousand fiends! They shall not
get away alive!”
It was the voice of Black Harry himself.
“Oh, for a little more time!” panted Frank.


A Chance in a Thousand. 81
But no more time was to be given him. He heard the
voice of the boy outlaw crying:
“Look up here, Frank Merriwell—look up ! I have a
little trick to show you.”
Frank looked upward, and he saw Black Harry leaning
far out of the window. A knife glittered in the hand
of the young desperado.
“I am going to cut the rope!” came down to the ears
of the boy and girl. “Poor fools! Did you thing to es-
cape me! You will go down to your death in the creek!”
Frank clung with one hand to the rope, although the
strain was terrible. With his other hand he drew one of
the revolvers from his pocket, lifted it, took aim, fired.
The weapon spoke just as Black Harry slashed at the
rope.
There was a shriek of pain, a human body shot out
from the window, and, as it went whirling downward, the
rope parted !
Then down shot Frank and Lona to fall into the stream.
They struck where the water was quite deep, and they
were unharmed, although the girl was unconscious when
our hero bore her to solid ground.
As for Black Harry, he struck where some jagged rocks
reared their heads from the water, and he lay there, in a
huddled heap, and dead, forever past harming any living
Creature.
And yet, as was afterward discovered by examination,
he had not been touched by the bullet which Frank had
fired up at him. He had been startled by the shot, had lost
his balance, and had fallen to his death.
Frank was trying to restore Lona to consciousness
when he heard the rattle of rifle and revolver shots, the
sound coming down faintly from above. Following it
there was wild and continued cheering, and still more
shooting.


82 A Chance in a Thousand.
“It sounds like a battle,” thought the boy. “I believe
the outlaws have been attacked.”
He was right. For all that he fancied he had thrown
his pursuers from the trail, Black Harry had been tracked
to Cade's Canyon. The guard was captured while the as:
sault on the hut was taking place, and then Hank Kil-
dare, at the head of the trailers, swept down on the aston-
ished braves.
The battle was short and sharp, and but few of the out-
laws escaped. Some were killed, and some were cap-
tured.
One of the captured ruffians told them where to find
Black Harry, Frank and the kidnaped girl.
Lariats were tied together, and a line was made long
enough to reach the bottom of the chasm.
Lona Dawson was drawn up first, and then Frank tied
the rope about the body of his double, permitting them to
draw him to the top of the bluff. Frank came up last,
and he found the men from Elreno in a rather dazed condi-
tion.
“Is thar two Black Harrys?” asked one, staring at the
dead boy, and then at his living counterpart.
“Moses in der pulrushes!” groaned Solomon Rosen-
bum, who was on hand. “There vas only von, und he
vas deat, vid der accent on der deat. Dat leds me oudt.
und I don’d vas aple to take him pack East vor murter.”
“Take him back East for murder?” questioned a man.
“What do you mean by that.”
“I mean that he is wanted in the East, and I have been
tracking him for the last two months,” said the supposed
Jew, suddenly speaking without a trace of accent.
“Who are you?”
“I am Burchel Jones, a detective.”
“Burchel Jones! Impossible! Jones was the fellow
who arrested this boy for Black Harry.”


CHAPTER XIII.
A THRILLING RESCUE.
u ~ pr
No, sir. roared Professor Scotch, banging his
clinched fist down on a rough wooden table that stood in
the only “hotel” of the town of Blake, Utah. “I say no,
and that settles it!”
“But,” urged F rank, who sat opposite the little profes-
sor at the table, “wait till I tell you ”
“You have told me enough, sir! I do not want to hear
any more!”
Barney, who sat near, could restrain his merriment no
longer.
“Begobs!” he cried; “th’ profissor is on his ear this
toime, Frankie, me b’y. He manes business.”
“That’s exactly what I do!” came explosively from the
little man’s lips. “It is my turn now. You boys have
been having your own way right along, and you have
done nothing but run into scrape after scrape. It is
amazing the troubles you have been into and the dangers
you have passed through. Several times you have placed
me in deadly peril, and but for my coolness, my remark-
able nerve, my extremely level head, I must have been
killed or gone insane long ago.”
Both boys laughed.
“Allow me to compliment you on your remarkable
nerve, professor,” chuckled Frank. “You are bold as a
lion--nit.”
The final expressive word was spoken in an “aside,”
but the professor heard it, as Frank had intended he
Should.


A Thrilling Rescue. 85
“Laugh, laugh, laugh!” shouted the little man, in a
hoarse tone of voice. “The time has passed when you
can have fun with me; I decline to permit you to have
fun with me. I have decided to assert myself, and right
here is where I do it.”
“Ye do thot, don’t yez, profissor!” cried the Irish lad,
in a way that made the little man squirm.
“You can bet I do! Judging by the past, any one
would think Frank my guardian. They'd never dream
I was his. He has gone where he pleased, and done as
he pleased. Look where he has dragged me! Where is
this forsaken hole on the face of the earth? It's some-
where in Utah.”
“Blake is very easily located,” said Frank, glibly.
“Any schoolboy will tell you it is in Eastern Utah, on the
line of the Grand Western Railway, at the point where
the railroad crosses Green River. You are a little rusty
on such things, professor, and so you fancy everybody
else is as much a back number as yourself.”
“Back number !” howled the little man, leaping into
the air and dashing his hat to the floor. “That is more
than I can endure. You have passed the limit.”
Neither of the boys had ever before seen him so far
forget his dignity without greater provocation, and they
were not a little surprised.
“Steady, professor,” laughed Frank. “Don’t fly off
the handle.”
“Howld onter yersilf, profissor,” chuckled Barney.
“Av ye don’t, ye may get broken.”
“This is terrible!” cried the professor, his face crimson
with anger. “Frank Merriwell, you are an ungrateful,
reckless, heartless young rascal!”
“Oh, professor !”
Frank seemed deeply touched. He grew sober in a


A Thrilling Rescue. 87
nearer Frank, who fell face downward on the table, still
laughing, but pretending to quiver with sobs.
“There, there, there!” fluttered the little man, patting
the boy on the shoulder. “Don’t fell so bad about it.”
“I—I can’t help it.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean anything—really I didn't. I'll
take it back, and—”
“Your cruel words have pierced my tender heart as the
spear of the fisherman pierceth the unwary flounder.”
“I was too hasty—altogether too hasty.”
“That does not heal the bleeding wound.”
“Oh, well, say—I’ll do most anything to—”
“Will you permit me to go on this expedition?”
“No, never!” cried the little man. “There is a limit,
and that is too much.”
“But you have not heard the story of this Walter Clyde,
to whom I owe my very life,” said Frank, pretending to
dry his eyes with the handkerchief.
“You owe what?” shouted the professor, astonished.
“How do you owe him so much?”
“Well, sir,” spoke the boy, “it was like this: I had
fallen into the hands of a band of murderous ruffians,
an 5 *
“When did this Occur P”
“At about half past six. Please do not interrupt me
again. These ruffians, after relieving me of my valuables
and wearing apparel, so that I was clad in nothing but
a loose-fitting suit of air, proceeded, with fiendish design,
to tie me to the railroad track.”
“Terrible!” gasped Scotch, his face pale and horrified.
“But where did this take place?”
“Directly on the line of the railroad. Will you be
good enough not to interrupt! I was helpless in their
power, and I could do nothing to save myself. I begged
them to spare me, but they laughed at my entreaties.”


88 A Thrilling Rescue.
“The wretches!” roared the little professor. “Ah! Eri
Excuse me for breaking in.”
“Having tied me firmly across the polished rails,” con-
tinued Frank, growing dramatic in his method of relating
the yarn, “they told me the express would be along in
fifteen minutes, and then they left me to my fate.”
“The dastardly scoun Beg pardon | Go on! go
On '’
“I tried to wrench myself free, but it was impossible;
they had tied the knots well, and I began to believe I was
doomed. The rail sang beneath my head, and I knew the
express was approaching at terrible speed.”
“This is too much—too much !” groaned the little man,
flopping down on a chair. “It actually overcomes me!”
“I fully expected the express would come over me,”
the boy went on. “I gave up hope. Looking along the
track, I saw the engine swoop into view round a curve in
the road. Down upon me with the speed of the wind it
swept.”
No sound but a groan came from the lips of Professor
Scotch.
“Staring with horrified eyes and benumbed senses at
the engine, I heard it shriek a wild note of warning. I
had been seen! But the train was on a down grade, and
it could not stop in time. I was doomed just the same.”
The professor was ready to fall off his chair.
“Then,” cried Frank, dramatically, “out along the side
5f the engine crept a boy, who carried something in his
land. That boy was Walter Clyde, to whom I owe my
very life. The something he carried in his hand was a
lasso, and with that he saved me.”
“How—how could he do it?” palpitated the professor.
“You were tied to the track l”
“Yes, but Walter Clyde is an ingenious fellow, and he
saw how to get around that difficulty.”


A Thrilling Rescue. 89
“But how—how P”
“Well, close beside the railroad was the stump of a
great tree that had been cut down. I saw him point at it,
and above the roar of the train I heard him shriek for
me to lift my head and look at it.”
“Yes, yes! Go on!”
“I saw him whirling the lasso-noose about his head,
making ready for the cast, having first hitched the other
ends to the cow-catcher of the locomotive.”
“Well, well ?”
“I lifted my head as high as possible, and I saw the
noose shoot through the air. Excuse me while I shudder
a few seconds!”
“Did he drag you from the track in time?” shouted the
professor. “Did the noose fall over your head?”
“No,” answered Frank; “but it fell over that stump,
and, when the express reached the end of the lariat, hav-
ing come so near that the nose of the pilot brushed my
hair, the lariat brought up. It was a good stout rope,
and it yanked that engine off the track in a second, and
piled the entire train in the ditch. I was saved—saved
by a brave boy, and only forty of the passengers on the
train were killed.”
Professor Scotch gasped for breath and sank from his
chair to the floor.


CHAPTER XIV.
wALTER CLYDE's STORY.
Barney Mulloy had been holding on to keep from
shouting with laughter, and now he exploded.
“Ha! hal ha!” he roared. “Pwhat do yez think av thot,
profissor? Thot wur th’ narrowest escape ivver hearrud
av, ur Oi’m a loier !”
“Send for the undertaker!” came in a hollow groan
from the lips of the professor.
“You do not seem to feel well?” said Frank, hastening
to the man’s assistance. “What is the trouble?”
“If I die of heart failure you will be responsible!”
fiercely grated Scotch.
“Doie!” cried Barney. “Whoy, ye'll live ter pick dai-
sies on yer own grave, profissor.”
“This is terrible!” faintly rumbled the little man, as he
regained his chair, and began to mop cold perspiration
from his face with a handkerchief.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” cried Frank.
The door opened, and a boy about seventeen years of
age entered the room. He was a slender, delicate-appear-
ing fellow, but he had a good face and steady eyes.
“Hurrah!” cried Frank. “Here is my preserver! Pro-
fessor Scotch, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Walter
Clyde.” -
The professor held out a limp hand to the boy, saying:
“Excuse me if I do not rise. Frank just robbed me
of strength by telling how you saved his life by derailing
an express train and killing forty passengers.”


Walter Clyde's Story. 9I
Clyde was quick to catch on. A faint look of astonish-
ment was followed by a smile, and he said:
“Mr. Merriwell is mistaken.”
“Hal” cried the professor. “Then you denounce the
whole story as false?” -
“I said Mr. Merriwell was mistaken—but thirty-nine
passengers were killed,” said the newcomer, who had
caught the end of Frank's yarn.
The professor came near having a fit, and Barney Mul-
loy held onto his sides, convulsed with merriment.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Clyde,” said Frank. “I may
have stretched the yarn a trifle.”
“Just a trifle!” muttered the professor.
“If I had used giant-powder instead of dynamite in
blowing up the track,” said Clyde, “it is possible there
might have been a smaller loss of life.”
“But you did not blow up the track at all,” hastily put
in Frank. “You yanked the train off the rails with a
lasso.”
“So I did I was thinking of another case. In this
instance, if I had not stood so far from the railroad—”
“But you were on the pilot of the engine.”
“Was I? So I was. Excuse me if I do not attempt
any further explanations.”
Then the three boys laughed heartily, and the professor
was forced to join in at last.
Having restored Scotch to good nature, Frank re-
quested Walter Clyde to tell his story. Clyde's face
clouded a little, and he slowly said:
“I will tell it briefly. Years ago, when I was a very
small child, my father left his home in the East to make
a trip to California. Business called him out there, and,
on his way, he entered this Territory. He never reached
California. •
"My father had a deadly enemy—a man who had


92 Walter Clyde's Story.
sworn to kill him some day. That man's name was Uric
Dugan. Father had been instrumental in sending him
to prison for robbery, but he had escaped, fled to the
West, and, it was said, joined the Mormons.
“Fate led Uric Dugan and my father to meet in Utah.
What happened then is known to Dugan alone. Months
passed, and mother heard no word from father. She
grew thin and pale and desperate. At length, a letter
came to her. It was from Uric Dugan.
“That letter told my mother that father had died in a
living tomb, where he had been placed and kept by Dugan
till he went mad. Dugan gloated over his frightful
crime. He told how father had raved in his delirium,
called wildly for his wife and his boy, and how her name
was last on his lips when he died.”
“The monster!” broke in Professor Scotch, who was
intensely interested.
“He was in truth a monster,” agreed Clyde. “The
effect of that letter on my mother was terrible. It nearly
drove her mad, and she was ill a long time. When she
recovered, she took measures to find and punish Dugan,
but she never succeeded. She learned, however, that
Dugan, after joining the Mormons, had been one of that
terrible organization known as the Danites. He had dis-
appeared, and no trace of him could be found.
“The detective who was in my mother's employ was
aided by an old guide, miner, and fortune-hunter in gen-
eral, known as Ben Barr. Barr learned the whole story
of my father's disappearance, and it happened that he
knew Uric Dugan—that Dugan had once done him an
injury. He took a great interest in the case, and did his
best to trace the man. As I have said, Dugan was not
found, nor did the detective learn anything further of
my father.
“Years passed, and I grew up. The years wrought


Walter Clyde's Story. 93
their changes in Utah, and the Destroying Angels ceased
to be a menace to every Gentile in the Territory. The
younger Mormons regretted that such an organization
had ever existed, and had been in any way connected with
the Mormon Church. Danites who had been powerful
and feared, found their former friends turning against
them. Even the Mormon Church pretended to denounce
them. John D. Lee, chief in the Mountain Meadow
butchery, was captured, tried, found guilty, and shot.
There were others as guilty as Lee, and they, who had
been the hunters, found themselves hunted. They fled
to the mountains, hid, disguised themselves, changed
their names, and did everything they could to escape
retributive justice.
“It seems that Dugan was still with them, and he found
himself a fugitive like the others. Somewhere in South-
ern Utah, west of the Colorado, and amid the wild moun-
tains that are to be found to the north of the Escalante
River, the hunted Danites found a home where they be-
lieved they would be safe from pursuit, and there the last
remnant of the once terrible Destroying Angels are living
to-day.
“In his wanderings, Ben Barr came upon this retreat of
the Danites, and there he saw Uric Dugan, who is now
the chief of the band. Barr barely escaped with his life,
and he lost no time in writing to my mother, telling her
what he had discovered.
“This was enough to revive old memories and set
mother to brooding over it. Her health was not very
good, and I am sure that she worried herself to death.
Before she died she told me of a dream that had come
to her for three successive nights. In that dream she had
seen my father, and he was still living, although he was
unable to return to her. Just why he could not return
was not very clear, but it was because of Dugan.


Walter Clyde’s Story. 95
“Who was going with you ?”
"Two explorers.”
“Their names.” .
“Colton Graves and Caleb Kerney.” ‘
“What do you know about them?”
“Nothing, except that they wish to take a cruise
through the canyons.”
“Young man,” said the professor, “let me give you
'9. bit of advice.”
But before he could do so there came a sharp knock
on the door.


CHAPTER XV.
PROFESSOR SEPTEMAS SCUDMORE.
The door opened with a quick, jerky movement imme-
diately after the knock, and, without waiting to be in-
vited to enter, a tall, angular, thin-legged, knock-kneed
iman walked into the room with a peculiar movement that
seemed to indicate that his legs were in danger of break-
ing at every step.
This man had a very long, thin neck, on which was
set a long, narrow head, crowned with an out-of-date
silk hat. He wore a suit of rusty black, a flaring high
collar, that was sadly wilted and lay out over the collar
of his coat, and a black string necktie, which was tied
in a careless knot. His face was shaven smooth, and a
pair of gold-bowed spectacles clung convulsively to the
end of a long, thin nose.
“Excuse me,” he said, in a high-pitched, cracked tin-
pan sort of voice. “I seek a fellow laborer in the field of
science. You know the Good Book says: “Seek and ye
shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto you.' I
knocked—didn’t stop for it to be opened—am in a hurry.
Ahem! You”—pointing a long, slim finger at Scotch
—“you must be the one I seek.”
The little professor looked startled.
“What have I ever done to you?” he asked, hesitat-
ingly.
“Not anything, my dear sir, but I believe you are Pro-
fessor Scotch, are you not?”
“That is right; but I do not know you, sir.”


Professor Septemas Scudmore. 97
“I am Professor Septemas Scudmore, of Pudville
Classical Institute, in the State of Ohio.”
“Never heard of you, sir.”
“And I never heard of you till a few moments ago,
when one of the polite and obliging citizens told me you
were here, and asked me why I did not call on you, as
you seemed to be a bigger fool than I am, and we might
make good company for each other.”
“What’s that F” roared Scotch. “Who dared to say
anything like that? The insulting wretch!”
Professor Scudmore waved a long, lank hand at the
little man.
“Do not get agitated,” he chirped. “It is not well for
a man of your years. You should preserve a calm and
even demeanor. Excuse me if I do not always follow my
own teaching. We tutors never do.”
Scotch stared at the strange man as if doubting his
sanity.
“You seem to enjoy being called a fool !” he growled.
“Not at all—not at all. But I have been called that so
much that I do not mind it. Genius is ever regarded as
folly till it astounds the world. I am a man of genius.
You may think that is boasting, but I assure you it is
not. I am. naturally modest—very modest. But I have
found that, in order to be thought anything of by others,
I must think well of myself. I am so exceeding fraiik
and honest that I never hide my thoughts, therefore, I tell
you candidly what I think of myself.”
“Well, well!”
“It is possible you do not believe in this sort of thing-'-
few do. Duplicity I despise. You are not a man of
genius yourself, but you have led others to think you
pretty smart,‘ and you have succeeded in getting through
the world thus far pretty easy. You are naturally sloth-
ful ; in fact, I may say you are lazy, and you ”


98 Professor Septemas Scudmore.
“Hold on there !” thundered the little man. “You may
be as frank as you please about yourself, but you had
better be careful what you say about me !”
“Touchy, eh ?” sniffed Septemas Scudmore. “Not
strange at all. Studious inclination, close application to
work, baffling researches, midnight oil—these things irri-
tate the nerves and make a man crusty. But then, I
don’t think you ever hurt yourself by close application to
work. You must be naturally irritab‘".”
Professor Scotch pranced up anc down the room like
an angry bantam.
“Sir,” he cried, “you are altogether too free with your
mouth.”
“The Scudmores are naturally generous, so I can’t help
it. Keep calm, sir. In some things we have an afiinity.
I can see it in your eye. I did not anticipate meeting an
af"inity out here in this wild and heathenish country.”
“Afiinity !” cried Scotch, scornfully. “A man with
your tongue would be an afiinity for a cackling old
woman !” '
“That is your hastily formed opinion. Permit me to
warn you against forming opinions too quickly. It is a
bad habit to get into, and-—-”
“Sir !” shouted the little man, “there is the door!”
Scudmore bowed profoundly.
"I noticed it when I came in,” he chirped. “Very
ordinary door, but I don’t suppose we can expect anything
better out in this wild section of the country.”
Scotch was ready to tear his hair.
“Will you take a hint, or do you need a kick?” he bel-
lowed, in his hoarsest tone.
"A man with hair and whiskers colored like yours
should always beware of undue excitement. Don’t think
of kicking anybody, for you may lose your dignity.
Speaking about aerial navigation, beyond the shadow of


Professor Septemas Scudmore. 99
a doubt, I, Septemas Scudmore, A. M., B. A., LL. D., and
B. C., have solved the problem. I say beyond the shadow
of a doubt, and I mean exactly what I say. It is not a
matter of fans and wheels-—”
“I think it is a matter of wheels,” broke in Scotch,
“and they are in your head.”
Scudmore waved one thin hand loftily, his nose high
in the air.
“Peace, professor, peace,” he said. “It ill becomes you
to interrupt a fellow scientist. Hear me out.”
“I had much rather see you out—of the door.”
“I see you are skeptical—you doubt the practical and
practicable value of my invention. But you shall be con-
vinced—you shall be my fellow passenger on my first
voyage through space.
“Not if I know myself !” shouted the little man. “You
may be a fool, but ” '
“There are others, sir—there .. ‘e others. I beg you to
grant me this favor. Think what an honor it will be to
have it go abroad that you accompanied Professor Sep-
temas Scudmore on his first voyage in his new airship.”
“Oh, you make me very languid!” cried the little man,
using a bit of slang which he had heard from the lips of
one of his youthful companions.
“I am shocked—shocked beyond measure,” declared
the lank professor, sinking his chin upon his bosom and
looking reproachfully over his spectacles at Scotch.
The three boys were enjoying this immensely. It was
sport to Frank, who saw in Septemas Scudmore a char-
acter worth studying. Barney laughed heartily.
ll Y7 ' ' ll
Begorral cried the Irish lad, it’s shocked we all are.
Th’ profissor has gone crazy, sure.”
If
If I have, it is not surprising, after what I have passed
through. It has been enough to drive any man insane.”


I00 Professor Septemas Scudmore.
"I fancy you are a person whose brain would not stand
a severe strain,” put in Scudmore.
“Oh, you do! Well, I have stood just all of this I can
from you! There is the d0or—get out !”
“And you decline the honor I have attempted to confer
upon you ?”
“I decline to talk further with a crank. Get out !”
Septemas Scudmore shook his head dolefully.
“I will do as you have so politely requested; but you
will regret this to your dying day. I shall hold no hard-
ness against you. In fact, I am sorry for you, as
you____n
The little man could stand no more, and he actually
drove Scudmore from the room. When he came back,
he found the boys laughing heartily, and this caused him
to drive them out also.
“It is doubtful if he will consent to allow me to accom-
pany you, Clyde,” said Frank, when they were outside.
“He is an obstinate man when he sets his mind on any-
thing.”
“Well,” declared Walter, “I am sorry. We met by
accident, and I took to you in a moment. When you had
heard my story and expressed a desire to accompany me
on my search for Uric Dugan, I was delighted.”
“And I had no idea the professor would object. This
is the first time he has done anything of the sort; but it
is true that we have run into many perilous adventures,
and he wishes to prevent such things in future.”
“Whoy not run away an’ go, Frankie ?” asked Barney,
whuse thirst for adventure was whetted to a keen edge.
“It’s mesilf thot would loike to go hunting fer this colony
av Danites.”
Frank shook his head.
“I hardly feel like doing that,” he said. “There is I


Professor Septemas Scudmore. IC#
bare chance that the professor will relent. We will wait
and see.” -
“There can be little waiting,” said Clyde. “I start in
the morning. Everything is ready, and Graves and Ker-
ney are eager to be off.”
“Well, we'll see what the next few hours will bring
forth.”
Little did they dream of the surprising things the next
few hours would bring forth,


The Mad Inventor. lo;
“Can't tell,” was the reply. “Let’s look her over.”
“That’s right, look her over,” urged Professor Scud-
more. “I am going to start at once, but I must first get
aboard a few things that are in this hut.”
So the boys examined the airship, while the inventor
brought bundles from the hut and placed them in the car.
“Phwat do yez think now ?” asked Barney, when they
bad looked it over quite thoroughly. “Will she sail ?”
"She will rise. in the air, like an ordinary balloon,” said
Frank; “but I am not satisfied that the rudders and sails
will work.”
“I will soon satisfy you on that point,” said the pro-
fessor, who happened to be near enough to overhear their
words.
Immediately he set about explaining everything in
cormection with the handling of the singular craft, and
it did not take him long to make it seem an assured thing
that the Eagle could be steered in almost any direction,
and that, with the aid of horizontal rudders, she could be
brought to the ground or sent soaring into the air, with-
out a change of ballast or the body of gas.
Frank was intensely interested.
“It is remarkable, professor !” he cried. “Scotch made
a mistake when he refused to accompany you on your
trial trip.”
“Ha! You are a boy of sense! Saw it the first time
my eye rested on you. I will make you famous.”
Frank looked surprised.
“How ?”
“You shall accompany me on my trial .trip.”
“How long will it be ?”
“As long, or as short as we choose to make it. VVhat
do you say? Decide quickly. I am eager to be off.”
“Can you take Barney along ?”


104 The Mad lnventor.
“I can, but two is enough. I do not care for too many.”
“Can you drop us in Blake by nightfall?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if you will take us both, we’ll go along, profes-
sor.”
Scudmore considered, his right elbow resting in the
hollow of his left hand, the long forefinger of his right
hand touching his forehead.
“I will do it !” he cried, with a snap. “Get in. We’ll
lose no more time. In a few moments we shall be sailing
away like a bird.”
“Here goes, Frankie,” grinned the Irish lad. Av we’re
both killed, Oi want yez to tell me ould mither how Oi
died.”
They entered the car, and Scudmore prepared to cast
off. He was full of anxiety and excitement.
At length but a single rope held the now swaying and
surging air ship to the ground.
“Here goes the last strand that ties us to earth !” cried
the professor, as, with the slash of a knife he severed the
rope.
Up shot the air ship.
“Ha! ha! ha !” laughed the inventor. “Who said I
would fail! We are off !”
“Thot’s all right,” muttered Barney; “but will we ivver
come back ?”
“Look!” cried Frank, pointing downward; “there is
Professor Scotch! We are already passing over the
town.”
It was true; in a remarkably brief space of time the
air ship had sailed out of the glen and was rising above
the town. Looking downward, they saw Professor Scotch
and a number of persons, including Walter Clyde and
two rough-looking companions, staring up at the Eagle.
“Good-by, professor,” shouted Frank, leaning out Oi


The Mad Inventor. :05
ll
the car and waving his hat. We're ofi in search of the
last of the Danites.”
They saw the professor dance wildly around and beckon
to them. Then his voice came faintly to their ears:
“Here, here, you rascals! come right back here this
minute! If you don’t, I shall have to-—-—”
They could understand no more, for the swiftly rising
air ship carried them beyond the reach of his voice.
Professor Scudmore was chuckling to himself, as he
worked at the apparatus which controlled the sails and
rudders.
“It is a success, and my fortune is made !” he was say-
ing. “I shall become richer than ]ay Gould ever was!
Ha! ha! ha! I shall not only be rich, but I shall be hon-
ored!”
“Oi don’t loike th’ way he is actin’, Frankie,” whispered
Barney. “Thot laugh does not sound natural at all, at
all.”
“You are right,” admitted Frank. “Is it possible we
have started out on this kind of a cruise with a man whose
brain has been turned ?”
“It may be thot.”
“The situation will not be at all pleasant if it turns out
that way.”
“He is getting control av t-h’ ship. See how he handles
her now, me b’y.”
It was true that the inventor was getting control of the
Eagle, and he was beginning to “put her through her
paces,” as it were. He ran before the wind, then lufied
and took first one tack and then the other. The remark-
able craft behaved very well.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the professor, wildly. “I am
the king of the air! I am the first man to make a suc-
Owsful air ship. The world and all its countries are minei


106 The Mad Inventor.
l
El can destroy armies and change the destiny of nations!
El am the greatest man who ever lived !”
“By Jove!” muttered Frank, in alarm; “I believe the
man is going mad !”
“It looks loike thot,” admitted the Irish boy.
“In which case, this will be the worst scrape we ever got
into, Barney. " That is plain enough to see.”
“Roight, me laddybuck! An’ th’ professor will soay it
wur judgment on us fer runnin’ away.”
“He will. But we ought to be able to handle this man
between us, if it comes to a struggle with him.”
“We can; but can we handle th’ ship afther thot, Oi
dunno?”
“That is fa question we cannot answer till we try the
trick. But there 'may be no trouble at all with Scudmore
if we do not anger him.”
Below them lay a wild panorama of broken country,
through which ran Green River to plunge deep into the
winding mazes of Labyrinth Canyon, away to the south-
ward.
Away to the west, beyond the San Rafael Swell, rose
the Wasatch Mountains; being much nearer than the
Rockies to the eastward, and, therefore, looking nearly as
lofty.
To the north were Desolation Canyon and the Roan
Cliffs, the latter rising brown and bleak at the southern
boundary of the Ute Reservation.
To the south of mighty Colorado, rolling through
the dark depths of canyons which seemed to sink deep into
the bowels of the earth. Farther to the south, beyond the
Fremont, which as yet could not be seen, Mount Pennell
lifted its snow-capped summit eleven thousand feet in the
air.
Mount Pennell was in the verv heart of the mountain


The Mad Inventor. I01
region in which the last of the Destroying Angels had
found homes.
"Professor !” said Frank, speaking gently.
“Hal ha!” muttered the inventor, as he threw over a
lever and sent the Eagle scooting in a breathless sweep
toward the earth. “She is like a bird! Up or down, to the
right or left, she will sail in any direction.”
“Professor !”
“Don’t bother me now—don’t bother me !” he almost
snarled.
“I was a fool to take you along! I should have re-
tained all the honor for myself. Now you will share it.
It will be published all over the world that you accom-
panied Professor Scudmore on his trial trip in his won-
derful air ship.”
He glared at them a moment, as if he longed to cast
them overboard, and then the handling of the craft claimed
his entire attention.
“How do yez loike it, Frankie, me b’y ?” asked Bamey,
with a sly nudge at his companion.
“It is decidedly uncomfortable.” ‘
“Phwat shall we do—jump th’ son-av-a-goon at
wance?”
“Nothing of the sort. We will keep still, as if we are:
quite satisfied and content. I will draw him into conver-
sation when I think it proper, and he may be brought
round all right.”
So the boys remained silent and passive, one of them
constantly watching Scudmore, so that they might not
be taken by surprise, in case he took a fancy to attack
them.
He continued to mutter and talk to himself, now
and then laughing in a way that was not pleasant to hear.
The boys fell to wondering what the various bundles


108 The Mad Inventor.
contained. Opening one of them, covertly, they found it
was a supply of dried beef.
“Great shmoke!” gasped Barney. “He has laid in a
supply av provisions to larrust a wake!”
Frank nodded.
“It looks that way; but these things are not all pro
visions. See there at his side—one of those bundles coi.
tains firearms, for you may see the muzzles of two rifles
protruding. I fancy the bundle next to that contains am-
munition.”
“Whoy, thot's enoogh to shtock a small arumy, Fran-
kie!”
“A man like Professor Scudmore has very little notion
as to what he needs or desires, and so he is liable to ob-
tain four or five times what is necessary.”
“Are you talking of me?” harshly demanded the in-
ventor. “Then speak up distinctly. I may think you are
plotting against me—plotting to keep me from reaching
the land beyond the ice.”
“The land beyond the ice?” cried Frank.
“That is what I said.”
“Well, what did you mean? Whither are we bound?”
“For the South Pole,” was the answer. Ha! ha! ha!
We will pass over the ice floes and reach the land beyond
them l’’


CHAPTER XVII.
GONE.
All that day and far into the night the mad inventor
held control of the flying-machine, refusing to listen to
reason or argument, and keeping the boys at bay.
Some time in the night he fell asleep, and, when he
awoke, he was enraged to find himself bound hands and
feet, while the boys were trying to handle the Eagle.
“Let me go!” howled the mad professor. “You will
send us to destruction! You will plunge us to ruin!”
“Keep still !” commanded Frank, sternly. “You are no
longer master here.”
“Villain!” screamed the helpless man; “I know your
scheme ! You mean to steal the Eagle! You mean to get
rid of me, and then you will steal the work of my brain
and hands !”
“Don’t fool yourself. If I ever get to solid ground
again, you may have your old air ship and sail away to
the South Pole with it. I am figuring on getting back to
Blake.”
“Te, hel” laughed the madman, suddenly. “Is that all
you ask? Why, it is very easy to fix that matter.”
His voice was full of craft and deception.
“How would you fix it?” asked Frank.
“Set me at liberty, and I will take you back there.”
“That sounds all right, but it is plain enough that you
cannot be trusted. I prefer to experiment a little my-
self, before letting you have charge again.”
“And you will bring us all to destruction!”


no Gone.
“Possibly I may. Keep still now, while I study out the
working of these levers and wheels.”
But Scudmore would not keep still. He shouted and
talked, urging them to release him, begging and threat-
ening by turns. .
Meanwhile Frank and Barney were studying over the
levers and wheels, and they finally discovered how to
send the air ship down toward the earth, which lay asleep
in the white moonlight.
They were directly over a mountainous region, having
been soaring over the loftiest peaks. The boys were
somewhat benumbed by the chilly air, but, as they came
nearer to the earth, this numbness passed away.
“Are yez goin’ ter land here, Frankie?” asked Barney,
anxiously.
“I don’t know,” was the answer. “If we should hap-
pen to see a town--—”
“Where do yez think we are ?”
“That is another thing I don’t know.”
Down they went until Frank conceived a notion that
they were near enough to the earth; but when he tried
to reverse the lever and ascend again, it would not work.
“Ha! ha! ha !” laughed the inventor. “It is retribu-
tion! We shall be smashed into a thousand pieces when
we strike. You will never steal the Eagle from me !”
Frank worked with all his energy, for they were sweep-
ing toward the earth at an alarming rate of speed.
The laughter of the deranged professor rang out louder
and wilder than ever.
“Oi think we’re in fer it, me b’y!” gasped Barney.
“It looks like that,” confessed Frank, as they barely
cleared the crest of a mountain and went diving down
into the unknown depths of a valley. “This confounded
fllinggl7


Gone. I i I
Snap !—something broke, and their swift descent was
suddenly checked, but they continued to settle gently.
“Ah!” breathed Frank, with relief. “If this keeps up,
we’ll come down all right.”
“But it’s nivver a bit can we tell where we’ll land, me
laddybuck.”
“ , . . . 1
Well have the satisfaction of getting on so id ground
again, at least. I am yearning to feel it beneath my feet
once more.”
It was not long before the Eagle sank gently into the
valley, settling to the ground as lightly as a bird.
Out leaped the boys, ropes in their hands, and they
quickly made the air ship fast.
“Well, we are still living,” said Frank.
“It’s mesilf thot belaves we’ve much to be thankful
fer,” declared Barney.
“I wonder where we are, and how near we are to civili-
zation. I am inclined to believe we cannot be far from
the very region where the colony of Danites is said to be
located.”
‘C ' '79 ' (( ‘,
Suffering cats. gasped the Irish boy. If tho. is the
case, how are we ivver goin’ to get out av here?”
“We’ll have to trust to luck.”
“Oi’ll nivver thrust mesilf to thot air ship again.”
“I do not care to do so, but we may have to do so
whether we want to or not.”
(( Y
Well, we have enough to ate, an some guns to protict
oursilves with. Oi am fer ixplorin’ th’ country before we
do anything ilse.”
“We can’t do any exploring to-night.”
“But we can early in th’ marnin’.”
“S0 they provided themselves with two of the rifles,
plenty of ammunition, and much of the provisions in the
C31‘.


Gone. r 13
“Ye can’t be aisy wid his koind, me b’y. There’s no
tellin’ phwat they’ll do.”
“That is true; but it is our duty to handle him as gently
as possible. He is a most unfortunate man. His air
‘hip seems an assured success, and yet he has lost his
reason working over it.”
The boys arose and passed round the bushes, Frank
being in advance. A cry of wonder and amazement broke
from Merriwell’s lips.
“The air ship!” he gasped.
“Phwat’s th’ matter ?” asked Barney, quickly.
“It’s gone!”


CHAPTER XVIII.
MISKEL.
“Gone l”
“That’s what!”
“Where?”
“Sailed away.”
It was true that the Eagle was not where they had left
it the night before, and, looking all around, they could find
no trace of it.
“Thot bates me !”
The knees of the Irish boy seemed to weaken beneath
him, and he sank in a limp heap on the ground.
“It beats the band !”
Frank was scarcely less broken up than his companion.
“How did it happen, Frankie? Th’ ould thing didn’t
go off av itsilf, did it ?”
“Not much !”
“Phwat thin?”
“Professor Scudmore must have succeeded in releasing
himself.”
“Roight, lad; an’ thin he skipped.”
“As soon as he was free, he sailed away in the Eagle,
and we are left here in the heart of this mountainous
region.”
“Oi’m homesick! Oi wish Oi hadn’t come !”
Frank laughed.
“This is not the worst scrape we have been in, by any
means. We’ll pull out of this, with our usual good luck.”
But a feeling of loneliness and desolation did settle
heavily upon them, for all that Frank made an eiTor* to


. Miskel. i :5
throw it ofi. The mountains lifted their heads on every
hand like mighty sentries that hemmed them in, and they
felt shut off from all the rest of the world.
When they fully realized that Professor Scudmore had
released himself and escaped in the air ship, they walked
round the place where the Eagle had been left the night
before, but they discovered nothing beyond some severed
bits of rope. .
Then Frank became philosophical.
“We may as well take it easy,” he said. “It is useless
to make a fuss about it. Here we are, and-”
“Where we are Oi dunno!”
“You know quite as well as I do, old man.”
“All roight. Phwat will we do ?”
“Find some water to wash down our breakfast
to start with. After we have eaten, we will feel better.
Then we can settle on what we’ll do next.”
By rare good luck, they were near a spring of clear
water, and it was found without trouble.
“It was fortunate we took the rifles and provisions out
of the car last night,” said Frank. 
“Thot it wur,” nodded Barney. .
For all of their situation, they ate heartily, and, break-
fast over, they felt better. Then they sat and talked the
matter over a while, finally deciding to make an effort to
get somewhere, and trust to fortune.
With the aid of the pieces of rope, they tied the pro-
visions into bundles, which were easily carried, and be-
fore long they struck out.
Barney trusted everything to Frank who took the lead,
and they headed for what seemed to be an outlet to the
valley, away to the west.
During the next five days the boys passed through a
few adventures, none of which, however, have any bear-
ing on this story. They wandered round and round amid


II6 Miskel.
the mountains, finally coming back to the valley from
which they had started.
This was discouraging, but they started over again,
and they finally came to a narrow cut that seemed to lead
to the very heart of the mountain that loomed be-
-Dre them.
“We will try it,” said Frank, leading the way.
They passed through the cut, after traveling many
miles, and came into a vast basin, with mountains loom-
ing on every hand.
“Pwhat do yez think, me b'y?” asked the Irish lad.
“It is not easy to tell what to think,” was the reply.
“However, I fear we are in Water Pocket Canyon.”
“Phwat about Water Pocket Canyon?”
“It is said to be fifty miles in length to ten or fifteen
in width, and to have no outlets.”
“Well, this can’t be th’ place, me by, fer it has an out-
let roight here.”
“But one that would not be easy to find, and so it
might go forth there were no outlets to the place.”
“Begorra! it looks loike we naded Profissor Scudmore's
floying-machane to git out av this scrape.”
“It does look that way. We seem to be getting tangled
more and more. All we can do is to make the attempt
to get out.”
“Av this is Warter Pocket Canyon, we may not be able
to foind this pass if we lave it.”
“We will mark the spot some way.”
“How P”
“That is the question. Wait till I find a way.”
It was not easy, but Frank finally decided that he could
tell the mountain through the base of which the pass had
seemed to wind.
Then they went into the wild and picturesque valley,


I 18 Miskel.
There were other enemies who had sprung up along his
path, but they seemed like shadows in comparison to the
ones of his school days.
Following these came others, and the dark look faded
from his countenance. He saw Bart Hodge, who had
once been his bitter enemy, but who had become his
stanchest friend. Hodge held out a hand to him, as if
longing to render aid in this hour of need.
Then came scores of others, the cadets at Fardale, the
professors, and, last of all, the girls who had admired him
and believed him noble and true.
Elsie Bellwood smiled at him sadly, and pointed to a
mighty barrier that lay between them; Kate Kenyon tried
to reach him, and then drew back, with a hopeless shake
of her head; others came and flitted past, and last of all
Inza Burrage was there, holding out her hands to him,
her dark eyes full of trust.
“Inza I’’
The name fell from his lips, and it aroused him. Bar-
ney had fallen asleep, and was snoring beside the fire.
But what was that? Did he still dream?
Just beyond the fire, within the outer circle of light,
stood a girl!
Frank rubbed his eyes and looked again.
She was still there, and she was pressing a finger to
her lips, as if asking for silence.
“Great Scott!” muttered Frank, in a dazed way.
“Sh!” came back across the fire. “Do not wake him.”
She motioned toward the sleeping Irish lad.
Frank pinched himself.
“Yes, I am awake myself,” he said, guardedly. “And
it is a girl—a pretty girl at that! How in the name of
all that is wonderful does it happen there is a girl here?”
“You have no time to ask questions,” came back
Q


Miskel. I i9
swiftly, in a low, musical voice. “You are in a bad snare,
Frank Merriwell.”
The boy started violently.
“How is it that you know my name ?” he demanded,
astonished beyond measure.
“I tell you you. have no time to ask questions. Why
did you come here ?”
“You seem inclined to ask questions. I came because
I could not help it.”
“That is not true. You came to search for the hiding
place of the last of the Danites. You may as well con-
fess it.”
“But I tell you I had no idea of coming here when I
started.”
“I know more than your name, Frank Merriwell; I
know that you were eager to come in search of the place
where Uric Dugan and a few of his former friends have
hidden themselves from the world, hoping to remain there
in peace to the end of their days.”
Frank was filled with wonder unutterable.
“Are you a supernatural creature—a phantom ?” he de-
manded. “If not, how do you know that I ever heard of
Uric Dugan ?”
“I am not the only one who knows. Uric Dugan and
his companions know it. They are ready for you, and
you have walked into their snare. You are meshed.”
“What do you mean by that ?”
“I mean that there is not one chance in ten thousand
that you will ever be able to escape alive.”
“By Jove! the prospect is pleasant !”
“I am in earnest. The pass by which you entered this
basin is already guarded, and you cannot get out that
way.”
“Then we will have to get out some other way.”


I20 Miskel.
tr
There is but one other way, and that is also guarded.
Do you see you are snared?”
“If you are not mistaken, it looks that way. What
can I do ?” .
The girl made a despairing gesture.
i “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I have begged them to
spare you—to shed no more blood; but they say it is ab-
solutely necessary in order that we may continue to live
here in peace. The world at large must not know where
to find the last of the Danites.”
“If I give my pledge-———”
“It will not be accepted. You are not the first to stray
in here. Not one of them has ever gone away to tell the
tale.”
Frank shuddered a bit, beginning to realize that the
situation was indeed a desperate one.
“If there is no chance for us to escape, why are you
here to tell us?”
“I could not help warning you. I saw your fire twin-
kling, and I knew that you would sleep beside it. In the
night death would come down upon you, and you would
never awaken.”
“Jupiter! That is interesting! I won’t sleep for 3.
week.”
“Ah, but you cannot escape, even though you never
again close your eyes in sleep. You can only avoid your
doom for a little time. My heart is full of pity for you,
but I am unable to do anything.”
Her voice told him that she was sincere, and Frank
thrilled with gratitude toward her.
“Who are you?” he asked.
ll ' !7
I am Miskel, she answered.
“Miskell What an odd name! But you seem to be


Miskel. I2 I
a most remarkable girl. How does it happen that you
are here?”
“My father is one of the last of the Danites, and I live
here with him.”
“Your father—who is he?”
“Uric Dugan l”


CHAPTER XIX.
OLD SOLITARY.
:
Frank uttered a low cry, causing Barney to start up.
“Pwhat's th’ matter?” asked the Irish boy, reaching for
his rifle. “Is it Injuns, Oi dunno?”
“Easy, Barney!” cried Frank. “You will frighten her
away from—Caesar's ghost! She's gone!”
“Pwhat's thot? Who is she, me by? Is it dramin'
ye wur, or have ye wheels in yer head?”
“Neither. She was here a moment ago, and I was
talking with her.”
“Who is She?”
“Miskel.”
“An’ a broth av a name thot is ! It's wheels ye have in
yer head, me by; Oi can hear thim goin’ round.”
Frank sprang up and passed round the fire.
“She disappeared like a phantom. I cannot under-
stand how she came here, or how she went away so
swiftly.”
Not a trace of her could be seen.
All at once, Frank whirled about and kicked the burn-
ing brands in all directions.
* “That fire shall provide no beacon for Uric Dugan and
the Danites!” exclaimed the boy.
“Pwhat do yez mane by thot?” asked the puzzled Irish
lad. “Is it daft ye have gone all at wance?”
Frank came swiftly to the side of his companion, a
hand falling on Barney's shoulder, as he said:
“We must get out of this, for it is likely our fire has


Old Solitary. 123
been seen by the Danites, who are somewhere near at
hand.”
“How do yez know thot, Frankie?”
“Know it? Why, she told me. She was here a min-
ute ago, and you frightened her away when you awoke.”
Barney looked at his friend in a doubting way.
“Be aisy now, Frankie, and if ye can’t be aisy, whoy jist
be aisy as ye can. This loife has affected yer brain, me
b'y.” -
Frank saw Barney really thought he spoke the truth.
“You are wrong,” he said. “I will explain what 1
mean, and I assure you that I am in my sober senses.”
Whereupon, he told Barney everything, and the Irish
lad listened with drooping jaw.
“Th’ saints protict us!” he cried. “Pwhat are we
goin’ to do, Frankie?”
“Get out of this before Uric Dugan and his gang make
us a call.”
“They move swiftly as an arrow, and strike deep and
sure. You have no time to spare.”
The voice was hollow and blood-chilling, coming out of
the darkness as from the depths of a mighty cavern, caus-
ing both lads to whirl, clutching their weapons, ready for
an attack.
“Who is there?” challenged Frank, sharply.
“One who will do you no harm,” was the answer.
“And I alone am able to save you from Uric Dugan.”
“Who are you?”
“I am known as Old Solitary.”
Not far away could be seen the figure of a man, who
seemed to be leaning on a stout staff. He made no
menacing move. -
Barney's teeth were chattering.
“Tin to wan it is th’ Ould By himsilf!” gasped the
Irish lad.


124 Old Solitary.
Barney was very superstitious. While he was not
afraid of anything made of flesh and blood, whatever
seemed supernatural filled him with the greatest terror.
“Steady,” warned Frank. “It is a human being, and
he seems to be alone. One man will not harm us.”
“Not av he is a man.”
“I am a man, and I mean you no harm,” declared the
same deep voice. “If you will trust me, I may be able
to save you. Look—I will advance, and you may keep
your weapons turned upon me.”
The figure came forward through the gloom, and in a
few moments he stood close at hand, so they could see he
was a man whose head was bare, and whose white beard
flowed over his chest. What seemed to be a staff at first
glance, proved to be a long-barreled rifle.
Barney was intensely relieved.
“It must be Santy Claus himsilf!” exclaimed the Irish
lad.
“You must not linger here,” said the stranger. “Even
now the Destroying Ones may be moving to fall upon
you. They would wipe you from the face of the earth, as
they have wiped away hundreds and thousands. They
are terrible, and they are merciless. Their tongues are
forked, and the poison of adders lies beneath their lips.
For the Gentile they know not mercy. If the Mormon
Church decrees that they destroy the babe at its mother's
breast, they snatch it away and dash out its brains. On
their knees innocent girls have pleaded in vain to be
spared. Fathers and mothers have fallen before them.
Old men with snowy hair have been slaughtered without
pity. And chief among these inhuman monsters is Du-
gan of the dark face. I know him, and I know that his
heart is made of adamant. But he shall not always escape
the wrath to come. His days are numbered, and the days


Old Solitary. 125
of his merciless comrades are numberedl All are ‘doomed!
Not one shall escape !”
“Easy, old man !” warned Frank. “Do you wish to
bring them upon us? I shall think you are in league
with them.”
“Not I ! Come; I will lead you to a place of safety.”
The boys hesitated.
“Shall we thrust th’ spalpane ?” whispered Barney,
doubtfully.
“I don’t see as we can do better,” returned Frank.
“VVe must take chances.”
“He may be wan av th’ Danites, me b’y.”
“He may be, but something tells me he is not.”
“Thin how does it happen thot he is here ?”
“That is something you can answer as well as I. Come,
we will follow him. Keep your weapons ready for in-
stant use.”
So they followed, and, old man though he was, they
found it no easy task, for he moved with a swinging cat-
like step that carried him swiftly over the ground.
All at once, he turned, with a low hiss, motioned for
them to follow, and, crouching low, crept behind some
bowlders.
The boys followed, ready for a trap.
When they were behind the bowlders, the stranger
whispered:
“They are coming—I hear their footsteps afar. They
come swiftly, but they will not find their prey. They are
the last of the Danites, and they are in hiding here amid
these mountains, but they have not forgotten how to strike
and destroy. Crouch low, keep still, and you shall see
them pass.”
It seemed that the old man’s ears must be good, for it
was quite a while before the boys heard a sound. At


126 Old Solitary.
length, with a sudden rush of feet, six or eight dark
figures flitted past and quickly disappeared.
“They come like shadows, and like shadows they go,”
softly breathed Old Solitary. “The day has passed for-
ever when their power is felt and dreaded throughout
Utah. Once they were far more dreadful than a pesti-
lence. Started upon the trail of a man who had been
doomed by the church, there was not one chance in ten
thousand for him to escape. No man could seek his bed
at night and be sure he would not become the victim of
the Destroying Angels before dawn. No man could be
sure he had not done something to offend Brigham
Young. If by any means he became aware that the de-
cree of death’ had been made against him, it was no bet-
ter than useless for him to take to flight. He might flee
to the desert, but the Destroyers tracked iam through
shifting sands and across waterless wastes till he was
run to earth and his body was left for the vultures and
coyotes. If he plunged into the mountains, the canyons
and ravines were not deep enough or dark enough to hide
him from the keen eyes of the death-dealers on his track.
Knowing his doom had been decreed, he might flee madly
from his home and his loved ones, his heart alternating
between hope and despair, knowing all the while that
those deadly pursuers were on his track, hurrying on and
on when he was in desperate need of rest, fearing to close
his eyes in sleep, lest he open them to look upon his mur-
derers, weak for want of food, his throat parched for a
swallow of water, his blood pouring like melted lead
through his veins, his brain on fire, and still all his strug-
gles were unavailing. Relentless, unwearying, blood-
thirsty and sure as death, the Destroying Ones tracked
him down. He might begin to fancy that he had escaped,
that he had thrown them off his trail. At last, overcome


Old Solitary. 127
by his terrible exertions, he might sleep, feeling certain
that in a few more hours he would be beyond their reach.
They would come upon him like shadows, and they would
leave him weltering in his gore. A curse they have been,
and a curse they shall remain till the last one of them all
is perished from the face of the fair earth which they
have polluted.”
The boys were spellbound by the intense language of
the strange man. All fears that he might be one of the
Danites departed from their minds.
“Begobs!” gasped Barney; “it’s Satan's oun brewing
they must bel”
“Come,” said Old Solitary, “we must move on again.
They will not find you, and the morning will see them on
your trail.”
“If what you say is true, it were better to be trailed by
bloodhounds or wild Indians,” said Frank.
“Far better. The Destroying Ones hastened to the
slaughter with no more mercy in their hearts than is to
be found in the heart of a fierce Apache. If they were
instructed to kill, they believed it their duty—more than
that, they would suffer the tortures of hell if they shirked
or shrank from committing the deed.”
“Oi’m not faling well at all, at all!” sighed Barney.
“An' it's caught we are in a place where such craythurs
bel Och, hone! Whoy didn’t we shtay with th’ pro-
fissor ?”
Old Solitary again flitted away, and they hastened
along at his heels. Now he was silent of lip and silent
of foot. He seemed more like a shadow than anything
else. -
For more than an hour he led them forward ***** *
swiftness, and then they came to a small strear


CHAPTER XX.
MOUTH OF THE CAVE.
After a time, Old Solitary lighted a torch, and they
were enabled to follow him with greater ease.
He led them into a circular chamber, where there was
a bed of grass and some rude furniture of his own man-
ufacture.
“This is my home,” declared the strange man. “For
the present, you are safe here; but there is no way of
getting out of here without passing through territory
where the Danites will be found.”
“Then we are still in the meshes,” said Frank.
“You are still in the very heart of Danite land.”
“If what you say is true, then we cannot be safe here,
for those human beasts know we are somewhere in the
net, and they will find us, no matter what our hiding
place may be.”
“That is true, but it will take time, and they fear me.
They will not rush hither. You may sleep without fear
to-night.”
“Surely we have need enough of sleep.”
“Then do not hesitate to slumber, for I need little sleep,
and I will see that no harm comes to you.”
Frank would have questioned the man, but when he
tried to do so in a manner that would not be offensive,
Old Solitary suddenly became dumb, paying no heed to
anything that was said.
Frank and Barney talked for a long time. They were
impressed with the belief that they were in the gravest
peril, and yet they could do nothing more to save them-


Mouth of the Cave. 13 I
selves till the opportunity came. To a large extent, they
were in the hands of fate.
Never before in all his life had Frank been utterly con-
trolled by a feeling of utter inability to avert destruction
by any effort of his own, even though his hands were free
and he was armed. It seemed as if they had been doomed
and were in a snare from which there could be no pos-
sible escape.
Everything must be trusted to Old Solitary, that was
certain. Feeling thus, Frank flung himself down on the
bed of grass, and was soon sleeping soundly.
It did not take Barney long to follow the example of
his friend. -
They slept for hours. When they awoke the torch had
burned out, and the chilly darkness of the cave was
dense around them.
“I wonder where Old Solitary is?” said Frank.
They called to him and their voices echoed hollowly
along the passages.
No answer came.
“Begorra!” cried the Irish boy; “It looks loike he had
left us to Oursilves.”
“It does seem that way,” admitted Frank.
Our hero remembered seeing in a niche the night be-
fore a collection of sticks that he fancied were for torches,
and so, lighting a rhatch, he sought them. He had made
no mistake, for one of them lighted readily.
“Our weapons are all right,” he said, having made an
examination. “It is probable that Old Solitary will soon
return.”
They waited an hour, but the strange man did not ap-
pear. Both grew restless, and finally started out to ex-
plore the cave.
With the aid of the torch, they picked their way along
one of the passages. They were surprised at the distance


132 Mouth of the Cave.
S
traveled, and wondered when and where they would
come out.
Finally, a gleam of light was seen ahead, and, as they
came nearer, the torch was extinguished.
Climbing up a steep slope, they lay on their stomachs
and peered out into the depths of a. circular pocket.that
was inclosed by mountains on three sides.
An exclamation broke from the lips of both.
"A camp!” cried Frank.
“It’s a town, me b’y!” Barney almost shouted. “We’re
all roight, afther all !”
“Easy!” cautioned Merriwell, quickly. “Keep your
voice down. It is a town, but it is not the kind of a town
we care to enter.”
“Pwhat’s th’ matther wid it?”
“It is the town of the Danites. This is their retreat,
where they have hidden themselves from the rest of the
world.”
Barney was soon convinced that Frank was right, and
the boys drew back a bit, taking care not to be seen by
anybody below them.
There was a collection of eight buildings upon which
the morning sun was shining, six of which were dwelling
houses, and two of which seemed to be stables. Taken
all together, they made quite a little village.
The doors of many of the houses were open, and men
were seen lounging about. Occasionally a woman could
be seen, and there were a few children at play.
"Here live the last of the terrible organization that has
shed the blood of hundreds of Gentiles,” said Frank.
“These men were known to be leaders, and the fate of
John D. Lee was a warning to them. They saw the
church could no longer protect them, and so they fled
here. It is possible that some of those old men down


Mouth of the Cave. 133
there were concerned in the Mountain Meadow Massa-
ere.”
“It’s the divvil’s own set they are, to be sure.”
“They have never hesitated to shed blood, and our
lives will not be worth a pinch of snuff if we fall into
their hands.”
“Pwhat are we goin’ to do ?”
“That remains to be seen. For the present, we seem
to be safe where we are. It is plain this cave extends
through a spur of the mountain, and we are looking out
on a side far from where we entered. It is also possible
that, even now, some of these creatures may be climbing
to the other entrance.”
“Howly shmoke !”
“I said possible, not probable. I am trusting much to
Old Solitary.”
The boys lay there a long time, talking and peering
down into the village of the Danites. They did not see a
lithe, agile figure that was climbing in their direction. At
length, having climbed as far as possible, this figure
reached a stopping place, still below and at one side.
“Great shnakes !” gasped Barney, clutching F rank’s
arm. “Will yez take a look at thot !”
He pointed toward the figure.
“Caesar’s ghost! It is Miskel!”
“Pwhat is she doin’ there, me b’y?”
“She seemed to be looking this way. I wonder if
she has seen us here ?”
“Oi dunno.”
“She acts as if she has.”
“Thot she does.”
“She is hidden from the camp below by that mass of
bowlders beside her, and she acts as if she were trying to
keep out of sight of them down there.”
“Pwhat’s thot she has in her hand?”


Mouth of the Cave. I35
The last sentence filled both boys with the utmost
wonder and perplexity.
“What does it mean?” asked Frank.
“Thot Oi’ll nivver tell !” cried Barney.
“My friends? Whom can she mean? Who is it that
is already within the snare ?”
“Ax me something aisy!”
“And the Danites know where we are hidden !”
“Thot’s pwhat she says, av ye read it roight.”
“It is very comforting to know it! Uric Dugan fears
Old Solitary, but there are others who do not.”
ll ! U
It s the others we nade to be afeared av, me lad.
“You are right. We must be constantly on our guard.
Both of us must not sleep at the same time; we must
take turns at sleeping. In that way we should be able
to know when they try to come upon us, and we will sell
our lives as dearly as possible.”
“Av we’ve got to doie, Oi’d loike to wipe out the gang
av spalpanes down there.” ,
“Were they other than the murderous wretches they
are, I should feel pity for them; but, as it is, there is no
pity in my heart. It is a just retribution that they are
outcast from their fellow-creatures, are forced to hide like
hunted beasts, that they live in terror each day and each
night of their lives.”
“But this will nivver tell us who our friends are thot
have entered th’ snare, Frankie.” .
“No; nor do I know how we are to find out.”
“Th’ girrul ”
“Is descending.”
“It was true. Having accomplished her purpose in
climbing up there, Miskel was descending. She was as
sure-footed and agile as a mountain goat, and it was 1
pleasure to watch her.


136 Mouth of the Cave.
“Frankie, she is a jool! An’ do yez soay her fayther is
ould Uric Dugan hissilf?”
“So she told me.”
“It’s a shame! Av it weren’t fer thot, Oi’d thry me
hand at makin’ a mash on th’ loikes av her.”
Frank was silent; he seemed to be thinking.
“I have it!” he finally cried, striking his hands together.
“Kape it,” advised Barney. “It’s th’ ounly thing ye’re
loikely to get around this place, my laddybuck.”
“By my friends she must have meant Walter Clyde and
his companions, Graves and" Kerney. They have had
time to cruise down the river, and they are here. “I’ll
wager that I am right !”
“Ye may be. But soay! Look down there. So hilp
me, there come some ay th’ spalpanes, an’ they have a
prisoner!”
Barney was right. Several Danites were entering the
pocket, conducting in their midst a captive. He was a
small man, with red hair and whiskers.
“Heavens above!” gasped Frank, thunderstruck. “It’s
Professor Scotch !”


138 Human Beasts.
running for his life! But he cannot escape! They are
hot after him.”
It was true. The little man had made a desperate
break for liberty, but it was folly to do so, as the Danites
Soon overtook him. One of them, a stout man, with a
short white beard, held a revolver in his hand. He re-
versed the weapon, grasping it by the barrel, and struck
the professor down with the butt.
The sight made Frank's blood boil.
l, “I will remember that wretch!” grated the boy, his
eyes glowing. “If we do not get out of here, I may be
able to square a score with him!”
Barney was scarcely less wrought up.
“Poor profissor!” he exclaimed. “It's loikely the div-
vils will finish him now.”
The Danites stood over the man, who had fallen on his
face, and lay in a huddled heap. They were talking
loudly and making excited gestures. It was plain that
they were discussing the advisability of dispatching Pro-
fessor Scotch without delay, and, judging from his move-
ments, the man with the short white beard was for fin-
ishing him without delay. Twice the man pointed his
revolver at the prostrate figure, and twice a younger man
seemed to urge him to spare the unlucky man's life.
“If he shoots, I'll try a shot at him from here!” cried
Frank. “I may not be able to reach him, but I'll try it.”
A third time the man pointed his revolver at the mo-
tionless form of the man who lay huddled on the ground.
This time no one of the group interfered; all stood
back, and the younger man, who had twice saved
Scotch's life, turned away, plainly unwilling to witness
the deed.
“He’s going to shoot!” panted Frank, pulling forward
his rifle, and bringing it to his shoulder. “I will 95


Human Beasts. 139
“Wait a bit, me by. Look there! Th’ litthle girrul is
thrying to save him.”
“God bless her !”
Miskel had rushed into the midst of the men, and she
was seen pleading with the man who seemed determined
- to kill the professor. At first, it seemed that she would
fail, but she finally prevailed, and the man put up his
weapon, with a gesture of angry impatience. Then he
seemed to give some orders, and the unconscious cap-
tive was lifted and carried toward the camp.
“He is saved for the time,” breathed Frank, with re-
lief; “but it is simply a respite.”
“Thot is betther than nothing, me by.”
“Yes, it is better than nothing. Barney, I have a
Scheme.” -
“Spake out, Frankie. Me ears are woide open to-
night.” -
“If they spare Professor Scotch till to-night, we will
go down there and attempt his rescue.”
“Oi'm wid yes, me by, to th’ ind.”
They watched the men bear the unfortunate professor
into the camp, and noted carefully the building into which
the man was taken.
“We must make no mistake to-night, Barney. It is
our duty to do our best to save Professor Scotch.”
“An' we'll do our duty av we nivver do anything ilse,
begorra!”
“You are bold lads,” said a voice behind them; “but
you cannot save him from Uric Dugan.”
They whirled swiftly, and found Old Solitary had
come up behind them, without being heard.
“I found you had awakened,” said the strange man;
“and I wondered if you had come here.”
“And we wondered where you had gone.”
“I went forth to see what I should see,” he said, in a


Human Beasts. I4 I
Uric Dugan hates and fears me. I do not care for that;
it gives me satisfaction. Still I do not know why it gives
me satisfaction, for it pains me when others shrink away in
fear. Dugan would kill me if he could, and still he seems
to regard me as one risen from death. Can you tell me
why?”
He paused, looking at them in an inquiring way.
“You can’t tell,” came swiftly from his lips, as Frank
was about to speak. “No one can tell. I do not know
myself. My memory is broken into a thousand frag-
ments. Some things I remember well; some things I do
not remember at all. There was a time when I was
young, and I had friends. Who were my friends?
What has happened to rob me of my memory? I be-
lieve Uric Dugan can tell me. If I had not believed so,
Dugan should have died long ago. Scores of times I
have held his life in the hollow of my hand. I have
longed to slay him—to kill him for some wrong he has
done me. My hand has been held by a power I could
not see. A voice has whispered in my ear, “Wait.' I
have waited. For what? I do not know.”
He bowed his head on his breast, over which flowed his
long white beard, and his attitude was one of intense de-
jection.
The boys were silent, wondering at the strange man
who had befriended them.
Some moments passed.
“By going forth early I saw many things,” the man
finally declared, speaking quietly. “You are not the only
ones who have strayed into the net of the Danites.”
“We have been informed there are others,” said Frank.
“Informed ? HOW P”
Frank told how Miskel had shot the message into the
mouth of the cave.
“I have seen her hundreds of times,” slowly spoke Old


142 Human Beasts.
Solitary. “She has a good face. It does not seem pos-
sible that she is his daughter—the daughter of Uric Du-
gan. I think the memory of her face has spared his life
at times. But it will not be ever thus. The time will
come when I shall steel my heart.”
“We have just seen the Danites bear a captive into their
village, and that captive is my guardian.”
“A small man with reddish hair and beard ?”
“Yes.”
“I saw him captured. He had wandered from others.
From a height I saw them all.”
“How many are there?”
“There were four, but two of them are Danites.”
“What’s that ?”
“It is true. The man of the sandy beard and the boy
came here with two of Uric Dugan’s wretched satellites."
“Howly saints!” gasped Barney.
“He must mean the explorers, Graves and Kerney,”
said Frank.
“They were not explorers; if they said so, they lied.
Caleb Kerney is one of the old band of Danites, as
bloodthirsty and relentless as the worst of them. Colton
Graves is the son of Pascal Graves, once a leader of the
Destroying Angels—a man whose hands were dyed with
innocent blood. They went forth, with others, to bring
provisions from the settlements. All of the others have
returned before them.”
“And they led Walter Clyde and Professor Scotch into
this snare !” said Frank. “They found out that Walter
was coming this way to search for the retreat of the Dan-
ites, and they led him here, with the intention of destroy-
ing him.”
“Thot’s roight, me b’y,” nodded Barney.
“Kerney slipped away, and hastened ahead to tell Uric
Dugan who was coming,” said Old Solitary, who seemed


Human Beasts. I43
to know all that had taken place. “Graves remained to
guide the victims to their doom.”
“Is it possible such monsters can continue to live and
carry on their murderous work?” exclaimed Frank.
“Some day Ko-pe-tah will find the way in here,”
laughed Old Solitary.
“Who is Ko-pe-tah?”
“A Navajo chief who hates Uric Dugan, and has tried
to kill him. Twice within two years has Ko-pe-tah
brought his braves into these mountains, searching for
some access to this valley. The last time he was here, he
found the passage by which you entered. Four of the
Danites held the passage against a hundred warriors, and
the Navajoes were repulsed. But Ko-pe-tah swore he
would come again. If he ever gets in here, woe unto the
Danites !”
“How did it happen that we came through that passage
without being stopped ?”
“You were alone, two boys. You were seen, and were
allowed to enter, for they knew you could not escape.
They made sure of you by letting you walk into the trap.”
“But Ko-pe-tah was held out.”
“Because he had a hundred warriors behind him, and
he would destroy the Danites if he got inside.”
This was logical enough, and, at that moment. Old
Solitary scarcely seemed like a person deranged.
Frank spent some moments in thought, and then asked:
“Are Clyde and Graves still together?”
“They are.”
“And Clyde has no knowledge that Graves is other
than what he represented himself to be?”
“It is not likely that he has.”
“He must be warned.”
“It is too late.’
“Why?”


144 Human Beasts.
K‘
Before you can reach him the Danites will have him in
their power.”
“That is not certain,” cried Frank, starting up. “Come,
we will try to save him. Lead us to him.”
“You shall see that what I say is true,” said Old Soli-
tary.
He motioned for them to follow, and led the way back
along the passage, the torch having been relighted.
Through the main chamber they passed, and came to
another passage, which finally brought them out far from
the mountain pocket in which was the home of the Dan-
ites.
“Look,” directed Old Solitary, touching Frank’s arm
and pointing across the wide canyon. “Away there you
see figures moving amid the rocks. They are human
beings with hearts of beasts. They are Danites, and they
are creeping like panthers upon their victim, the boy you
call Walter Clyde.”
i
E
s


CHAPTER XXII.
PROFESSOR SCUDMORE RETURNS.
“We must aid him l” cried Frank.
“Thot's right,” agreed Barney.
“It's too late,” declared Old Solitary.
“Too late—why?”
“Long before we can get down into the valley the boy
will be killed or captured.”
“And must we remain idle and witness the butchery?
It is terrible! I feel that I must do something.”
“An Oi fale th' soame, Frankie, me by.”
“Look again,” directed the strange man of the moun-
tains. “The boy has discovered his enemies. See—he
has leaped behind some rocks! Graves is with him. The
man is playing his part still. It must be that the boy has
called on his enemies to halt. They are hiding. See
there! one of them is preparing to shoot at the boy.
Watch ! The boy will be killed ! No, he has changed his
position. The man fired too late.”
Frank and Barney were intensely excited as they
watched what was taking place in the canyon. Clyde,
after leaping to the shelter of the rocks, had changed his
position just in time to save himself from being shot. One
of the Danites took careful aim, a puff of smoke shot from
the muzzle of his rifle, and, some time later, the report of
the weapon reached the ears of the trio at the mouth of
the cave.
But Providence must have watched over Walter Clyde
then, for the boy moved a moment before the rifle sent
forth its dead messenger, and he escaped the bullet.


Professor Scudmore Retums. 147
few moments they lifted Clyde to his feet, and then it was
evident that the boy had not been slain outright, but had
been stunned long enough for them to make him their
captive.
“It were better if they had killed him quickly,” said
Old Solitary.
"I don’t know about that,” panted Frank. “Where
there is life there is hope.”
“All who enter this canyon may leave hope behind.”
“Av they let th’ poor lad live till to-night, we’ll do our
bist fer him,” said Barney.
“That we will,” nodded Frank.
Clyde seemed to have recovered, and now he was
marched along in the midst of his captors, who moved
straight toward the pocket where the homes of the Dan-
ites were located.
For all of their situation, Frank Merriwell had not
given up hope. He was young, and he still believed that
all evil things come to an evil end, and all good things
eventually triumph. He had not grown cynical and pes-
simistic.
Drawing back into the mouth of the cave, the trio
watched the Danites march across the canyon with their
captive.
Graves was with the men, and he no longer pretended
to be friendly to the boy. At last Clyde knew him for
what he actually was.
At length the entire party passed from view on their
way to the pocket.
Then Old Solitary led the boys back into the cave,
where they ate breakfast, such as it was, and attempted to
lay plans for the coming night.
It was a long, dreary, wretched day they spent in the
cave. Many times they went to the opening where they
i


Professor Scudmore Returns. 149
“Impossible!”
“It is not impossible,” asserted Frank. “It was in
the Eagle that we came here from Blake.”
“Th0t’s roight,” agreed Barney.
Then in a few words Frank told the man of their trip
from Blake, how Professor Scudmore had gone mad,
and how they had captured the ship from the professor,
who afterward escaped and got away with the Eagle in
the night. ,
The boy’s apparent sincerity convinced Old Solitary
that he spoke the truth, and by the time Frank had fin-
ished, the air ship had settled close to the earth. They
could see its outlines through the darkness, and could
see a man in the car.
The Eagle came down gently, and the man stepped
out.
“It was somewhere amid these mountains that I left
those poor boys,” he murmured. “There is not one
chance in ten thousand that I shall ever find them again.”
“You have stumbled on that one chance,” said Frank,
speaking distinctly, and advancing fearlessly toward the
man.
“Eh!”
Professor Scudmore seemed on the point of leaping
into the air ship and taking to flight, but he suddenly
changed his mind.
“Can’t get away quick enough to escape,” he said.
“Have let off enough gas so the ballast brought her down,
and I could not throw out the rest of the ballast and get
away. If enemies come, I am lost.”
“We are not enemies,” assured Frank. “We are the
boys you left not many miles from here.”
“It can’t be possible!” cried the lank professor, in the
greatest surprise and delight. “Then this is the work of
Providencc—it must be!”


Professor Scudmore Returns. 151
eager to do their best in the effort to save Professor
Scotch and Walter Clyde and get away from the canyon.
It was not long before they drew near the pocket,
and they advanced with great caution, although it was
not thought absolutely necessary, as there was not one
chance in a hundred that the Danites would expect them
to make such an audacious attempt.
Deep in the canyon the shadows lay thick, which was
to their advantage. They succeeded in entering the
pocket without being challenged.
Lights twinkled from two or three windows. Some-
where in the village a beautiful but untrained voice was
singing the chorus of a love song.
“That is Miskel,” whispered Frank.
They lay in the darkness, watching and waiting.
Of a sudden an unexpected thing happened. The door
of the very building into which Professor Scotch had
been carried was flung wide open, allowing a broad bar
of light to shine out. Then, out of this lighted doorway
streamed a dozen men, and a bell began to clang in a
doleful manner.
“What does it mean?” whispered Frank, wonderingly.
“It means that the tribunal of death has pronounced
doom upon the captives,” answered Old Solitary. “The
session has just broken up, and the captives will be eve-
cuted without delay.”


CHAPTER XXIII.
LAST OF THE DANITES.
“How do you know?”
“I have witnessed other executions here.”
“Then no time is to be lost.”
“What would you do ?”
“I do not know—something, anything to save them!”
Old Solitary held Frank back.
“Do not throw your life away,” he said. “Wait a.
while. See, they are lighting two bonfires, the piles of
wood having been prepared in advance.”
“What is that for?”
“That there may be plenty of light for the execution,
which the entire camp will witness. See, a few moments
ago the place seemed asleep, but now it is all astir with
life.”
“I see,” groaned the wretched boy; “and it seems to me
that there is very little chance for us to get in there and
save Scotch and Clyde.”
“Not one chance in a hundred. See those two posts
the full glare of light? Well, to those posts the cap-
tives are to be tied. It is plain that the tribunal have
loomed them to death by shooting. What a farce !”
“That’s right !” grated Frank; “it is a farce! As
well might they have killed them in the first place: There
was no chance for them to escape.”
“Not the least.”
“Look, Frankie,” whispered Barney, “there comes th’
poor profissor, an’ Cloyde is clost behinclt him.”


Last of the Danites. 153
The Danites were marching their captives out to exe-
cution |
In a very few moments the professor and the boy
were tied to the death-posts.
Uric Dugan directed the movements of the Danites.
“Where is Miskel?” hoarsely breathed Frank. “Will
she do nothing to prevent this?”
“She has done all she could,” muttered Old Solitary.
“It is probable she was not aware the tribunal was in
progress. She will be prevented from interfering now.”
And now six men, with rifles in their hands, formed a
line in front of the prisoners.
Everything was done with startling swiftness.
Frank Merriwell was trembling with eagerness and
excitement, and he appealed to Old Solitary:
“Are we to remain inactive and see this frightful deed?
Are we to do nothing now that we are here?”
“We will do what we can,” declared the strange man.
“The time has come for Dugan's career to end! I feel
that I must strike. He shall never give the fatal signall”
The man lifted his old rifle, and the hammer clicked
as he cocked it.
Dugan stepped forth to give the signal, and his harsh
voice rang out distinctly:
“Ready!”
The firing squad lifted their rifles.
“Take aim I’’
The fatal moment was at hand.
The butt of Old Solitary's rifle came to the man's
shoulder. He was resting on one knee, and the weapon
was held as steady as the hills. “One!” counted Dugan.
It was the last word he ever uttered, for a spout of
flame leaped from the muzzle of Old Solitary's weapon,
and the bullet sped on its fatal mission.


154 Last of the Danites.
Without a cry or a groan, Dugan flung up his hands
and plunged headlong upon his face.
There was a wild shriek, and the form of a girl rushed
into the firelight. Down beside the fallen man she
dropped, lifting his head and staring wildly into his face.
It was Miskel, but she could not save her wicked
father, for the aim of Old Solitary had been accurate.
The Danites were thrown into the greatest confusion,
and Frank Merriwell held back no longer.
“Come on, Barney!” he shouted.
“Oi'm wid yez!” assured the undaunted Irish lad.
Forward they rushed, each firing a shot as they did so,
and adding to the dismay of the Danites.
Straight up to Professor Scotch ran Frank, and, with
one slash of a sharp knife he had drawn, he released the
man.
Barney did the same thing for Walter Clyde, and the
two were set at liberty before the Danites realized what
was happening. Then bullets began to whistle around
them.
At that moment a wild, strange cry cut the night air,
filling the hearts of the Danites with the utmost terror.
It was the war cry of the Navajoes!
A hundred dusky forms seemed to materialize from
the darkness, and a hundred savage warriors, deadly ene-
mies of the Danites, came charging into the camp.
Old Solitary had rushed to the side of Uric Dugan,
into whose face he glared, as he cried:
“Look, Dugan, look! You robbed me of reason, of
memory, of everything I held dear; but I have been
avenged, for it was my hand that laid you low !”
“He is dead!” screamed Miskel, and she fainted on
her father's body.
“Yes, he is dead!” said the avenger, in a half-regretful
tone. “And he never knew who killed him.”


156 Last of the Danites.
“It was Old Solitary, sure enough, and he will be able
to hide from the savages. We cannot wait for him.”
“The Eagle would not carry so many, even if we could
wait. I have her inflated, and she is tied down. Get in,
get in We'll throw out every bit of ballast, and make
the attempt to rise out of the canyon. It may be a failure,
but I think it will succeed, if we can get high enough to
strike the strong wind which is blowing above us. We
can try.”
They got into the car, and the bags of ballast were
tossed overboard. Then the ropes were cut, and the air
ship rose slowly with its heavy burden.
>k >k * >k >k sk *k
Four days later five persons were seated in a room in
the town of Loa, which is located amid the mountains
of Southern Utah. The five were Professors Scotch and
Scudmore, and the three boys, Frank, Barney and Wal-
ter Clyde. - -
“Then you are determined to go back to Water Pocket
Canyon and the place where the camp of the Danties was,
are you, Clyde?” asked Frank.
“I shall not be satisfied till I do so,” was the answer.
“I must find Old Solitary, if he is living, for I believe he
is my father.”
“I have thought that such might be the case,” said
Frank. “In some way he has been wronged by Uric
Dugan. He did not seem to know exactly how, but he
was sure of it. It was only at times that he seemed de-
ranged, but he did not remember much of his past.”
“It would be most remarkable if he should turn out to
be my father, whom I have believed dead all these years.”
“It would be a miracle,” declared Professor Scotch.
“But do you know you can find Water Pocket Canyon
again?”


Last of the Danites. 157
ll
Yes, for I have Ben Barr to guide me. He will take.
me there.”
“Well,” said the little professor, “I wish you success,
but I would not go back there for the worlds, and I ab-
solutely refuse to let my boys go.”
“I suppose we’ll have to humor the professor in this
instance,” laughed Frank. “Our last escapade came near
being fatal for all of us.”
“You owe your salvation to Professor Septemas Scud-
more,” declared that individual, importantly. “But for
his marvelous invention, the Eagle, you would have
fallen victims to untamed savages.”
“Begorra, thot’s roight!” nodded Barney. “Th’ ’Agle
is a great birrud.”
“It is bound to make me famous the world over, and
send my name ringing down the corridors of time.”
“But what of poor Miskel?” asked Frank. “She is
heartbroken over the death of her father. She knows
nothing of the world at large, and ”
“Under the circumstances,” said Walter, “I feel that
it is my duty to see that she does not come to harm. As
long as she wants it, she shall have a home with my folks,
if she will accept.”
“Be aisy, me b’y!” chuckled Barney, roguishly. “It’s
a swate purty face she has, an’ Oi’m thinkin’ ye’re a bit
shtuck on her.”
“Oh, come !” protested Walter, blushing. “I have
known her but four days, and ”
“Ye’ve made good progress, me lad. Oi notice thot
you have done firrust-rate comfortin’ her. It’s an invoite
to th’ weddin’ Oi warnt, an’ Oi think Frankie would look
foine as th’ bist man.” ‘
“If the wedding ever takes place, you shall be invited.”
The mystery of Old Solitary remains still, for he was
never found, although Walter and Ben Barr did make


CHAPTER XXIV.
YELLOWSTONE PARK,
“Hurro !”
“What is it, Barney?”
“Boofaloes, Frankie l"
“Buffalo?”
“Sure, me b’y !"
“VVhere ?”
Frank scrambled eagerly to the crest of the ridge on
which his friend was perched.
They were in the heart of that picturesque wonderland
about the head waters of the Yellowstone River, known as
the National Park.
Frank had a camera slung at his back, and for three
days he had been trying to get a “shot” with it at a buf-
falo, having been told there was a small herd of the nearly
extinct creatures somewhere in that region.
Neither of the boys had the least desire to kill one of
the animals, and a “shot” with the camera at close range
would have satisfied them.
And now, in the grassy valley below them, at a dis-
tance of half a mile, they could see five of the animals
they sought. The creatures were grazing, with the ex-
ception of the largest of the herd, which seemed to be
standing on guard, now and then snufiing the wind.
The moment Frank saw them he clutched his com-
panion, drawing him backward and down behind some
bowlders.
“Pwhat’s th’ matther wid yez ?” spluttered Barney, in
surprise.


160 Yellowstone Park.
“If we expect to get near enough to photograph those
creatures, we must get out of this right away.”
“Whoy?”
“Did you observe the old fellow who is standing on
guard? Peer out and you can see him. He is headed
this way.”
“Pwhat av thot? He can’t see us, me by.”
“He might not see us, but he is liable to smell us.”
“At this distance? Go on wid yer foolin', Frankie!”
“I am not fooling; I am in earnest when I say he is
liable to smell us. We are on the wrong side of that
herd, if so few may be called a herd.”
“Whoy on th’ wrong soide?”
“We are to windward.”
“Not doirectly.”
“No, not directly. If we had been, those creatures
would be scampering off already. Their sense of scent is
remarkable.”
“Is it a jolly ye're givin' us?”
“Not a bit of it, Barney; I am in earnest. Their power
of sight is not particularly acute, but it is said that they
‘can smell a man a mile.’”
“Thin how can we ivver induce th’ bastes to sit fer their
photygrafs?”
“We'll have to get on the other side of them, and creep
ap behind that small clump of timber.”
“It will take an hour to get round there, me by.”
“All of that; but I shall be well repaid if I can obtain
a picture of some real wild buffalo. What a sight it must
have been to behold one of those immense herds which
once covered the plains from horizon to horizon, as we
are told. Now it is a known fact that there are less than
fifty wild buffaloes in existence. A little more than fif-
teen years ago it was said that about three hundrej


162 Yellowstone Park.
breeding-ground, if not disturbed, must always give an
overflow into Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho, which will
make big game shooting there for years to come.
Frank led the way at a swift pace, keeping the ridge
between them and the buffalo for a time, and then mak-
ing use of other shelter.
It was nearly an hour before they came round to the
windward side of the herd and began working in upon
it.
All at once, with a low exclamation, Frank stopped,
shifted his position quickly, and hissed:
“Down, Barney!”
“Pwhat is it, Frankie?”
“Be careful! Look there by the base of that bluff.
Can you see them?”
“Oi see something moving. Pwhat is it?”
“Hunters, I reckon.” -
“Afther th’ boofalo P”
“Yes. They are nearer than we are, and they will be
taking a shot at the creatures in a minute. It's a shame!
If the soldier-police were only here!”
“Nivver a bit do Oi loike th’oidea av seein’ thim boof-
alo shot onliss Oi can do th’ shootin’.”
“No more do I, and I am not going to stand it! Come
on, Barney. We'll get after those fellows. We may be
able to stop them before they shoot, and then get a pic-
ture of the buffalo afterward. Lively now.”
The boys sprang to their feet and went running toward
the spot near the base of the bluff, where they had seen
men moving. As they ran, they crouched low, holding
their rifles at their sides, and taking great pains not to
be seen by the buffalo. In fact, they paid so much atten-
tion to this that they did not note how near they were to
the bluff, till they almost ran upon the very men they
had seen moving there.
*


Yellowstone Park. 163
Then there was a shock and a surprise, for they found
themselves face to face with a dozen Blackfeet Indians!
“Howly shmoke!” gurgled Barney, as he came to a
sudden halt.
“Jupiter!” muttered Frank, also stopping quickly.
The Indians stared at them, and grunted:
“How, how! Ugh !”
One of them, a villainous-looking half-blood, spoke
up:
“What white boys do? shoot buffalo?”
“No,” answered Frank, promptly, “we are not here to
shoot them, but we want to get a picture of them.”
“Pic’ter? Hugah! No good !”
The half-blood was doubtful; he believed they had
intended to shoot the buffalo, and his eyes glittered with
greed as he noted the handsome rifles carried by the lads.
“Lemme looker gun,” he said, stepping toward Frank,
and holding out a hand, nearly one-half of which had
been torn away by some accident.
Now Frank knew there would not be one chance in a
thousand of getting back his rifle if he let the fellow have
it, and so he dicisively said:
“No, I will not let you look at it. Keep off! The
soldiers will have you for killing game in this park if
you do not make tracks back to your reservation.”
“Ha! Soldiers fools! Half Hand not afraid of sol-
dier. He watch up. They be way off there to north,
ten, twenty, thirty mile. No soldiers round—nobody
round. White boy lemme looker gun.”
Again he advanced, his manner aggressive, and the
boys realized they were in a decidedly perilous situation.


CHAPTER XXV.
FAY.
“Th’ spalpane manes ter kape it av he gits his hand on
it,” whispered Barney. “It’s murther he has in his oies.”
Frank knew well enough that Barney was right, and
he had no intention of relinquishing his hold on his rifle
for a moment. He fell back a step, lifting the weapon
in a suggestive manner, and Half Hand halted, scowling
blackly and smiling craftily by turns.
“Hold up!” came sharply from the lips of the boy.
“Keep your distance, or you will get damaged.”
“Ha! White boy threaten Half Hand! Be careful!
Half Hand good when him not threatened; heap bad
when him threatened. White boys two; Injuns big lot
more. White boys make Injuns mad, then where um
be?”
“I have no desire to make you mad, but this is my rifle,
and I mean to keep it.”
“Half Hand want to look.”
“You may look at a distance, but you can’t lay a hand
on it.”
“White boy heap ’fraid. Give gun back pretty quick
bimeby.”
“I fancy it would be bimeby. No, you cannot take
it, and that settles it.”
“Mebbe Half Hand trade with boy.
“I do not wish to trade.”
“Mebbe Half Hand give um heap good trade.”
“Possibly, but that makes no difference.”
“White boy fool!” snarled the half-blood. “If um


166 Fay.
and a desire to keep the boys from notifying the soldiers
of the presence of Indians on forbidden ground.
Frank fully understood their peril, and he felt that
they would be lucky indeed if they escaped with their
lives.
He blamed himself for running into the trap in such a
blind manner, and still he felt that he was not to blame.
He had seen moving figures at a distance, and, as the In-
dians were keeping under cover, in order to creep upon
the buffalo, he had no more than caught a glimpse of
them. They were dressed in clothes they had obtained
by trade or plunder from white men, and so, at a distance
and under such circumstances, it was not remarkable that
Frank had not noted they were savages.
In a few moments Half Hand seemed to bring the
most of the Indians to his way of thinking, and he again
turned on the boys.
“Good white boys,” he croaked, craftily. “Don’t be
'fraid of Injuns. Injuns won't hurt um.”
“We are not afraid of you,” returned Frank; “but you
want to keep your distance, or you will get hurt by us.”
“Thot's roight, begorra !” cried Barney, fingering his
Winchester. “It’s stoofed to th’ muzzle, this ould shootin’
iron is, wid grapeshot an’ canister, an av Oi leggo wid
it, there won’t be a red nagur av yez left on his pins.”
“Injuns want to talk with white boys, said the half-
blood, edging nearer, inch by inch. “Injuns want to
hold powwow.”
“We are not at all anxious to hold a powwow with
you. Stand where you are !”
Up came Frank's rifle a bit.
It was plain that the red ruffians meant to make an
assault, and the moment was at hand. They were hand-
ling their weapons in a way that told how eager some of
them were to shed the blood of the boys.


Fay. 167
Barney, in his characteristic, devil-may-care manner,
began to hum, “My Funeral's To-morrow.” He seemed
utterly unable to take matters seriously, however great
the danger.
A moment before the rush and encounter must have
taken place, all were startled to hear a merry, childish
laugh, and a voice saying:
“I knowed I'd find tomebody tomewhere. I wants to
tome down. Tate me down, please.”
On the top of the bluff, forty feet above the heads of
the Indians, stood a little girl, dressed in white. She had
golden hair and blue eyes, and, on her lofty perch, she
looked like a laughing fairy.
“Mother av Mowses!” gurgled Barney.
“A child !” exclaimed Frank, astonished. “Here!”
The Indians muttered and hesitated. Half Hand still
urged them on, but it was plain that they believed there
was a party of white persons near at hand, and they
feared to attack the boys. The urging of the half-blood
was in vain, and he was forced to give it up.
Then he turned fiercely on the boys, snarling:
“Good thing for you your friends come! They no
come, we kill you and take your guns! Mebbe we see
you 'gain some time bimeby.”
Then the Indians turned and quickly scudded away,
soon disappearing from view amid some pines.
Frank drew a breath of relief.
“That was a close shave,” he muttered.
“Begorra! It was thot,” nodded Barney. “Av it
hadn’t been fer th’ litthle girrul, we'd lost our scoolps Oi
belave.”
“The little girl!” exclaimed Frank. “She appeared
like a good fairy, and 35
“Dat's my name. Mamma talls me Fairy Fay.”
She was still standing on the bluff, and she had heard


168 Fay.
Frank’s words. Now she held out her arms to him,
crying:
“Tome tate me down. I wants to tome down.”
“Get back from the edge, dear,” Frank quickly called.
‘ fou may fall. We will come up to you as soon as pos-
sible.”
“Tome wight away.”
“Yes, we will come right away.” '
“I’s tired playing all alone—an’ I’s hundry,” said the
sweet little voice. “I’s awsul hundry. You dot some-
t’ing dood to eat?”
“You shall have something to eat very soon, if you
will keep back from the edge, so you’ll not fall down,”
assured Frank.
He then directed Barney to remain there and watch
her, cautioning her to keep back, while he found a way to
reach the top of the bluff.
Frank hastened away, looking for some mode of get-
ting there. In a short time, he found a place to ascend,
and lost no time in doing so.
When he came panting to the top of the bluff, the little
girl was waiting, having seated herself contentedly on a
stone, where she could call down to Barney.
Seeing Frank, she held out her arms, crying:
“I’s awsul glad you tome! I’ll be your Fairy now.”
“You have been my good fairy to-day, little one,” he
earnestly said, as he lifted her in his arms and kissed her
cheek. “Without doubt you saved my life.”
“Mamma says I’s pritty dood Fairy all the time.”
“I haven’t a doubt of it.”
“But I’s awsul hundry now. I touldn’t find mamma,
and I walked and walked, and I falled down and tored
my dress, and I dot tired and awsul hundry, and I cwyed
some, and nen I ’membered mamma told me it wasn’t


Fay. 169
nice to cwy, and I walked again, and I heard somebody
talkin', and I looked down and it was you.”
She ended with a happy laugh, clasping her arms about
his neck.
“Where is your mamma?”
“Oh, I don’t know now,” she answered, a little cloud
coming to her face. “I touldn’t find her. You tate me to
her.”
“You do not live near here?”
“We live in New Yort.”
“New York?”
“Yeth, thir. Dat's a dreat bid place wif lots and lots
of houses.”
“Then you must be traveling with your mamma?”
“I’s trafeling wizout her now. We has had jes' the
longest wides on the cars. And we stopped in lots of
places, but we didn’t find papa.”
“Then your papa is not with you?”
“Papa goed away long time ago, and that made mamma
cwy. I seed her weadin a letter and cwyin’ awsul hard,
and papa didn’t tome bat some more. You know where
to find my papa?”
“No, little one, I do not; but I will help you find your
mother. What did you say your name is?”
“Fay. Tometimes mamma talls me Fairy.”
“What is all your name—the rest of it besides Fay?”
“Why, jes' Fairy. I's awsul hundry. Dot a tookie?”
Finding himself unable to learn her full name from
her lips, Frank started for the foot of the bluff, bearing
her in his arms.


CHAPTER XXVI.
01.1) ROCKS.
Barney was waiting, and he drew a breath of relief
when Frank appeared with the child.
“Oi wur afraid th’ litthle darlint would tumble off
bafore ye could rache her,” he said. '
“But I tept wight away from the edge, same as you
toldt me to,” chirped Fay, cheerfully. “If I did tumbled,
you tould catch me.”
“Begorra! Oi wur ready to thry it, me swate.”
“You never wanted to see me fall and hurt myself bad.
did you?”
“Nivver a bit.”
Frank told Barney how much he had been able to learn
from her lips, and they were not long in deciding it would
be folly for them to attempt to find Fay’s mother.
“The guide is the one to do that,” said Frank.
“Roight, me b’y. Ould Rocks knows ivery inch av th’
parruk.”
“Then we had better return to camp at once.”
“Sure.”
“But the buffalo—I had forgotten them. We have
not obtained that picture.”
“An’ nivver a bit we will this doay, Frankie.”
“Why not ?”
“Th’ boofalo have shkipped.”
“Gone ?”
“Thot’s roight.”
“Too bad !”
Frank felt that he must satisfy himself with his own


Old RockS. 171
eyes, and so he hastened to a spot that commanded a view
of the place where the creatures had been feeding.
Sure enough, they were gone.
“That's hard luck!” he muttered. “Here we have been
hanging a whole week in the park just to enable me to
get a snap at some of the creatures, and we lost our only
opportunity. Well, I suppose we should be satisfied to
get off with our lives.”
He knew this was true, and so there was reason to
be thankful, instead of grumbling.
He returned to where Barney was talking to Fay. The
child was anxiously watching Frank's movements.
“You ain’t doin’ away and leave me, is you?” she asked.
“No, dear.”
“I was 'fraid so, and I's awsul hundry.”
“An' wouldn't ye go wid me av Oi’d take ye where ye’d
get plinty to ate?” asked the Irish lad.
“Him tome, too?” She held out her hands to Frank.
“An' wouldn't ye go av he didn't come?”
“I dess not,” she said. “I like you pitty well; but I
kinder like him better. Him goin’ to find my mamma.
I dess him dit me somefin to eat.”
Frank caught her up in his arms.
“Yes, dear,” he laughed, his heart swelling with a feel-
ing that convinced him he would lay down his life in
defense of her, if needs be. “I will find you something
to eat as soon as possible, and I will take you to your
mother.”
“Dat's all wight. I ain't doin’ to cwy. You don’t like
little dirls we'en they cwy, does you?”
“In your case, I do not think crying would change my
feelings. Little girls have to cry sometimes.”
“I dess dat's wight,” said Fay, very soberly.
Frank surrendered his rifle to Barney, who insisted on


172 Old Rocks.
taking the camera also, and then, with the child in his
arms, followed the Irish lad on the return tramp to camp.
It proved to be a long, tiresome trudge, and the sun
was setting when the boys came in sight of a white tent
that was pitched near a spring of cool water and a growth
of pines down in a pretty valley.
Once or twice Fay had murmured that she was “se
hundry,” but when the camp was sighted, she was asleep
in Frank's arms, her head of tangled golden curls lying
on his shoulder.
A fire was blazing in front of the tent, sending a thin
column of smoke straight up into the still air.
Near the fire, with a pipe in his mouth, was sitting a
grizzled old man, whose appearance indicated that he was
a veteran of the mountains and plains.
This was Roxy Jules, generally known as “Old Rocks.”
He was one of the professional guides who make a busi-
ness of taking parties of tourists through the park and
showing them its wonders.
Between two trees a hammock was strung, and an-
other man, a little fellow with fiery-red hair and whis-
kers, was reclining. Gold-bowed spectacles were perched
on his nose, and he was studying a book.
All at once Old Rocks gave a queer kind of a grunt.
As it did not arouse the man in the hammock, he grunted
again. That not proving effectual, he growled:
“Wa-al, I wonders whut kind o' game them yar kids
hev struck now?”
“Eh?” exclaimed the little man. “Did you speak to
me? My name is Scotch, as you very well know—Pro-
fessor Horace Scotch.”
“Wa-al,” drawled Old Rocks, with a sly grin, “I reck-
ons I has heard them yar boys call yer Hot Scotch enough
to know whut yer handle is.”
“Those boys are very disrespectful—very! They


Old Rocks. 173
should be called to account. I object to such familiarity
from others, sir—I distinctly object.”
Old Rocks grunted derisively, having come to regard
the timid little man with contempt, which was natural
with him, as he looked with disfavor on all “tenderfeet.”
That grunt stirred the blood of the quick-tempered
little man, who sat up, snapping:
“I should think there was a pig somewhere round, by
the sounds I hear!”
The guide grunted again. '
“I detest pigs!” fumed Scotch. “They’re always
grunting.”
“Thar’s only one thing I dislike wuss’n pigs,” observed
Old Rocks, lazily.
“What is that, sir ; what is that?”
“Hawgs,” answered the guide, with his small, keen
eyes fixed on the professor. “Of course, I don’t mean
to be personal, nor nawthing, an’ I don’t call no names;
but ef you want ter know who I mean, you kin see whar
I’m lookin’.”
“This in an insult !” squealed the little man, snapping
himself out of the hammock. “I’ll discharge you at
once, sir—at once !”
“All right. Just you pay me whut you owe me, an’ I’ll
leave ye ter git out o’ ther park ther best way ye derned
kin. You’ll hev a heap 0’ fun doin’ it.”
The professor blustered about, while Old Rocks sat and
smoked, a patronizing smile on his leathery face.
Suddenly Scotch observed the approaching boys, and
saw the child Frank carried in his arms.
“Goodness!” gurgled the little man, staring. “What
does that mean?”
“Oh, you have jest woke up !” said the guide, continu-
ing to pull at his black pipe. “I wuz tryin’ to call your


I74 Old Rocks.
'tention to thet thar. Whut has ther boy found? An’
Whar did he find it?”
“You know quite as well as I. It is surprising—very
much so !”
Frank and Barney came up, and explanations followed.
Old Rocks pricked up his ears when Frank told of the
Blackfeet, and how near they came to having a fight with
the Indians.
“Is thet onery skunk in hyar again?” exclaimed the
guide. “Why, he's wuss’n sin, is ole Half Hand. He'd
ruther cut a throat than do anything else, an’ ye're derned
lucky ter git away. It wuzn’t by yer own nerve ye done
it, howsomever. Ef ther gal hedn't 'peared jest as she
did, you’d both be food fer coyotes now.”
“Two or three Indians, at least, would have kept us
company,” declared Frank.
Old Rocks grunted.
“Yah! I'll bet a hawse you wuz so derned scat ye
shivered clean down ter yer toes. Ef ther red skunks
hed made a run fer ye, ye’d drapped right down on yer
marrerbones an' squealed.”
A bit of warm color came to Frank's face, and he said:
“It is plain you have a very poor opinion of my cour-
age.”
Barney was angry, and he roared:
“Oi'd loike ter punch yer head fer yez, ye ould haythen!
It's mesilf thot's got nerve enough fer thot!”
This awakened Fay, who looked about in a wondering
manner with her big, blue eyes, and then half sobbed:
“Where is my mamma? I was jes' finkin’ I was wiz
her, and she was divin’ me somefin’ dood to eat. I's awful
hundry !”
In the twinkling of an eye, Old Rocks changed his
manner. His pipe disappeared, and he was on his feet,
saying, softly:


CHAPTER XXVII.
THE HERMIT.
At last little Fay was placed within the tent on the
softest bed that could be prepared for her.
“In ther mornin’,” said Old Rocks, “I’ll hunt up her
mamma.”
The fire glowed pleasantly, being replenished now and
then by Barney.
Professor Scotch occupied the hammock, Frank
stretched himself at full length on the ground, and the
guide sat with his back against a tree, still pulling away
at the black pipe, his constant companion. He had
smoked so much that his flesh seemed cured, like that of
a ham.
At heart Old Rocks was tender as a child, but he had
a way of spluttering and growling that made him seem
grouty and cross-grained. He seemed to take real satis-
faction in picking a quarrel with any one.
Professor Scotch was alarmed by the story Frank had
told of the encounter with the Blackfeet, and he was for
leaving that vicinity as soon as possible.
“Not till I get a photograph of real wild buffalo,” said
the boy, stiffly.
Old Rocks grunted derisively.
“I reckon you came as nigh it ter-day as ye will at
all,” he said. “You’ve clicked yer old machine at every-
thing from one end o’ ther park to t'other, an I ain’t
seen nary picter yit.”
“They have not been developed.”
“Woosh! Whatever is thet?”


178 The Hermit.
some rifle. His wide-brimmed hat was slouched over his
eyes, so the expression of his face could not have been
seen very well, even if it had not been covered by a full
brown beard. His hair was long and unkempt.
Having seated himself on the ground, he sat and stared
into the fire for some moments before speaking again.
Finally he turned a bit, saying:
“Who was singing here a short time ago ?”
Frank explained that he had been singing, and the
stranger said: '
“I don’t know why I should wish to take a look at
you, for you caused me more misery than I have known
for a year.”
“Thot’s a compliment fer ye’re singing, Frankie !”
chuckled Barney.
“I tried not to listen,” said the stranger; “but I could
not tear myself away. What right has a man without
a home to listen to songs that fill his soul with memories
of home and little ones !”
He bowed his face on his hands, and his body shook
a bit, betraying that he was struggling to suppress his
emotions.
1 After a moment, Old Rocks said:
“I reckons I knows yer now. You’re the hermit.”
The man did not stir or speak.
“Ain’t yer the hermit ?” asked the guide.
“Yes,” was the bitter reply, “I am a man without a
home or a name. Some have said that there is trouble
with my brain, but they are wrong. I am not deranged.
This is the first time in a year that I have sought the so-
ciety of human beings, unless it was to trade for such
things as I need to sustain life. It was those songs that
brought me here. They seemed to act like a magnet,
and I could not keep away.”


The Hermit. 179
Then he turned to Frank, and asked him to sing one
of the lullabys over again.
For all of his peculiar manner, the man seemed sane
enough, and the boy decided to humor him.
Frank sang, and the man sat and listened, his face still
bowed on his hands. When the song was ended, and the
last echo had died out along a distant line of bluffs, the
man still sat thus.
Those who saw him were impressed. Beyond a doubt,
this man had suffered some great affliction that had
caused him to shun his fellows and become one “without
a home or a name.”
All at once, with a deep sigh, he rose. He was finely
built, and, properly dressed and shaved, he must have
been handsome.
(I ,7 ' ' ' N
Thank you, he salCl, addressing Frank. I will not
trouble you longer. I am going now.”
“Look yar,” broke in Old Rocks, in his harsh way; “I
wants ter war n you ag’in comin’ round yere ther way
you done a short time ago. It ain’t healthy none what-
ever.”
“What do you mean ?”
“Jest this: I might take a fancy ter shoot fust an’
talk it over arterward. I don’t want ter shoot yer.”
A strange, sad smile came to the man’s face.
“You need not fear,” he said. “If you were to shoot
at me, you would not hit me.”
The guide gave a snort.
“Whut’s thet?” he cried. “I allow you hain’t seen me
shoot any to speak of, pard. I ain’t in ther habit of
missin’.”
“That makes no difference. A man who seeks death
cannot die. Fate would turn your bullet aside.”
“Wa-al, I don’t allow thet I wants ter try it, fer Fate


18O The Hermit.
|
might not be quick enough. Jest you keep away, 'less
you hollers out ter let us know when ye're comin’.”
As the hermit turned away he happened to glance into
the tent, the front of which was still open. The firelight
hone in and fell on the face of the tired child, who was
sleeping sweetly.
The man paused, staring at the face revealed by the
flickering light. His hand was lifted to his head, and
he swayed unsteadily on his feet, his face marked by a
look of astonishment and pain.
Old Rocks, Professor Scotch, and the boys watched
the hermit's every movement with breathless wonder-
ment. They were impressed, they were held spellbound,
they scarcely breathed.
For some moments the strange man stood there, and
then, inch by inch, step by step, he advanced toward the
tent. He seemed trying to hold back, yet there appeared
to be some power dragging him toward the sleeping
child.
Frank's first thought was that the man might harm
Fay, but the look on the face of the hermit told that he
had no such intention. Into the tent he crept, and he
knelt beside the bed on which little Fay was sleeping,
gazing longingly into her pretty face. A sob came from
the depths of his broad breast, and, finally, he stooped
and lightly kissed the child's cheek. As he did so, the
little girl murmured in her dreams:
“Papa!”
The hermit sprang up, leaped away, and, with a low
cry of intense pain, fled into the darkness.


CHAPTER XXVIII.
VANISHING OF LITTLE FAY.
For some moments after the strange man had disap.
peared the guide, the professor, and the boys sat staring
into the darkness in the direction he had taken.
“Wa-al, dog my cats!”
The exclamation came from Old Rocks, who had
ceased to pull at the black pipe for the time being.
“Thot bates th’ band l”
Barney Mulloy could not express the astonishment he
felt.
“What can that mean?”
Professor Scotch rose from the hammock, asking the
question in a bewildered manner.
“I can tell you what it means,” said Frank, also rising
to his feet. “It seems to me there is but one explana-
tion. Fay told me her father was not with her mother,
that she had not seen him for a long time, and that her
mamma cried when he went away. I believe there was
some kind of trouble between the child's parents, and
that the one who is known as the hermit, who calls him-
self the man without a name or a home, is the father
of that child.”
“Wa-al,” drawled Old Rocks, “you may be a tender-
foot an a kid, but yer has a little hawse sense. Ef you
ain’t right, I'll chaw my boots fer terbacker!”
“It certainly seems that you are right, Frank,” nodded
the little professor. “The man was drawn into the camp
by your songs, he was fascinated when he saw the sleep-
ing child, and he fled, with a cry of pain, when she mur


182 Vanishing of Little Fay.
mured papa. Yes, it seems quite certain that the her-
mit is the child’s father.”
“Ef thet is right, things is comin’ round sing’ler,” said
the guide. “Ef you kids hedn’t seen ther Injuns crawlin’
up on ther bufferler you wouldn't got inter ther scrape
ye did; ef ye hedn’t got inter thet scrape ye wouldn't
found ther babby; if yer hedn't found ther babby it's
likely she might hev starved ur bin eaten by wild critters;
ef Frank hedn’t sung them songs ther hermit w’u’dn't
come inter camp; ef he hedn't come inter camp he w’u’dn't
seen ther leetle gal; an ef he hedn’t seen ther leetle gal
we'd never suspected he wuz her father.”
This was an unusually long speech for Old Rocks, who
was given to short, crusty sentences.
“Do you know where this man lives?” asked Scotch.
“Wa-al, I dunno prezactly, but I reckon I kin find him
ag’in.”
“That is important; he must be found. The mother
of this child must be taken to him. In that way a re-
union may be brought about. Probably the unfortunate
woman is quite distracted to-night. In the morning we
will lose no time in finding her and restoring the child
to her arms.”
For some time they sat about the fire, discussing the
strange events of the day. Finally, all became sleepy,
and it was decided that they had better “turn in.”
As Old Rocks seemed to sleep “with one eye open,”
they had not found it necessary to have any one stand
guard since he had been with them. No wild animal
could come prowling about the camp without arousing
the old fellow in a moment.
The fire was replenished, the flap of the tent left open,
so the warmth might enter, as the nights were rather
cool, and the party retired.
In a short time all were sleeping soundly.


Vanishing of Little Fay. 183
Frank's slumber was dreamless, but he was finally
aroused by being shaken fiercely.
“Git up hyar!” commanded a snarling voice.
In the twinkling of an eye he was wide awake and sit-
ting up.
“What is the matter?” was the question that came from
his lips, as, by the dim light that came from the dying
fire, he recognized Old Rocks bending over him.
“Ther dickens is ter pay!” grated the guide. “She's
gone!”
“She? Who?”
“Ther leetle gal.”
“Fay?”
“Yep.”
“Gone?”
Frank was dazed. He looked around and saw Barney
and the professor sitting up near at hand, but, sure
enough, he could see nothing of the child.
“Yep,” nodded Old Rocks. “She ain't in this yar tent.”
“But—but how—”
“Dunno how she done it 'thout wakin’ me, but she's
gone.”
“It must be that the Hermit crept in here and kidnaped
her.”
“Begorro!” cried Barney; “Oi belave thot is roight!”
“It seems reasonable,” said the professor.
“Whut d'yer think!” snarled Old Rocks; “fancy I’d
snooze right along an’ let anything like thet happen?
Wa-al, I guess not! Dog my cats ef I know how it kem
about, but there gal jest vanished.”
“She appeared like a fairy, and like a fairy she has
disappeared,” said Frank. “But she may be near the
camp. We must lose no time in making a search for
her.”


Vanishing of Little Fay. 185
never touched a weapon if he could avoid it. However,
he followed the others, and Old Rocks quickly took up
the trail once more.
Frank was filled with anxiety for the safety of little
Fay. He wondered greatly that the child should arise
and creep from the tent without disturbing any one, and
then flee into the darkness, but he did not doubt that
Rocks had read the sign correctly.
It almost seemed that the guide was able to follow the
trail by scent, for he moved swiftly, bending low, and
holding the torch close to the ground.
In vain Frank looked for a footprint. The ground
did not seem soft enough to yield such a mark, and still
Old Rocks seldom hesitated a moment.
Along the valley they went, stringing out one after the
other, their hearts throbbing with anxiety.
In this manner they proceeded at least half a mile, and
then they came to a stretch of timber. The trail led
straight into the woods.
Old Rocks growled and shook his head, and it was
plain that he was quite as anxious as any of them.
For a moment they paused on the border of the strip
of woods, while the guide got down on his hands and
knees and closely inspected the trail.
“Was she alone when she reached this spot ?” asked
Frank.
Old Rocks nodded.
“It’s ther deriiedest thing I ever heerd of !” he grum
bled. “How a little babby like thet should git up 0’ her
own accord and go prowlin’ ofl’ inter ther night gits me.”
“It is ridiculous,” said Professor Scotch. “Such a
thing never happened before, and I can’t believe it hap-
pened on this occasion. Why, she would have been


186 Vanishing of Little Fay.
frightened out of her senses. Somebody must have
lured‘her away. That man you call the Hermit must
have done it, and I will wager something she joined him
as soon as she left the tent.”
The guide gave a snort.
“Thet’s enough to say I’m a derned fool! Ef ther
babby left a trail, you will allow ther man must hev done
ther same.”
“Of course he did.”
ll
Wa-al, looker yere. Hyar’s a bit 0’ soft ground, an’
you kin see whar she crossed over, but I’ll be derned ef
you kin see any track but ther ones she made.”
He held the torch for them to examine the ground, and
the tracks left by the child were plainly visible. It was
true that she had passed into the timber alone.
“There’s a mystery about this that I cannot under-
stand,” murmured Frank.
“It looks loike she wur a sure enough fairy,” said
Barney. “Av not thot, thin this is th’ Ould Nick’s oun
worruk!”
At this moment all were startled by a cry that came
from the timber—the cry of a child, broken and smoth-
ered.
Old Rocks straightened up, and the light of the torch
fell on four pale, startled faces.
“Something has happened to her !” panted Frank.
“Forward, man, forward! She may have been attacked
by a wild beast !”
In another instant the guide was striding swiftly along
the trail, making it necessary for the others to run in
order to keep up with him.
They penetrated the timber for a considerable dis-
tance, and then, of a sudden, Old Rocks stopped short,


Vanishing of Little Fay. 181
stooping low to stare at the ground, grinding an ex-
clamation of dismay through his teeth.
“What is it ?” demanded Frank fearing the worst.
After a hasty survey of the ground, the guide replied:
“Injuns! Ther leetle gal has been ketched by thet
p’izen varmints, sure as shootin’!”


CHAPTER XXIX.
FACE TO FACE.
“Th’ saints defind her!” cried Barney.
“Indians?” panted Frank. “Are you sure?”
“Wa-al, I reckon | Hyar's ther marks. See them
hoof prints thar. Notice they toe in. Thet is Injun
sign.”
“I—I think we had better return to the camp at once,”
fluttered Professor Scotch.
“Not much!” exclaimed Frank, fiercely. “If she has
fallen into the hands of those red wretches, we must fol-
low them and rescue her.”
Old Rocks nodded.
You talk all right, youngster; but I reckon yer sand
would ooze out on a pinch. All ther same, we must foller
ther skunks.”
“Go on!” came from Barney. “Begobs! we'll show
yez av we’ve got sand!”
“But I am not feeling well,” protested the professor.
“Then ye’d better go back,” snarled Old Rocks.
“You’ll be more bother then good, anyhow.”
“I—I can’t go back through the darkness. I should
lose my way. You must accompany me to the camp.”
“An' waste all thet time? Wa-al, I ruther guess not!
Time is too valuable just now.”
“This is a terrible scrape!” fluttered Scotch. “I ex-
pect we'll all be killed before we get out of it!”
The guide seemed to hesitate, casting a sidelong look
at the professor, as if he longed to get rid of the man
in some way, but did not know how.
#


Face to Face. 189
“I kin do as much erlone as I kin with ther hull o'
yer,” he finally said. “I reckons ye’d best all go back.”
“I guess not!” cried Frank. “I am with you through
thick and thin You will remember that I found the
child, and she called herself my fairy. It is my duty to
help rescue her.”
“Wa-al, I 'lows ye’ll stick ter thet,” growled Old
Rocks; “an so I’ll hev ter take yer erlong.”
“An Oi’m wid him, begobs!”
But the guide would not agree to that.
“Somebody's got ter go back ter camp an’ look out fer
things,” he said. “” reckons you an’ ther professor is
ther ones.”
Barney groaned.
“Profissor, can’t yez go alone?” he asked. “It’s nivver
a chance have Oi had ter take a hand in a bit av a ruction
loately, av ye will except th’ chance Oi had th’ doay.”
But Professor Scotch had no fancy to return through
the darkness to the camp, and he insisted that Barney
should accompany him. The Irish boy was forced to
succumb, and he parted from Frank with the utmost re-
luctance and regret.
“We have fought an’ bled togither,” he said, “an it's
harrud to be parruted loike this.”
In a short time Barney and the professor were return-
ing to the camp, while, with Frank Merriwell at his heels,
Old Rocks again took up the trail.
Frank marveled at the swiftness with which Old Rocks
swung over the ground.
Through the timber they made their way, and then
through a narrow ravine, and four or five miles had been
covered before the guide paused to speak.
“They’re makin' straight fer ther lake,” he said. “I
don’t like that.”
“Why not?”


190 Face to Face.
“Ef ther p'izen varmints has canoes—wa-al, we won’t
be liable ter foller 'em farther than ther lake.”
“That is true. We will hope they have no canoes.”
Onward they went once more, Old Rocks having
lighted a fresh torch, which left but one remaining.
The night was on the wane. Already the sounds of the
middle night were hushed. The owls had stopped their
hooting, and now, on noiseless wing, were making their
last hunting rounds before day should come.
Afar on the side of a mountain a wolf was howling like
a dog baying to the moon. The stars which filled the
sky seemed to prophesy of dawn.
Bending low, now and then swinging his torch to fan
it into a stronger flame, Old Rocks almost raced along
the trail, while the boy at his heels kept close.
They were like two tongueless hounds upon a hot
SCent.
And thus they came, at last, to the lake.
Not a word did Old Rocks say for several minutes, but
he moved up and down the shore, reading the “sign,”
while his companion waited with the greatest anxiety.
At length, with a grated exclamation of rage and dis-
may, the man flung himself on the ground.
“It's jest as I feared,” he growled. “Ther onery var-
mints hed canoes hid hyar, an’ we kin trail 'em no far-
ther.”
“Then what can we do?” fluttered the discomfited boy.
“Northin' but wait fer daylight.”
Now on the still air very faintly was heard a distant
tone of music; a sweet whistle, at fist low, rising and
falling, and then gradually becoming more distinct. It
came nearer and nearer till it seemed to fill the air all
about, and then, looking upward, they saw dark forms
flitting between them and the stars.
The wild ducks were flying.


Face to Face. 191
The musical note passed on, receded, grew fainter and
fainter, till, at last, it died out in the distance.
From the lake came a far-off trumpet call, and then
another—the mellow note of the wild geese.
The world was awakening; the day was near.
The stars were growing paler now. In the eastern sky
was a bit of gray, which slowly broadened, pushing up-
ward and blotting out the stars.
Where all before was dark, the morning twilight began
to show the black forms of things.
The outlines of tree trunks could be seen, and they
seemed to stand like ghosts, reaching out shadowy arms,
as if feeling their way through the dimness.
The birds which through the long night had slept in
the low bushes were beginning to chirp and flutter.
All at once, Old Rocks started and clutched Frank's
arin.
“Listen!” he whispered.
The sound of footsteps told them some one was ap-
proaching.
“Back!” whispered the guide, leading the way. “We
must see who ther critter is, an he musn’t see us.”
Hastily they drew into the deep shadows, holding their
rifles ready for use in case they should need them.
Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, and then the dark
figure of a man appeared, advancing through the dusky
darkness.
The man was alone, and he halted on the shore of the
lake, within a short distance of the crouching man and
boy. They saw him bow his head on his breast and
stand there in silence.
Several minutes passed. At last, the unknown lifted
his head, stretched out his arms, and uttered a long,
mournful cry that seemed to come from a breaking heart.
Old Rocks rose and glided swiftly and silently toward


I92 Face to Face.
the stranger, who did not hear him approach. The
guide's hand dropped on the man’s shoulder, and he
said:
“Hello, Hermit. Whatever be yer doin’ hyar?”
The strange man turned, and Frank saw that it was
indeed the Hermit of the Yellowstone.
“Doing?” he said, hoarsely. “I am seeking rest—
seeking rest! I'll never find it till I rest in the grave!”
“You must hev a derned bad liver, or somethin’ o’ ther
sort,” sneered Old Rocks. “I don’t understand a critter
like you none whatever.”
“I do not expect you to understand me. You do not
know my story. If I were to tell you 55
“We ain’t got time ter listen; but I'll tell you a leetle
story. You know ther babby-gal whut yer saw at our
camp?”
The hermit bowed, and then, as if a suspicion of the
truth had flashed over him, he fiercely grasped the guide
with both hands, hoarsely demanding:
“Has anything happened to her? Tell me—tell me
quick!”
With a few well-chosen words, Old Rocks told exactly
what had happened. The hermit seemed overcome with
horror and dismay.
“She must be saved !”
“You’re right; but how wuz we ter foller ther red var-
mints 'thout a canoe. Now they hev got clean away.”
“I will find her !” cried the hermit, with one hand up.
lifted, as if registering a vow. “I will find her and re-
store her to—hold ! How did she happen to be
with you?”
A further explanation was in order. Frank told how
Fay had appeared in time to save himself and Barney
from being attacked by Half Hand and the Blackfeet,
what she had told them, how they had taken her to the
:


Face to Face. 193
camp, and how Old Rocks had agreed to find her mother
with the coming of another day.
The guide and the boy believed the Hermit must be
little Fay's father, and they watched him closely as he
! stened. When Frank had finished, the strange man
‘agerly asked:
“Her name—her full name—did you learn it?”
“No. She told us her name was Fay, and that her
mother sometimes called her Fairy Fay; but we were
unable to learn her last name.”
“From whut we saw in ther camp, we allowed as how
it wuz likely you hed seen ther babby afore, an’ you
knowed her proper name,” insinuated Old Rocks.
The Hermit did not answer the implied question.
“Come,” he "cid, “follow me. I have a canoe.”
“I spose we can’t do any wuss,” mumbled Old Rocks;
“though I don't prezactly know how we're goin’ ter trail
them critters through ther warter.”
The Hermit moved along at a swinging stride, and they
followed him through the morning twilight.
Less than half a mile had been covered when the man
in advance suddenly paused, uttering an exclamation of
surprise.
Straight ahead, amid the trees of a little grove on the
shore, they beheld the snowy outlines of a tent.
In a little park beyond the camp could be seen the
dusky outlines of horses feeding. Close to the open flap
of the tent two dogs were curled, both sleeping soundly,
so silent had been the approach of the trio.
The light in the eastern sky was getting a pink tinge,
and, with each passing moment, objects could be seen
more distinctly.
A tiny column of blue smoke rose from the white ashes
of the camp-fire, telling that a brand still smoldered there.
There was a stir within the tent. There were muffled


194 Face to Face.
grunts, a yawn or two, the rustle of clothing, faint sounds
of footsteps, and then the flap of the tent was flung wide
open, and a man came out into the morning air. He
paused and stretched his limbs, standing so the trio ob-
tained a fair view of him.
With a sudden, hoarse cry, the Hermit rushed forward
and confronted the man.
“Foster Fairfax!” he shouted, with savage joy; “at
last we are face to face!”


CHAPTER XXX.
SEARCH FOR THE TRAIL.
“Preston March !”
The man who had just stepped out of the tent fell back,
a look of astonishment, not unmingled with fear, on his
face.
“Yes, Preston March!” cried the Hermit. “You know
me, and I know you, treacherous friend, base scoundrel
that you are !”
The man called Foster Fairfax lifted his hands, as if to
ward off a blow.
“Preston, it was a mistake--a fearful mistake.”
“For you—yes! I have sworn by the heavens above to
have your life if fate ever threw you across my path. I
shall keep that oath!”
“I expect it.”
“Then draw your weapon, and defend yourself! I
shall not murder you in cold blood. Draw, draw !”
“No! Shoot, if you will! I’ll never lift a hand against
vou.”
“Coward!”
The Hermit was quivering with fury, while the face of
the other man was still ghastly white.
Other men came from the tent, rubbing their eyes, all
of them very much surprised. One of them attempted
to intervene.
“Here!” he cried, addressing the Hermit; “what do you
mean by coming into this camp and raising such a row?
Are you insane? You are not going to do any shooting
here!”


198 Search for the Trail.
upon the ashes where the last embers of the old fire still
smoldered, and the crackling of a match was followed by
a blaze.
Some of the campers prepared breakfast, while one of
them approached Old Rocks, whom he questioned con-
cerning the Hermit.
Yer know purty derned nigh ez much 'bout him ez
I do,” grunted the guide. “All I know is thet he's bin
hyar in ther park fer ther last y'ar ur so. Some galoots
has said as how he wuz cracked in ther upper story, but
I'll allow thet's a mistake. Yer heard t'other gent ad-
mit thet he'd done the Hermit a crooked turn, an I reck-
ons thet's whut makes ther Hermit whut he is. Now I’ve
tol yer whutever I know 'bout ther Hermit, mebbe ye’ll
give me a few p'ints 'bout t'other gent?”
“We know nothing in particular of him, save that he
seems to be a man of leisure and means, rather melan-
choly, given to fits of despondency, followed by spells of
wild hilarity.”
A queer look came into the guide's eye, and he asked:
“How much o' it does he drink a day?”
“How much what?”
“Hilarity. Does he kerry it in quart bottles, or by
ther gallon?”
“He does drink at times,” admitted the camper; “but
he declares that he hates liquor, and I believe him. He
seems to take it to drown memory.”
“Wa-al, he may drown memory fer an hour ur so, but
he'll find it comes back a derned sight harder when he
lets up on drinkin’.”
Rocks lighted his pipe, settled himself into a comfort-
able position, and began to smoke.
The fire was burning brightly, and a blackened coffee-
pot was brought forth. As soon as there were some
coals, the pot was placed upon them, and it soon began to


Search for the Trail. 199
simmer and send forth a delightful odor, making Frank
ravenously hungry.
Old Rocks was hungry, but he showed no symptom
of it, smoking on indifierently, all the while keeping an
eye on the Hermit and Fairfax.
Frank offered to pay for something to eat and a cup
of coffee ; but the campers declined to take anything, tell-
ing him he was welcome. They then offered Old Rocks
something, and the guide accepted gracefully.
For nearly an hour the Hermit and Foster Fairfax
talked. The manner of both became subdued, and the
strange man of the park seemed to have lost his desire
to meet Fairfax in a deadly encounter.
All at once they parted, and the Hermit hurried away,
while Fairfax walked back toward the camp.
Old Rocks shouted to the Hermit, but the man paid
no heed to the call.
“Come, youngster,” said the guide, getting on his feet
and picking up his rifle. “We’d best foller thet critter.
He said he hed a chance, an’ thet wuz whut we wuz
arter.”
Frank thanked the campers for their hospitality, and
then hastened after Old Rocks, who was striding away
after the Hermit, who had already vanished from view.
“Whatever’s got inter ther man ?” growled the guide.
“He seems ter hev clean fergot we’re on earth.”
For at least a mile Old Rocks followed on the trail of
the Hermit, and it finally ended at the shore of the lake,
where it was seen that the man had taken a canoe.
And far out on the lake he was paddling swiftly away.
“Putting his hands to his mouth, the guide sent a call
across the water:
“Oh, Hermit !”
The man paddled on without looking back. Rocks


2OO Search for the Trail.
repeated the cry several times, but without apparent ef-
fect, and then gave up in disgust.
“I’ll allow this is onery!” he growled, as he sat down
and lighted his pipe once more. “Dog my cats ef it
ain’t l”
Frank was disheartened.
“Poor little Fay!” he murmured, sadly. “What will
become of her?”
“We'll find her,” declared Old Rocks, grimly. “We'll
find her ef we hev ter tramp clean round this yar lake ter
strike ther trail o' them p'izen Blackfeet!”
“Do you think we can ever find their trail?”
“Wa-al, I'll allow ! Ain't we got ter find 'em? Ain’t
they got ter come ter shore somewhar? You bet yer
boots! Old Rocks is on ther warpath, an’ ther measly
varmints want ter look out!”
The guide seemed very much in earnest, which gave
Frank fresh hope. The boy was ready to spend any
length of time in the search for the missing child.
Having smoked and meditated a short time, Old Rocks
arOSe.
“Come,” he said, and he struck out once more.
Along the shore they went, the eyes of the guide al-
ways searching for the trail. Sometimes they were
forced back from the water by steep bluffs and precipices,
but the guide missed no places where the Indians could
have landed.
It was about midway in the forenoon that the trail
was struck. The canoes were found craftily concealed,
and in the soft ground near the lake were the imprints
of tiny feet.
“Thar!” cried Old Rocks, looking at the marks; “thet
shows we ain’t on a wild-goose chase. Now we don't
hold up none whatever till we overtakes ther p'izen
skunks an’ rescues ther gal. You hear me!”


CHAPTER XXXI.
A FIGHT WITH GRIZZLIES.
Frank found Old Rocks a hard man to follow, and the
guide was amazed by the endurance of the boy.
It was long past midday when Rocks sat down on
a fallen tree, and filled his pipe.
u - - - as
Say, he drawled, surveying his companion, you beat
all ther tenderfut kids I’ve ever seen, dog my cats ef you
don’t!”
“How is that?” asked Frank, who was glad to have a
few moments’ respite. “What do you mean ?”
“Wa-al, I hev bin expectin’ all along as how you’d peg
out, but I’m derned ef you don’t seem fresh as a daisy
now!”
Il
Oh, I am good for a few miles more,” said the boy,
smiling.
Rocks nodded.
“Thet’s whatever. Y0u’ve got buckram; but I know
yer ain’t got sand. Tenderfeet never has any.”
“I don’t suppose you have ever found any exceptions?”
“Derned few! Now I’ve got somethin’ ter say.”
“Say it.”
“It’s plain these yar red varmints are makin’ a run fer
it, kinder thinkin’ they might be follered. It’s liable ter
be several days afore they’re overtook.”
“Well?”
“Wa-al, we ain’t fitted fer such a tramp.”
“What’s that?” cried the boy in dismay. “You do not
think of giving it up, do you?”


2O2 A Fight with Grizzlies.
“Nary bit; but I kinder 'lowed you might feel thet
way.”
“I guess not!”
“Stiddy! Don't be too quick. Wait till I tells yer
whut yer may expect.”
“Go ahead.”
“Jestez long ez I'm on this yar trail I shell keep up
ther pace I hev bin makin' this day su fur.”
“That is good.”
“Huah! Think yer kin stan it, eh? Wa-al, thet
ain’t all.”
“Give us the rest of it.”
“It’ll be a case o sleepin’ in ther open, 'throut kiver,
eatin’ w’en yer kin, an' gittin’ anything we kin shoot an’
havin’ it hafe cooked ur not cooked at all, an’ lots o' other
inconveniences thet'll make yer long fer ther comforts
o’ home.”
“And you fancy I’ll not be able to stand it?”
“I kinder 'lowed it’d be hard on a tender kid like you
be.”
Frank had flung himself on the ground, but now he
arose and faced the guide, speaking firmly and calmly:
“Rocks, you heard the child say she'd be my fairy, you
saw that she took to me, I sung her to sleep, and she clung
to me. I will tell you now that I am ready to go
through anything for Fairy Fay. She is in terrible dan-
ger. If she is not rescued, her fate is frightful to con-
template. I shall never rest till she is saved ! I want
to go along with you; but I shall continue the hunt alone,
if you will not have me.”
The old fellow grunted sourly, and puffed away at the
black pipe for some moments. At last, he got upon his
feet and held out his hand to Frank.
“Put ther thar!” he cried. “You talk all right; we'll
see how yer pan out. You kin go erlong.”


A Fight with Grizzlies. 203
They shook hands, and Frank was well satisfied.
“You stay right yere by ther trail,” directed the guide.
“I’m goin’ over yon a piece ter see ef thar is some mud
geysers down thar. It’s been some time sence I wuz in
this yar part 0’ ther park, an’ I wants ter git my bearin’s.
I’ll be back yere directly, an’ you kin be restin’ mean-
time.”
Frank felt like demurring, but he believed it best to
do exactly as the guide directed, and so he nodded and
sat down again, while Old Rocks strode away and soon
disappeared.
Nearly thirty minutes passed, and then, of a sudden,
the boy was startled by the report of a rifle, the sound
of the shot coming from the direction in which the guide
had disappeared.
“I wonder what it can mean?” speculated Frank.
He was uneasy. He knew the guide might have fired
at some kind of small game, but for some reason he fan-
cied such was not the case.
Was Old Rocks in trouble?
Catching up his rifle, Frank started on a run in the
direction taken by the guide.
Down into the valley he went, his eyes wide open.
Suddenly, a short distance before him, there was a hiss-
ing, rushing roar, and a column of mud and water shot
into the air.
There were the mud geysers Old Rocks had started out
to look for.
Toward the geyser hurried Frank, still looking for his
companion.
Before the column of mud and water had ceased shoot-
ing into the air, Frank came upon a startling spectacle.
Not far from the geysers Old Rocks was engaged in 3.
hand-to-hand encounter with a huge grizzly bear!


A Fight with Grizzlies. 205
reared on its hind feet, its jaws dripping blood and foam,
and rushed upon the dauntless boy.
Frank flung aside the revolver, just as Rocks struggled
to a sitting posture, thickly crying:
“Run, kid! run fer yer life !”
“Not much!” came through Frank’s set teeth. “Think
I’d run and leave you to the bear! I guess not!”
“Dog my cats !” murmured the guide, weakly.
The bear, dripping blood from its many wounds, still
fierce as a raging tiger, came at Frank. The boy dodged,
managed to avoid the rush, and gave the beast a wicked
stab with the knife.
“Dog my cats!” murmured the dazed guide once more.
Frank Merriwell’s face bore a look of fearless deter-
mination, and he was ready for the bear to charge
again. ,
It came.
Frank tried to repeat the trick, slipped a bit, saw he
could not escape, and then met the formidable beast.
“Now he is a goner !” gurgled Old Rocks, faintly.
With outstretched paws the bear closed in.
Frank saw he was not going to be able to escape the
hug, and he placed the haft of the knife against his own
breast, with the point directed toward the bear.
The grizzly folded Frank in his embrace, crushing the
lad against his shaggy breast, and, in this way, the crea-
ture drove the knife home to its own heart.
Uttering a great groan, it relaxed its hold, dropped on
all fours, hung its head, and then sunk in a heap upon
the ground, dying.
Frank felt as if his ribs had been crushed, and he was
covered with blood, but he had conquered.
Old Rocks was so dazed that he sat on the ground,
staring at the “tenderfoot kid,” and faintly gasping:
“Dog my cats !”


206 A Fight with Grizzlies.
Frank flung the knife to the ground, and then sat down,
panting, in a desperate endeavor to get a full breath.
Old Rocks got up very slowly, stood looking at the
dead bear some moments, and then looked at the boy.
“This beats me!” he grunted. “Whoever heard o' a
tenderfut doin’ sech a thing! An he didn’t seem ter be
scart a tall!”
Then he came nearer Frank, at whom he still stared.
“It ain’t a mistake, none whatever. This yar kid done
it, and he done it in great shape! Say, youngster.”
“What?”
“I wants ter 'polergize.”
“What for P”
“Fer sayin’ tenderfeet never has sand. I'll take it all
back. You’ve got sand enough fer anything, you hev |
Do you know whut you done? Wa-al, a grizzly is harder
ter kill then a hull tribe o’ Injuns! I wuz dead lucky
ter kill t'other one by a chance shot, an I’d never done it
ef I hedn’t been so nigh ther muzzle o' my rifle wuz right
up ag’in ther varmint. You worked an old hunter's
trick on him. Thet fust jab you gave ther whelp kinder
spruced him up, an he wuz ready ter crush ther stuffin'
outer yer. By holdin’ ther knife ez yer did, yer made
him kill hisself. Guv us yer hand! I'll swar by you
through thick and thin l’’
So they shook hands again.


v CHAPTER XXXII.
TRAILED DOWN.
“Ther trai1’s gittin’ derned hot, boy !” said Old Rocks,
near sunset. “Ther p’izen varmints can’t be fur ahead.”
They .were passing through one of the wildest sections
of the park. Mountains, capped with eternal snow, were
on every hand. Their sides were seamed with mighty
chasms and strewn with huge bowlders, many of which,
it seemed, the weight of a hand would send crashing and
thundering into the dark depths below.
Some of the mountains bore traces of vegetation, pine
and cedar showing darkly on many a jagged cliff. Some
were bleak and barren, but none the less grand, impress-
ive, and awe-inspiring.
Amid these mountains were desolate canyons, which
seemed to hold some dreadful secret locked fast in their
silent bosoms.
Since the encounter with the grizzlies Old Rocks and
Frank had paused to eat a square meal of bear-steak, and
it had braced them for the tramp, so they were able to
cover ground swiftly without fatigue or discomfort.
.They had passed through a region of boiling geysers,
where the water shot more than a hundred feet into the
air, and came down in a rain, across which a beautiful
rainbow formed, the roaring sound which accompanied
this exhibition being as loud as the exhaust of a thou-
sand locomotives. '
In one marshy valley they had passed pools of water,
sulphur yellow, bright green, pink, crimson, and nearly


208 Trailed Down.
all colors of the rainbow, the pools being from twenty to
fifty feet apart.
They had seen other things which were not given a
second glance by Old Rocks, but which Frank longed to
stop and examine.
But it was no time for sight-seeing, as the boy well
knew, and he held close to the heels of the unwearying
guide.
And now, near nightfall, Old Rocks declared that the
trail was getting hot.
“Shall we be able to overtake them before dark ?” asked
F rank, with the greatest anxiety.
“I dunno,” was the answer. “But it’s derned certun
thet we ain’t goin’ ter come fur from it.”
“Oh, for two hours more of daylight!” sighed the
boy.
“We’d run ther critters down dead sure in thet time.
But I don’t want yer ter git ther idee thet they’re goin’
ter give up ther gal ’thout a murmur.”
“But they will have to give her up.”
“Thet’s whatever. All ther same, we may hev ter
fight, an’ ole Half Hand is a mighty bad critter ter buck
agin’; you hear me shout!”
“I am ready to fight, if necessary.”
“Ef I’d heerd yer say so this mornin’, I w’u’dn’t putt
no dependence on it; but now I’ll allow thet yer means
whut yer says, an’ yer’ve got sand ter give erway. Boy,
you’re a holy terror on trucks, an’ you may quote me ez
sayin’ so.”
Frank did not smile.
“Wait,” he said. “I may not show up so well in the
encounter with the Blackfeet. I was lucky in the bean
fight.”
“Wa-al, dog my cats ef you ain’t ther fust tenderfut I
ever saw thet wouldn’t hev bragged his head off ef he’d


Trailed Down. 209
killed a grizzly! Why, boy, you don’t seem ter know
whut ye’ve done! You’ve made a record. Ary other
tenderfut I ever saw’d go back East an’ publish ther
story in all ther papers. He’d be hailed ez a mighty
chief an’ a tin god on wheels.”
“Tenderfeet are not all braggarts, any more than
Westerners are all brave men.”
“Thet’s whatever,” nodded Rocks; “but it’s took me a
gaul derned long time ter find it out.”
The sun was low behind the western mountains, and
darkness was filling the great canyons.
The guide swung onward at a steady pace, following
the trail with the same readiness and ease that had proved
a source of wonder all along to his companion.
It was evident the Blackfeet had not anticipated hoi:
pursuit, and so they had made little or no effort to hide
their trail after passing across an arm of the lake.
The trail grew hotter and hotter, but night came on
swiftly, and Old Rocks was forced to bend low and keep
his eyes on the ground. '
"Watch out ahead, boy,” he directed. “I’ve got all I
kin’ tend ter in follerin’ ther trail. Don’t let us run
plump onter ther varmints, fer they might take a notion
ter wipe us out.”
So Frank followed the guide, keeping his eyes to the
front, and watching for danger. '-
Darker and darker it became. ’Rocks was forced to
proceed more slowly, as there was danger of losing the
trail entirely.
Finally he found it necessary to stop now and then
and examine the ground thoroughly.
“We shall not overtake them before dark, shall we P”
asked Frank, anxiously.
“Hard tellin’. Watch out. May run onter ’em any
time.” .


210 Trailed Down.
When they halted again, Frank suddenly uttered a low
cry of warning, caught hold of the man, and exclaimed:
“Look there !”
Through the darkness they saw the twinkle of a camp-
fire.
“Thet settles it !” breathed Old Rocks, exultantly.
“The skunks are thar! We’ve run ’em down !”
He gave no further attention to the trail, but straight-
way made sure that every weapon he possessed was ready
for use.
“Now, boy,” he whispered, “keep yer nerve. Thar’ll
be need enough 0’ it afore long.”
“I am with you,” assured Frank. “I do not think I
shall lose my nerves in this case.”
“Wa-al, I don’t,” confessed the man. “I’ve got heaps
o’ conferdence in yer now. We’ll creep up.”
Then followed something that sorely tried the patience
of the boy, for Old Rocks seemed to crawl forward like
a snail, taking advantage of every cover that would shield
them from the sight of any one in front.
The guide warned Frank to “hug ther ground,” and
made him creep, and skulk, and wiggle along when there
seemed no need of it. .,.
In this way they slowly drew near to the fire, about
which figures moved now and then.
“It’s ther onery Blackfeet,” the guide finally an-
nounced. “We hev done a good job so fur ter-day, an
now we wants ter finish it right, you bet !”
“What do you mean to do?” asked Frank.
“Make a bluff,” was the answer.
“What kind of a bluff?”
They had reached a point where they could look into
the camp and see the savages feasting on some kind of
game they had killed and cooked by the fire.
“I’m goin’ in thar an’ demand ther gal,” said the guide.


212 Trailed Down.
I might be skerry 'bout lettin' yer shoot inter thet camp
while I wuz thar; but I'll admit ez how I reckon ye kin
shoot.”
They now crept forward till they were within easy
shooting distance of the camp, and then Rocks paused
Dnce more, putting his lips close to Frank's ear, and whis-
pering:
“See them rocks down thar?”
The boy nodded.
“Wa-al, jest you creep down behind them an' take yer
position ready ter sling lead.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Git inter ther camp. I'm goin’ ter walk in from
t’other side, so they'll be lookin' fer any further danger
frum thet quarter. Don’t git impatient, fer it'll take me
some time ter git round thar. Wait easy.”
“I’ll Wait.”
Then the old man crept away into the darkness, and
Frank began working his way down to the rocks.
He finally reached the position, and there he waited,
being able to look into the camp and see every figure re-
vealed by the flaring fire.
The little girl was there, exhausted by the day of hard-
ships, sleeping soundly. One of the Indians had thrown
a greasy blanket over her, so she was protected from
, the night air, which is always chilly in Yellowstone Park.
Frank's heart throbbed with sympathy as he gazed
down on her.
“Poor little Fairy !” he thought. “How she did cling
to me! I am ready to wade through fire and water for
her. We will save her to-night if we live!”
He found it difficult to restrain his impatience as the
time crept slowly away and Old Rocks failed to appear.
Some of the Indians rolled themselves in their blankets


CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE RESCUE.
A yell of astonishment broke from the throats of the
Indians who were awake, and it brought the sleepers out
of their blankets in a moment.
With the utmost coolness, Old Rocks stepped toward
the fire, sat down on a log near the sleeping child, and
took out his black pipe.
“Any 0’ you fellers got any good smokin’ terbacker ?”
he asked, coolly. “I ain’t got northin’ left but chawin’,
an thet’s derned pore stuff ter burn.”
“Ugh!” grunted the Blackfeet, staring at him in un-
utterable amazement.
“Hey?” questioned the guide. “Whut did yer say?”
“Where white man come from?” demanded Half Hand,
harshly.
“Over yon,” was the answer, and Rocks made a sweep
of his hand that took in half the horizon.
“What white man want here ?”
“Terbacker.”
The Indians looked at each other, and then looked at
the cool visitor, their amazement not a whit abated.
“Ugh!” they grunted in chorus.
“Wa-al, I’ll allow thet you fellers know whut thet
means all right,” drawled Old Rocks, whimsically; “but
dog my cats ef I do! Do I git ther terbacker? ur do I
hev ter pull my liver out tryin’ ter make chawin’ terbacker
burn?”
“Ain’t got no ’backer,” declared Half Hand, sullenly.
“T het may be so,” admitted the guide, “an’ may be


216 The Rescue.
calmly filled his pipe, and then lighted it with a coal from
the fire.
“Thar, he said, flinging one knee over the other and set-
tling into an easy position, “now I kin enjoy a good
squar' smoke.”
Up behind the rocks the boy saw Rocks had not taken
his rifle into the camp, and Frank knew well enough that
was so he might not be incumbered with it if forced to
take to flight suddenly and make an attempt to get away
with the child.
The little girl heard his voice, and sat up, rubbing her
eyes. She stared at him in wonderment, but he still pre-
tended that he did not see her, puffing on.
One of the Indians attempted to grasp the child and
draw her back, but she saw him, avoided his hands, and
ran to Rocks, crying:
“Oh, I's awsul dlad you’ve tome! Tate me to my
mamma! I don’t lite dese drefful mans!”
The Indian made a jump for her, but Old Rocks caught
her and swung her beyond the Indian's grasp, exclaiming:
“Hello! hello! Whatever is this yar? Dog my cats
efit ain’t a babby—an a white babby, at thet!”
“Don’t you 'member me?” asked Fay, innocently. “I
'members you.”
“See hyar, Half Hand,” said Old Rocks, grimly; “this
yar looks kinder queer. How did you come by this white
habby?”
“Found her,” sullenly answered the half-blood.
"Is thet SO?”
“Ugh.”
“Wa-al, whar wuz yer takin’ her?”
“Nowhere.”
“Seems ter me it didn’t look thet way.”
The half-blood said nothing, but he and his com-
panions were beginning to finger their weapons.


The Rescue. 217
“You may hev found her all right,” admitted Old
Rocks; “but yer made a mistake in keepin’ her. I’ll take
her now.”
“Dunno ’bout that,” muttered Half Hand.
“Whut? roared the old man, suddenly aroused, hav-
ing thrust his pipe into his pocket. “You dunno? Wa-al,
I will allow thet I know! Look yar, you’ll be gittin’ inter
one o’ ther derndest scrapes you ever did ef you tries
ter kerry off this yere gal. It’ll be reported, an’ ther
United States soldiers will take an’ hang yer all !”
“Bah!” sneered the half-breed. “Who care for sol-
diers! We find gal; she b’long to us.”
“Not much!”
“What white man do?”
“Take her.”
“Him can’t.”
“Dog my cats ef I don’t!”
“Him can’t git ervvay.”
The Blackfeet had formed a circle about Old Rocks.
“Stiddy, critters!” he warned. “Don’t try ter stop me,
fer ef yer does, som’ o’ yer will bite ther dust.”
“White man give up gal, we let um go ’thout hurtin’.”
“Thet’s kind; but I reckons I’ll hev ter be hurt, fer
I’ll never give her up.”
“Then white man dies!”
One of the Indians slipped up behind Old Rocks and
lifted a hatchet to split open the head of the guide.
Crack! the report of a rifle rang out.
A yell of agony broke from the lips of the Indian, and
me hatchet dropped from his hand. A bullet had shat-
tered his forearm.
Frank’s aim had been true, and he had saved the life
of Old Rocks.
At that instant, just as the guide stooped to lift the
child, a man broke through the circle of savages and


218 The Rescue.
snatched up the child, tearing it from the fingers of the
guide, to whom he cried:
“Hold them off, and I will get away with her!”
It was the Hermit.
Out came a brace of revolvers in the hands of the
weather-tanned guide, and the yells which broke from
his lips awoke a hundred echoes. He began shooting to
the right and left.
Over the top of the rocks, behind which he had been
concealed, Frank was sending a shower of bullets whis-
tling. After the first two shots, he aimed high, counting
on demoralizing the savages by terror, instead of taking
chances of hitting Old Rocks or the child.
The trick worked long enough for the guide to get
away, and he followed close at the heels of the Hermit.
By chance the man with the child passed near Frank,
and then Old Rocks came along, shouting:
“Up an’ dig, boy! Ther trick is did l”
In a moment Frank dashed after the old man.
The Blackfeet recovered quickly, and they leaped in
pursuit, uttering fierce cries.
Old Rocks was surprised by Frank's fleetness on foot.
“Derned ef you can't run, ez well ez do other things!”
he muttered, as the lad forged along by his side. “You’re
a holy wonder, boy. It's twice you saved my life this
day. I trusted everything ter you this last time, an’yer
didn’t fail me.”
"I broke the Indian's arm as he was on the point of
st Aiking.”
“Thet wuz ther only mistake yer made. You oughter
broke his head, an’ thar'd bin one less. They're arter us
hot foot, an it's a race fer life now.”


In Sand Cave. 22 I
A short time later, as they were rushing along the
base of a bluff, the Hermit was seen to disappear.
“Hyar's ther cave!” panted Old Rocks, catching hold
of the boy. “Right yar behind these boulders. In with
yer!”
Frank saw the dark mouth of the cave behind the bowl-
ders, over which he vaulted.
The cry of the child came out of the darkness of the
CaVe.
The Hermit and little Fay were there.
“Reddy!” hissed Old Rocks, crouching behind the bowl-
ders—“reddy ter repel invaders!”
The Blackfeet were coming on, and their dusky forms
suddenly appeared near at hand in the darkness.
On his knees behind a bowlder, Frank had drawn a
revolver, and he began firing with Old Rocks.
The flash of the weapons blinded the boy for the mo-
ment, and he stopped shooting when he had fired three
times.
Old Rocks stopped at the same moment, growling:
“Thet's ther way with ther onery skunks! They'll never
come up and be shot down ther way they oughter!”
The Indians had disappeared.
“Where are they?” asked Frank, wonderingly.
“Right near yere, you kin bet yer dust,” answered the
guide. “They drapped down ther instant we begur
slingin' lead, an’ they're huggin' ther yearth, you bet!”
“Did we kill any?”
“Wa-al, I dunno; but I'll allow thet I didn’t do any
shootin’ fer fun. I don’t b'lieve in thet under such circum-
stances.”
“This affair may bring on an Indian war.”
“Let’er bring ! It'll be er good thing efit does, an’ ther
hull Injun nation is wiped out. But ther chances are thet
it’ll never be heard of by anybody except them we tell it


222 In Sand Cave.
to. Ther varmints will make tracks outer ther park, fer
they’re on forbidden ground.”
“If the soldiers should turn up—”
“It'd be a mighty good thing fer us. Still, I kinder
reckon we'll be able ter hold Half Hand an his gang off
till they git weary.”
They took care that their revolvers were replenished
with cartridges, and then Frank loaded his rifle.
A sudden silence seemed to brood over the whole
world.
Old Rocks stirred uneasily.
“I don’t like it,” he muttered, speaking to himself.
“Don’t like what?” asked Frank, who felt a foreboding
of some coming catastrophe.
“This yare stillness. Why, thar ain’t even an owl
hootin’.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Dunno; but it means somethin'. Keep yer eyes an’
ears open, an’ be ready fer what may come.”
Little Fay had ceased her sobbing, and the silence was
finally broken by her voice:
“Who's doin’ to tate me to my mamma?”
Then the Hermit was heard trying to comfort and re-
assure her. -
“Dog my cats ef I wouldn’t like ter smoke!” muttered
Old Rocks; “but I'll allow thet it w’u’dn’t do ter light a
match hyar.”
“No; it might be fatal. The light—”
The sharp report of a rifle rang out, and Frank fell
backward behind the bowlder.
With a grated exclamation, Old Rocks flung up his re-
volver, and took a snap shot at the spot where he had
seen the red flash of the weapon as it was discharged.
“Did you get him?” asked Frank, as he sat up.


in Sand Cave. 223
“Dunno,” was the answer; “but I wuz afeared he'd
got you.”
“The bullet whistled so close to my head that I felt
the wind of it. It must have penetrated the cave.”
To their ears came the sound of a deep groan, and then
the voice of the Hermit reached them:
“The bullet came in here. I am shot!”
“Holy cats!” gasped Old Rocks.
“The child !” panted Frank. “What if the red wretches
fire again, and their bullets reach her? She must be
placed where she will be safe.”
“Right.”
“Can you hold the mouth of the cave?”
“I kin try it.”
“I will go in there and see how badly the Hermit is in-
jured, and will see if both cannot be placed beyond the
reach of bullets.”
“Thet's easy. Ther cave is a big one, but this hyar is
ther only entrance ter it.”
Frank crept back into the cave, softly calling to the
Hermit. The man was groaning, and, as Frank crept
near, a pair of soft arms suddenly closed about the
boy's neck, while a sweet voice sounded in his ear:
“I knows you w'en I hears you speak. You singed me
to sleep. I tolt you I'd be your Fairy.”
“So you did, dear,” said the boy, giving her a tender
embrace; “and I have done my best in the work of saving
you from the Indians.”
“Bad Injuns!” exclaimed Fay. “Dey tarry me off
fwom my mamma. You tate me to my mamma?”
“We will, dear.”
Frank's hands found the wounded man, and he asked:
“Where did the bullet strike you, Hermit?”
“Here in the side,” was the faint answer. “I think
# am done for ! I have found death at last!”


In Sand Cave. 225
four years. I was able to make a living, and seemed all
right, with the exception that I could not remember any-
thing back of the accident. One night in Omaha I was
in a hotel fire, and I jumped from the window to escape.
They took me up in an unconscious condition, and car-
ried me to a hospital. I recovered, and my memory
came back to me. Then I hurried East to Marian, and
I found her married to Foster Fairfax, who had told
her that I was dead, and that he had seen my dead body.
This little girl is their child.”
“While you are talking, you are losing blood,” said
Frank. “Move back, and let me see if I cannot stop the
flow.”
He induced the Hermit to move back into the cave,
where he was able to light some matches and examine
the wound. Not being a physician, Frank could not tell
how severe it was; but, with considerable difficulty, he
finally succeeded in stanching the flow of blood to a
certain extent.
“It is useless,” declared the Hermit. “I am booked,
and I am glad of that. I have nothing to live for.”
“Yes, you has 1” cried little Fay, creeping close to him.
“I dess you is pretty dood man. One time I had a
birdie that die, and it was all tovered up in the dround.
You don’t want to be all tovered up like dat. I don't
want you to be.”
“God bless you!” murmured the Hermit, thickly.
“You are a dear, sweet child, and I shall not live to make
more trouble for your father and mother.”
All was quiet at the mouth of the cave. Frank was
longing to hear more of the Hermit's story, and so he
questioned the man.
“How does it happen that Foster Fairfax and his wife
are not living together?”
“I separated them.”


-
£--> ===
226 In Sand Cave.
“How P”
“I appeared like one risen from the dead, and Marian
was prostrated by the sight of me. I denounced Foster,
called him a false friend and a dastardly traitor. I was
insane at the moment, and it is remarkable that I did not
kill him. However, I swore to have his life if we ever
met again. Then I left them.”
“And you did not see Fairfax again till you met him
here in the park?”
“No.”
“How did it happen he left his wife?”
“When I met him I did not know they were not liv-
ing together. He forced me to listen, and he told me
how he had taken a mangled corpse from the wreck and
buried it as me—how he had firmly believed me dead.
Then he bore the news to Marian, and she was pros-
trated.
“He loved her, but it was long before she consented
to marry him. At last, she did so, and they married, both
believing me in my grave.”
Frank was fascinated by the story.
“Go on,” he urged. -
“When I appeared both were horrified. When I left
them, Marian accused Foster of treachery. She was
unreasonable and would listen to nothing he could say.
She bade him leave her and never return. He departed,
and they have not seen each other since. He does not
know she is somewhere in the park, as she must be, else
the child would not be here. I did not tell him of the
peril of his child, but I resolved to save her and restore
her to his arms. I have saved her, but I shall be unable
to take her to him. I shall not live to see the light of
another day.”
“Oh, you may not be so badly injured as all that.”
“I am. I am sure of it. I will leave the child in your


ln Sand Cave. 227
care. Take her to him, and tell him that I forgive every-
thing. Never again will I rise like one from the dead
to come between Foster and Marian.”
Frank remained with the man a while longer, and
then, telling Fay to stay there that she might keep beyond
the reach of bullets, he returned to the mouth of the
cave.
“I’m glad ye’ve come, boy,” said Old Rocks. “Ef them
pesky varmints ain’t gone away entirely, they’re up ter
mischief, an’ I needs yer hyar.”
They crouched behind the bowlders and waited, while
the minutes slipped away, and the same silence reigned.
At least an hour passed, and then came a sudden sound
that filled both with surprise and alarm.
Behind them there was a faint dropping in the cave,
a movement, a rush, and a roar. Then a cloud of dust
swirled out and nearly smothered them.
“What is the meaning of that ?” said F rank, bewil-
dered.
“A cave-in!” shouted Old Rocks, making a hasty ex-
amination. “By ther livin’ gods! ther hull derned cave
is blocked, an’ ther Hermit an’ ther leetle gal is both
buried beneath ur beyond thet fall !”
Frank was horrified beyond measure.
“It is terrible !” he gasped. “Poor little Fay!”
“What you want?” asked the familiar voice of the
child, near at hand. “It was lonetome in dere. The mans
goed to sleep, an’ I tomed out to see you.”
“Thank God!” came fervently from Frank’s lips, as he
caught her up in his arms and covered her face with
kisses.
“Wa-al, thet’s whut I call luck !” gurgled the guide.
“Luck!” cried Frank, rebukingly. “It was the hand
of Providence! Can you doubt the wisdom and good-
ness of an Overruling Power after this?”


228 In Sand Cave.
“Dunno ez I kin,” admitted the old man. “It duz look
like something a ther kind took her out o' thar jest at
ther right time.”
A complete examination showed that the whole roof
of the cave had apparently fallen in, and the passage was
blocked with tons upon tons of earth and sand.
“This yar's ther end o' Sand Cave,” said Old Rocks.
They kept the child with them and waited behind the
rocks for the attack of the Blackfeet, but no attack came.
Thus the long night passed, and another day came round.
Then it was found that the Indians had departed.
“They didn’t dar stay hayer longer,” said Old Rocks.
“Ther whelps wuz afeared o' ther soldiers. I'd like ter
run onter ther soldiers an’ set ’em arter Half Hand an’
ther gang.”
Led by the guide, they left the spot. Frank carried
Fay in his arms.
Old Rocks first proceeded to the spot where he had
hidden his rifle, and, with that again in his possession,
he expressed himself as feeling ready to “chaw up ther
hull Blackfeet tribe.”
They found some game for breakfast and dinner, and
before nightfall they reached the camp on the shore of
the lake, where Preston March and Foster Fairfax had
met.
A large party of tourists had gathered there, and the
appearance of the man and boy, the latter bearing Fay
in his arms, created the greatest excitement. Several
persons rushed into the tent and drew forth a man and
woman, the latter white and grief-stricken, and pointed
out the child, who was sitting on Frank's shoulder and
waving her hand, as she laughingly called:
“I dess my mamma is dere! I knowed you'd tate me
bat to my mamma!”
The man and woman were Foster Fairfax and his


In Sand Cave. 229
wife, who had met by accident there in the Wonderland
of America. She had told him how little Fay had wan-
dered away and become lost, and both had feared that
they would never see their child again.
Their unutterable joy cannot be depicted in words.
Frank and Old Rocks were the heroes of the occasion.
“Yer don’t want ter give me too much credit fer this
yar,” said the guide. “I done ther trailin', but this yar
tenderfut saved me frum bein’ killed twice, an he's got
nerves o' steel. It ain’t often I take ter a tenderfut, but
I will allow thet this yar chap is a boy ter tie to. Ther
babby sticks by him; he has won her heart. Dog my cats
ef I blame her either l’’
Then the old man told how Frank had saved him from
the grizzly, how the boy had been tireless on the trail,
how he had not murmured at any hardship, and how he
had broken the arm of the Blackfoot Indian who was
about to brain the guide.
As a result, Frank found himself regarded with un-
speakable admiration by all the tourists, while Foster
Fairfax and his wife could not say or do enough to ex-
press their feelings.
Frank told them of the death of Preston March, and,
later, when Professor Scotch and Barney had been found
by Rocks and brought into the party, all visited the spot
where the Hermit of Yellowstone Park lay buried be-
neath tons of earth.
At the mouth of the cave Foster Fairfax caused a cross
to be erected, bearing the name of the unfortunate man,
the date of his birth and of his death.
Frank remained in the park till he succeeded in photo-
graphing some “real wild buffalo,” and then he was
well satisfied to move on to other fields of adventure.
Half Hand was shot while trying to get away with
a stolen horse about a year later.


O
CHAPTER XXXV.
A PECULIAR GIRL.
The remainder of the stop in Yellowstone Park proved
a delightful time.
“I wish I could sthay wid ye, Frankie, me b’y,” said
Barney, one day.
“Stay with me? What do you mean?” asked F rank.
“Oi have news from home. Oi must go back to Far-
dale to rasume me studies.” '
“I’ll be sorry to lose you Barney.” And Frank spoke
the truth, for he loved his Irish chum a good deal.
Just then Professor Scotch burst in on the pair, tele-
gram in hand.
“I must return East at once,” he cried. “A relative
of mine has died and I must settle up his affairs.”
“Two at once!” ejaculated Frank. “Then I’ll be left
to continue my travels alone.”
“Not for long, my boy,” answered the professor. “I
will soon return to see that you fall into no more danger.”
Two days later found Frank alone, the professor and
Barney have taken the eastbound train the evening be-
fore. Frank proceeded to Ogden, Utah, where he spent
three days in sight-seeing.
, But he was anxious to go farther West, and one fine
day found him a passenger on the Pacific Express, bound
for San Francisco.
Every seat in the parlor cars was taken, as Frank
discovered, on endeavoring to obtain one. Then he de-
cided that any kind of a seat would do, but nearly every
one was occupied.


A Peculiar Girl. 2 3 3
Frank fancied he saw an opportunity to “break the
1ce.”
“You do not seem to like those stories,” he observed.
“They are very amusing, and utterly improbable and
impossible,” she said.
The boy laughed.
“Then you fancy the author overdrew his hero?” he
asked. '
“To be sure he did. There is no detective living who
can do such astonishing things as this one is credited
with. No such detective ever lived.”
“Possibly not.”
“Surely not. You cannot make me believe that a de-
tective could come in here, look me over, and then tell
everything about me almost to my name and the hour
of my birth. Rubbish !”
Frank’s wonder at the girl was on the increase. She
did not talk much like the ordinary girl of seventeen.
“If you dislike the stories so much how does it hap-
pen you are reading them ?”
“Oh, I do not dislike them. I confess that I found
them very amusing, but I am beginning to weary of
them.”
“I consider it remarkable that you attempted reading
them.”
llwhy ?!!
“Young ladies like you seldom care for this kind of
literature.” .
“Oh, I see. I presume not. They are too sentimental
-—soft, some call it. Well, I am not sentimental.”
“Perhaps not.”
She lifted her eyebrows and pursed her lips a bit.
“You say that as if you do not believe me. Never
mind. It makes no difference whether you believe me or
not.”


236 A Peculiar Girl.
she were bound for San Francisco, and, to his disappoint-
ment, she informed him that Carson City was her destina-
tion.
The conductor came through the train for tickets.
Frank had his ready, and the girl began searching for
hers, but had not found it when the conductor came along.
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, and Frank was about to
offer to aid her, if she needed a loan, when she opened
her purse and took out several bills, every one of them
new and crisp, and of large denominations.
“The smallest I have is fifty dollars,” she said. “Papa
gave me large bills, as he said they would not be so
bulky.”
“I can’t change a bill of that size,” said the conductor.
“I can,” put in Frank, immediately producing his
pocketbook. “I will break it for you.”
So he took the new bank-note, and gave her two twen-
ties, a five and five ones for it, enabling her to pay her fare
without difficulty.
The conductor gave the girl a rebate ticket and passed
O11.
“Thank you so much !” she said to Frank. “I believe
I may have trouble in getting those large bills broken.
Would you mind giving me small bills for another fifty?”
Frank did not mind, and he gave them.
Thereby hangs a tale.


CHAPTER XXXVI.
FRIENDS AND FOES.
The Pacific Express drew into Reno on time, and
Frank Merriwell was about to bid adieu to the beautiful
girl whom he had first met the day before.
“I shall not soon forget this pleasant journey,” he said,
sincerely. “Your company has made it very agreeable,
Miss—Isban.” . p
Somehow, he stumbled over that name, to which he had
taken such a strong dislike.
“Thank you,” she said, and he half fancied her lip
quivered a bit. “You have been very kind, Mr. Merri-
well.”
F rank’s heart fluttered a bit; the train was drawing into
the station; the boy leaned toward her, his eyes shining, a
flush in his cheeks.
“And now we are to say good-by, without the least
probability of ever seeing each other again,” he said, his
voice not quite steady.
She turned away for a moment, and then, as she turned
back, she swiftly said:
“It is possible we may never see each other again, but
you have given me your home address, and you say any
letter I may send will be forwarded to you. You may
hear from me—some time.”
“I may—but if you would promise to write--”
“I have told you I cannot promise that.”
“And you will not give me your address ?”
“I cannot for reasons known to myself. Do not ask
me.”


938 Friends and Foes.
“Miss Isban, I believe you are in trouble—some things
you have told me have led me to believe so. If you
need a friend at any time, let me hear from you.”
She gave him her hand, looked straight into his eyes,
and said:
“I will.”
The brakeman thrust open the door and shouted:
“Reno. Change here for Carson, Virginia City, Can-
delaria and Keeler.”
The train came to a dead stop.
Frank escorted Isa from the car, carrying her travel-
ing bag, which he gave to her when the station platform
was reached.
“Remember!” he breathed in her ear.
Her hand touched his, she smiled into his eyes, whis-
pering:
“I will! Good-by.”
He lifted his hat, as she turned away.
At that moment a youth came hurrying forward, lifted
his hat, his face radiant, and accosted Isa:
“Vida,” he said, “I am here. You did not come when
you said, but I have been watching for you.”
Frank staggered back.
“Caesar’s ghost!” he palpitated. “Is it possible, or do
my eyes deceive me? Can that be Bart Hodge, my
schoolmate, chum, and comrade of Fardale? As I live,
I believe it is! And he knows Miss Isban! What’s the
matter? She does not seem to know him !”
The girl had drawn back, with an expression of alarm.
“I think you have made a mistake, sir,” she said, rather
haughtily.
“A mistake!” gasped the handsome youth, astonished
and dismayed. “Why, you know me! There is no mis-
take.”
“But there is. I do not know you.”


Friends and Foes. 239
“Vida, you say that? Why, I am—”
“An impertient young scoundrel!”
Smack!—an open hand struck Bart Hodge on the
cheek, sending him reeling. The blow was delivered by
a large man, with a heavy black mustache and the man-
ner and appearance of a “gentleman rowdy.” His
clothes were flashy, and he “sported” several large dia-
monds.
Frank was not the boy to stand idle and see a friend
struck. Without a word he made a leap for the big man.
His fist was clinched, his arm shot out, and his knuckles
took the fellow under the left ear.
It was a beautiful knock-down blow. The man meas-
ured his length on the platform in an instant.
“All aboard l’’
The train was about to start, the conductor was giving
the signal.
“Let it go,” said Frank, quietly. “It is possible I had
better stay here and see this matter through. Bart may
need me.”
The train began to move.
With a cry of dismay, the girl had knelt beside the
fallen man.
A bit dazed, Bart Hodge had faced around in time to
see Frank strike that telling blow. Bart stared, almost
doubting the evidence of his eyes.
“Great guns!” he gasped.
Then he sprang forward, his hand outstretched, shout-
ing:
“Frank Merriwell !”
“Bart Hodge!”
They shook hands, both laughing forth their delight.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, old man!” cried Bart.
“You’re another!” flung back Frank.


240 Friends and Foes.
The man with the black mustache pushed away the girl
and sat up, staring, in a dazed way, at the two boys.
“Who struck me?” he asked.
“I believe I had that pleasure,” smiled Frank.
“You? Did you knock me down? Why, you're a kid!
I can kill you with one blow !”
He got upon his feet, his face dark as a thundercloud.
The girl caught him by the arm, crying, in distress:
“Don’t Paul—don't harm him | He has been kind to
me on the train. I beg you not to hurt him!”
This seemed to anger the man still more.
“Kind to you, eh?” he snarled. “And the other one
tried to flirt with you. I will 35
His hand went round to his hip, and there was a mad,
deadly gleam in his eyes. He looked murderous.
Neither of the boys made a move to draw a weapon.
“I wouldn’t do it,” said Frank, coolly. “I know this
section of the country is called the wild and woolly
West, but it is not sufficiently wild and woolly to over-
look a cold-blooded murder. If you take a fancy to shoot
two boys you will be pretty sure to get yourself beauti-
fully hanged.”
“Oh, I won’t shoot!” growled the man, his hand drop-
ping away from his hip. “But I will—”
“Easy, there!” came sharply from the lips of a police
officer. “Somebody is going to get yanked here.”
He forced his way through the crowd that had formed
a circle about the principal actors on the scene.
“Who is talking about shooting here?” he demanded.
“Where is the man who carries concealed weapons?”
“Come away, Paul,” whispered the girl, pulling at the
man's arm.
“All right,” he muttered—“all right, but there are other
days. Those young whelps had better keep out of my
5 *
way.


242 Friends and Foes.
for some one else. The name of this young lady is Isa
Isban.”
“Impossible !”
“It is the truth. I traveled with her from Ogden, and
she left me a moment before you observed her. Now, I
know what I am talking about, and you are twisted, old
boy.” ‘
Bart smote his hands together, his dark eyes glowing.
“I will not believe it yet; but, if it is true, there are two
girls in the world who look exactly alike.”
“Come away from here,” said Frank. “Where can we
obtain something to eat? We can talk it over ”
“Hold on, Frank. I believe those people are going to
take the next train south, which leaves immediately.”
“That is right. Miss Isban is on her way to Carson.”
“Then I shall take that train.”
Frank looked his friend over from head to foot.
“Say,” he chuckled, “you are hard hit! I will con-
fess that I was a bit stuck on the girl, but I did not have
it this way.”
“She is in troub1e,”. asserted Bart. “I mean to be on
hand to help her, if she needs assistance.”
“All right; we’ll take the next train south.”


248 Boy Shadowers.
“Not a bit of it.”
“You are the same old, self-reliant, hustling, go-ahead
Frank Merriwell. The only changes I can see in you are
for the better.”
“Thank you.”
The driver in advance was a hustling fellow, and he
had two good horses. He sent them right along. Now,
it was fortunate that, although, the driver behind was a
sleepyhead, he, also, had some fine horses, and he did not
make any great effort to keep them at a clipping pace.
It is probable that the man with the black mustache re-
garded the boys with no little contempt, for he surely
made no effort to give them the slip. It is likely he did
not fancy they would follow him so hotly.
At length the carriage in advance stopped before a cer-
tain house, and the driver got down to open the door.
The driver who was carrying the boys continued past,
turned the first corner, stopped short, jumped down,
opened the door, and said: .m
“Got ’em? They’re just round the corner back yon.”
“And you have earned your X," said Frank, springing
out.


“Queer” Money. 25!
ll
It is my duty. I have. such instructions. You are
getting off easy at that.”
But I shall not recover my hundred dollars.”
“No; that is lost. Let me tell you something: There
is a band of queer-makers somewhere in this vicinity.
They do not attempt to run their stuff into circulation
around here; the most of it is put out in Chicago. But
they have been traced to this part of the country. Detect-
ives are at work on the case—Secret Service men, in the
employ of the government. Who these detectives are no
one can say, although it has been reported that Dan
Drake is in it. Up to this time they have been putting
out tens and twenties. This fifty must be a new bit of
work. And I have something more to tell you. It is said
that the queen of this gang of counterfeiters is a beautiful
young girl, who does not look to be more than seven-
teen years of age. It is possible ”

But he made a gesture of anger, because such a thing
should be thought for a moment.
“It is not possible !” he said, sharply. “She is innocent
of such a thing as that! You connot make me be-
lievei”
He stopped, noting that the look of scorn on the face of
the receiving teller was deepening. Then, slowly and
surely, the thought that the girl had deceived him, that
she was not as innocent as she looked, came upon him.
The mystery that surrounded her deepened, and a sudden
longing to know the truth grasped him.
The receiving teller laughed shortly, as he saw the
changes which flitted across the lad’s face.
“There’s guilt for you !” he muttered.
Frank stiffened up, giving the man a cutting look.
"What became of this girl for whom you changed two
fifty-dollar bills?” asked the cashier.


252 “Queer” Money.
“I do not remember what became of her,” declared
Frank. “She was a passenger on the Pacific Express. I
left the express at Reno.”
“And she went on? Bound for ’Frisco, it is likely.”
Frank had not said she went on. He explained that
he met a friend at Reno, and that was how he happened to
leave the express; that friend was coming to Carson, and
that was how he happened to come to Carson.
He did not tell that they had followed the girl to Car-
son, had shadowed her to the house where she had
stopped, and that his companion or himself had watched
that house constantly, ever since.
“Bart is watching it now,” he told himself. “She can’t
get away. She, must explain to me how that bogus
money came into her possession. I believe I know! The
man with the black mustache must have given it to her !”
That the man with the sinister mustache was a villain
he did not doubt, but he still doubted that the girl was
anything but what she seemed—young, innocent, incap-
able of crime. .'
The cashier spoke a low word to one of his companions,
and a sudden fear came upon Frank. Was the man or-
dering his arrest? He could not afford to be detained
and bothered at that time. How would he solve the mys-
tery if they placed him under arrest?
But Frank had nerve, and he would not take to his
heels, knowing such an act would make it seem certain
that he was guilty. .
The receiving teller spoke sharply to the cashier, seem‘
ingly urging him to some action; but the boy heard the
cashier reply: .
“It will spoil the whole thing to be too hasty.”
“The boy can be made to peach on the gang,” said the
teller, in a guarded tone.
“That’s folly!” declared the cashier, shortly. “The


“Queer” Money. 253
boy is not connected with the gang. Think they would
send him here—to a bank—if he were! Have a little
sense, Burton l’’
The teller mumbled, looking sullen and rebuffed, while
Frank felt relieved. |
Then the cashier once more questioned Frank, as a law-
yer might question a witness. He tried, in various ways,
to entrap the boy, but Frank made no blunders.
After a time, the cashier seemed satisfied.
“I am sorry for you,” he said. “You have lost a hun-
dred dollars, but you are fortunate to escape arrest and
imprisonment.” -
“I suppose I am,” admitted Frank; “and I will tell
you something, now; I propose to solve the mystery of
this money. I am going to find that girl, I am going to
find out how she came to have the bogus stuff, and I am
going to bring this band of queer-makers to book, if pos-
sible.”
The receiving teller laughed scornfully.
“A fine bluff l” he muttered.
The cashier gave him a crushing glance.
“You have undertaken a big job, my boy,” said the lat-
ter. “I hardly think you will be able to carry it out
when government detectives are bothered.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And you'll be pretty sure to get into further trouble.”
“I may, but I am lucky about getting out of trouble.”
“Yes, you are dead lucky,” muttered the receiving
teller.
The cashier gave Frank some outspoken advice, and
then told the boy he might go.
Frank left the private office and walked out of the bank.
There was a look of determination on his face.
“I don’t fancy being beaten out of a hundred dollars,”


254 “Queer” Money.
he said to himself. “It’s not the money so much; but if
that girl knew—if she played me—”
He stopped short, anger and disgust expressed on his
face. His pride was touched. He did not like to think
that he had been thus deceived.
“I am going to know!” he vowed. I am going to ,
know the truth !”
He walked away, his head down, thinking. He was
trying to form a plan of action. Within a short time the
mystery that surrounded the beautiful girl with two names
had deepened. He must find a way to learn the truth; he
would not be satisfied till he knew the truth.
For some time he walked along, paying little heed to his
surroundings, and then, all at once, a thought came to
him:
“I am followed !”
He was confident of it. He did not look back, but
he seemed to see the shadower on his trail. They were
determined to know at the bank if he had told the truth,
and a detective had been detailed to keep watch of him.
Frank loitered along, looking into windows. He be-
trayed no uneasiness. At last he came to a restaurant.
Into this he wandered, proceeding to a table at the farther
end. Here he sat and gave his order. -
The boy had taken a seat where he could watch the
front door. In a short time a small man entered quietly,
walked straight to a table, sat down, without glancing
round, having hung his hat close at hand, and looked over
the bill of fare.
“You are the shadower,” decided Frank. “I wonder
how I can give you the slip?”


CHAPTER XXXIX.
PURSUED.
Fortune gave the boy the opportunity he desired.
Along the street came two runaway horses, attached to
a carriage. In front of the restaurant they crashed into
another team, and there was a rush to see how much dam-
age had been done. The attention of every one seemed
diverted toward the front.
Frank had observed an open door at the back of the
room, and through this he quickly sprang, ran along a
narrow passage, and burst into the kitchen.
“Hello, here!” cried the cook, in astonishment. “What’s
the matter ?”
“Terrible smashup, out in front,” replied the boy.
“Don’t know how many have been killed. It is awful 1”
“That so ?” came stupidly from the bewildered man in
white. “How did it—— Well, he was in a hurry !”
But Frank had sprung out by an open door and was
gone.
The boy reached a side street, sprinted round a corner,
doubled and turned at every opportunity, and settled to a
swift walk.
He soon discovered which direction he should take
without having asked to be directed toward any particular
point.
“This is an unpleasant scrape,” muttered the boy ; “and
it came about through my readiness to exchange my good
money for bad. If I remain in this town I am liable to be
arrested at any moment.”
He wondered what Bart would say when he was told.


256 Pursued.
What could Bart think about a girl who carried two
bright new counterfeit fifty-dollar bills in her purse?
Frank began to doubt. He was forced to confess to
himself that such a thing was remarkable. If the girl had
had but one bad bill in her possession, it would have
seemed that she had obtained it unwittingly; but two—
and exactly alike--—”
“Can it be possible she is, in some way, connected with
a gang of counterfeiters ?” Frank asked himself. “I will
not believe it! Her face is too innocent.”
Then he remembered how, in the city of Chicago, he
had encountered a beautiful girl who was connected with
counterfeiters; but he also remembered that she was an
unwilling tool, and had embraced the first opportunity to
get clear of the meshes of the net into which she had
fallen.
“If Isa Isban is connected with such a gang, I am cer-
tain it is against her will.”
Then he thought how, when she had discovered that he
had plenty of money, she had hastened to get him to
change two fifty-dollar bills, and his faith was shaken.
“It looks bad,” he confessed.
As he approached the place where he had left Bart on
guard over the house in which the girl was believed to be,
he passed a livery stable. He was hurrying on when
some one ran out of the stable and clutched him by the
arm. .
“just in time!” palpitated the voice of Bart Hodge.
“Hello!” exclaimed Frank, surprised. “Just in time
for what ?”
“They’re gone !”
“VVho ?”
“Vida Melburn and that man.”
“Gone where ?”
‘(
Taken the lake road. Something has caused them to
L
'.


258 Pursued.
The horse that Bart had ordered was quickly brought out,
ready for mounting, and then he was followed by an-
other, onto which a saddle was flung. Frank looked the
animals over with a critical eye.
“They’ll do,” he said, approvingly.
In a few seconds the lads were mounted and dashing
away from the stable. The proprietor stood looking
after them, doubt written on his face.
“Gee whiz !” he muttered. “I never thought of that!
Bet I’ve made a derned fool of myself! Well, I reckon
I’ll git the critters back.”
“What is it you did not think of?” he was asked.
“Why, it’s remarkable kids like them should be so flush
with money. And they looked scared. They’re runnin’
away. I reckon they’ve been stealin’ an’ they wuz hus-
tlin’ to get away before they wus arrested.”
The boys disappeared down the street.
Frank allowed Bart to take the lead.
“I suppose you know the shortest cut to the lake road ?"
he asked.
“I do,” said Bart. “You follow close, that’s all.”
As they rode, Frank related his adventure in the bank.
Bart whistled in astonishment.
“Bogus money?” he cried. “And you received it of
the girl? That is strange.”
“It looks bad,” said Frank.
“I don’t understand it. How do you suppose she hap-
pened to have it? It’s not at all probable she knew what
it was.”
“I am not so sure of that.”
The dark-eyed boy gave his companion a reproving
look.
“She is as innocent as a flower! I will not believe she
could do such a thing! But she is in trouble.”
They were regarded with some surprise as they dashed


CHAPTER XL.
ELUDED.
“Who are our pursuers?” asked Bart, angrily. “What
do they want? They are shouting and waving their
hands.”
“They are shouting for us to stop. They want me.”
“For What?”
“Have you forgotten, as soon as this, what I told you
about the queer money I tried to get changed at the
bank?” -
“Think that is why they are after you, eh?”
“Without a doubt?”
“Then they must be officers.”
“It is certain that at least one of them is an officer. The
others he may have called to his aid hastily.”
“It will not do for them to overtake us.”
“Surely not. I would be arrested and taken back into
Carson. Even if I were sure of proving my innocence,
the man and girl would get away.”
“And you cannot be sure you could prove your inno-
cence. The working of the law is sometimes strange and
erratic. That money has placed you in great danger,
Frank.”
“You are right. I wish I had kept my money in my
pocket, and had not been so ready to break fifty-dollar
bills for a pretty girl.”
Frank said this laughingly, but Bart's dark face wore a
very serious look. He was not at all inclined to regard
serious matters in a humorous light, while Frank had


264 Eluded.
view. They were coming on when last seen, but had not
seemed to gain in the least. At last an exclamation of
satisfaction broke from Bart’s lips.
“There they are !”
Far up the road, halted and looking back, were the mz A
and girl, mounted on two dust-covered horses.
“Sure as you live !” cried Frank. “We have been gain-
ing on them.
The boys were seen by the ones in advance, and the
man made a gesture of rage, while the girl reached out
and caught him by the arm, seeming to speak earnestly
to him. He listened a moment, and then both touched
up their horses, quickly galloping from view.
. Now the chase became hot, although the road became
more difficult and perilous. Several times the lads ob-
tained glimpses of the man and girl.
Finally, with appalling suddenness, they came out upon
the shore of Lake Tahoe, resting like a blue gem upon the
mountain tops, upheld like a perfect mirror to a cloudless
sky.
Cries of surprise and admiration broke from the lips of
both boys, for never before had they beheld such a lovely
sheet of water. The surface of the lake was unbroken
by a ripple, and the water, into which the heated horses
thrust their noses, was clear as crystal.
Afar, the mountain peaks rose like sentinels, their out-
lines softened to a purple shade. Along the shores were
unmarred forests.
For a few seconds the boys sat silent, gazing in speech-
less admiration on the beautiful scene, and then Frank
gave a start and drew the nose of his horse from the
water, saying:
“Don’t let your animal drink too much, Bart. They are
very hot.”


Eluded. 265
“That’s right,” nodded the dark-haired lad, following
Frank’s example. “But where are the man and girl?”
“They must have hidden up or down the shore of the
lake. Look for the tracks of their horses.”
It did not take them long to discover which direction
had been taken, and away they went.
“I don’t see how they are going to escape us,” said
Bart. “We have them cornered.”
“And we must be ready to fight, for that man will raise
a rumpus.”
They looked at their revolvers, making sure they were
in good working order. There was a look of resolution
on Frank’s face that contrasted strongly with the ex-
pression of doubt and uncertainty which had been grow-
ing on the face of his companion.
They rode round a point and came in view of a beauti-
ful cove. Then they again uttered exclamations of sur-
prise, for out of the cove a light canoe was skimming,
and the canoe contained the man and the girl. The man
was handling the paddle with strength and skill. '
“Tricked!” exclaimed Frank, somewhat dismayed.
“They have slipped us after all.” .
As he saw this, the expression of doubt on Bart’s face
turned to one of intense anger. He was enraged at being
bafiled. Riding his horse into the edge of the water, he
drew a revolver, pointed it at the canoe, and shouted:
“Hold on, there! If you don’t come back, you are
liable to find yourself dodging bullets.”
The reply of the man was a scornful laugh, the sud-
den uplifting of one hand, a puff of smoke, and the sing-
ing of a bullet that passed over Bart’s head.
“Don’t shoot Z” cried Frank. “You might hit the girl.”
Bart was in a white rage; he quivered with anger.
“Oh, I won’t shoot!” he said; “but, if he were alone,
I’d give him a few lead pills, hang him!”


266 Eluded.
After the shot, which seemed flung at the boys in de-
rision, the man resumed paddling, and the canoe glided
on.
But that shot had aroused some on on the opposite side
of the cove, for a man came bursting out of the trees,
frushed down to the shore, and stared after the canoe.
He was a gigantic fellow, being at least six feet and six
inches in height, roughly dressed in woolen clothes, wear-
ing long-legged boots and a wide-brimmed hat. He had
a heavy mustache, and a long imperial.
Suddenly his voice rang in a roar across the cove:
“Hold on, thar! Whatever are you doin’ with my ca-
noe? Ef yer don't bring it back, burn my hide ef I don't
turn a cannon on yer an' sink yer at sea!”
The man in the canoe made no immediate reply, but
pulled the harder at the paddle.
“Derned ef yer don’t git grapeshot an’ canister!”
howled the big man. “I’ll riddle yer!”
Then the man in the canoe shouted:
“Don’t shoot! You will find two horses hitched to a
tree near where we obtained this canoe. They're yours
in exchange.”
“W'at do I want uv hawses!” roared the big man.
“Bring back thet canoe instanter! I won’t take yer
hawses !”
But the man in the canoe continued to pull at the
paddle, and the little craft glided straight out on the tran-
111il bosom of the lake.


272 Big Gabe.
“Ef Jack Long shows up an’ wants ter go, I s’pose so.”
Blake said this somewhat reluctantly, as if he dreaded
the exertion.
“If Long should not show up—what, then?”
“It won’t be nary dern bit uv use fer one ur two uv us
ter go rampin’ off over thar. Ef ]ack Long locates their
hangout, he’ll bring a posse an’ scoop ’em.”
The boys found the giant was set in his ways, and it
was not strange that, as they were boys, he should con-
sider them of minor importance in case of a collision
with the counterfeiters. ~
He once more expressed his conviction that the lads
were “squar,” and it was his belief that he could thus con-
vince Jack Long.
“Can we use our horses in getting round the lake?”
asked Frank. ‘
“Wa-al, I dunno but I kin pick out a trail fer yer; but
fer me it’d be as much work ter travel hawseback ez
afoot.”
He then invited them to his cabin, and they followed
him, leading the horses. He gave no heed to the animals
the man and girl had abandoned.
Big Gabe’s cabin was tucked away in a secluded nook,
close to the shore of the lake, and not far from the cove.
It was fairly comfortable in a rude way.
“Long will come hyar,” he said. “Ef he wuz with yer
pursuers he’ll show up afore a great while. Make your-
selves comfertable till he comes.”
The lads did so.


274 . Over the Precipice.
make a critter feel ez if he don’t keer a hoot whether
school keeps ur not!”
The sheriff had half drawn his revolvers. He now
thrust one of them back into its holster, but motioned for
Blake to stand aside. .
“I judge you don’t know the kind of youngsters these
are as I have found here,” said Long.
“And I judge I do,” returned the big man, quietly. “I
know all about ’em, an’ they’re all right.”
The ofiicer looked surprised.
“How does it happen you know about ’em ?” he asked,
wonderingly.
“They’re old acquaintances uv mine, asserted Gabe,
greatly to the surprise of the lads; “an’ they’re on the
dead level. They came hyar to see me, sayin’ as how
they wuz in some trouble down at Carson over some
counterfeit money as they hed got by accident.”
Long was scowling and looking disgusted. He lis-
tened in silence, motioning for the giant to go on.
“I hev listened ter their story,” said Blake, “an’ know-
in’ ’em ez I do, I’ll allow it’s straight, an’ you ain’t got no
cause whatever ter rope ’em, Jack.”
“Mebbe you’re right,” admitted the sheriff, fishing in a
pocket and drawing forth a paper; “but here is a warrant
for the arrest of one Frank Merriwell, and I must serve
it. It is sworn out by Ezra Coburn, a leading‘citizen of
Carson.”
“Burn Ezra Coburn !” roared Big Gabe, becoming
somewhat excited. “Burn him and double burn him! I
tell yer them youngsters is my friends, an’ I’m standin’ by
D ' 7 7 97
em. You an I dont want any trouble, Jack.
“No, we don’t want any trouble; but, at the same time,
I’ll have to do my duty,” came firmly from the lips of the
sheriff.


Over the Precipice. 275
(I
By thet yer mean yer’ll hev ter arrest Frank Merri-
well ?”
“Exactly.”
“Stiddy, Jack! Don’t be too quick ter lay yer paws on
ther boys. You know me.”
“I do, and I do not fancy having trouble with you. At
the same time I must do my duty.”
“Wa-al, hold hard a bit. Don’t be in a hurry about
nabbin’ them. I’ll give yer my pledge as how yer kin
hev ’em any time. Does thet go ?”
The sheriff hesitated a bit, and then said: .
“It goes, if you are responsible for ’em, Gabe.”
“All right. Boys, this yar is Jack Long, sheriff from
Carson, a white man clean through. He’ll guv yer a
squar’ deal.”
The boys shook hands with the ofiicer, after which the
latter said:
“This manwith me is Silas Iones, of Michigan, relation
to my wife, somehow or other. He is thinking of locat-
ing out this way.”
Jones grinned all over his bearded face, shook hands in
a strong, blundering fashion, and said:
“I swan if this ain’t a great country, out here! Beats
all natur! But I don’t feel to hum, fer I was raised right
in ther middle of the woods, an’ there’s too much open
land out this way. I don’t mean right round here, you
understand; but I’ve seen more’n forty thousan’ miles of
orairie sence comin’ out this way, an’ it makes me lone-
some.”
Having expressed himself thus, he sat down on a box
and relapsed into silence, listening to the others and grin-
ning now and then, but seldom speaking unless addressed.
Big Gabe urged them all to sit down, and they did so.
He then directed Frank Merriwell to relate to the shcrifi
the story of his adventures since meeting Isa Isban on the


.
CHAPTER XLIII.
A FR I G H T F U L P E R I L .
Not a sound came from the lips of our hero as his
horse went plunging into the chasm, although, in the
moment when he went over the brink, the boy fully ex-
pected to be dashed to death in the dark depths below.
He saw Big Gabe leap to clutch him, but realized that
the giant was too late.
In that fateful moment Frank cleared his feet from
the stirrups and made a desperate effort to save himself.
Too late |
All he could do was to clutch at the high pommel of
the Mexican saddle, to which he clung tenaciously.
A wild, half human scream of terror came from the
throat of the horse.
“Whoa up, thar!” roared the giant, as he made a clutch
at the horse.
By rare good fortune the man clutched the flowing
tail of the animal fairly and firmly. His heels settled
into a rift of the rocks, and he surged backward.
Over went the horse, dangling, head downward, above
the terrible chasm, while the giant held it thus by clinging
to the creature’s tail !
And our hero held fast to the Mexican saddle !
Frank was amazed when he found the horse was not
going downward, and, being unable to see the big man,
he wondered what held the animal suspended in the air.
In a moment the man above cried:
“Are you gone, boy? Are yer done fer, youngster?”
“No,” replied Frank, with sudden hope. “I am hang-


290 A Girl’s Mad Leap.
Merriwell moved at a swinging pace, and Hodge held
close to his heels.
The light in the east broadened, flushed, and rose to
the zenith. The stars were blotted from the sky; but
there were deep shadows far down in the ravines and
gorges when the sunlight lay on the mountain peaks.
Having left the pocket, Frank led the way along a
twisting ravine. Out of this he climbed at a certain
point, and they made their way over a ridge into an-
other ravine, from which they branched into yet another.
Finally, with the bare face of a great mountain rising
abruptly on their left, the boys advanced slowly.
“It cannot be far from here,” said Frank, keeping his
eyes about him. “We shall not be able to see the cabin
from this ravine, but we may locate the cliff on which it
is bui1t.”
“How can we locate it?”
“Big Gabe said there was a wide streak that ran perpen-
dicularly in the rocky precipice not far from the clifi—
and there it is !”
The boys fell back a bit, gazing intently at the wide,
white strip that seemed to hang along the face of black
stone, like a wide streak from a monster whitewash brush.
“I am certain we are very near the place,” said Frank.
“We will look for the cliff.”
This they did, and, in a very short time, they fancied
they had discovered it.
“There seems no possible way of reaching the ledge up
there,” said Bart, somewhat despondently.
“But there must be a way, if the hidden cabin is built
there,” declared Frank.
“I don’t doubt it. At the same time, we are not likely
to find it. Instead of making queer money in a city,
where they would be in constant danger of discovery
and arrest, they have come here to this wild region, where


294 Queen of the Counterfeiters.
“But how does it happen you are here?” she asked
bewildered. “I cannot understand that.”
“This is no time or place for explanations,” Frank cut
in. “That fellow has disappeared from the cliff, but he
will be back. We must get out of this.”
To this Bart fully agreed, and he lifted the girl to her
feet. She was rather weak, and so she was forced to
lean on his shoulder.
They had moved but a little way when a shout came
from the cliff, and they saw three men looking down at
them. These men were armed, and Frank saw them
taking aim with rifles.
“Look out !” he shouted. “They're going to send bul-
lets after us!”
A second later the men on the cliff began shooting,
the white smoke puffing from their rifles, the reports of
which awoke the echoes.
The bullets whistled about the trio in the ravine.
“Run!” shouted Frank, wheeling and flinging his rifle
to his shoulder.
He sent several bullets up at the cliff and then turned
and dashed after Bart, who had lifted the girl in his arms,
and made a rush for a place of safety.
The bullets spat spitefully against the rocks as he ran,
whistled about him, dislodged pebbles and tore up little
sprays of earth, but not one of them touched him.
The trio reached a turn in the ravine and passed beyond
view of the cliff, so they were safe from the bullets of
the men above.
For some moments they paused, panting from their ex-
ertions.
The girl looked at her companions in admiration.
“You are strong and brave,” she said. “I feel that you
will save me.”


Queen of the Counterfeiters. 295
“But we are not out of the woods yet,” said Frank.
“Those fellows will be sure to give us a chase.”
“How can they get down from the cliff?” asked Bart.
“There is a way to do that, you may be sure. As soon
as we get our breath we must hasten on. We will be
fortunate if we strike Blake, Long, and Jones without
delay.” -
They did not wait long before hastening forward. The
boys took the girl between them, both assisting her, some-
times carrying her over the worst places.
Her strength came back to her, after a time, and they
were surprised by her skill and fleetness of foot.
Out of the ravine they made their way, and dropped
over into the other, beginning to feel relieved by the non-
appearance of their enemies.
But they were not to escape without a further encoun-
ter.
Five minutes after entering the second ravine they
heard a clatter of hoofs behind them. There was no
time to get out of the ravine, and it happened that they
were unable to find a place of concealment in time to
escape observation.
Six men came riding madly toward them, sending up
a wild shout when they were observed.
“Behind these rocks here !” cried Frank. “We must
stand them off. It's our only show. Put the girl behind
that large one, so that she will be safe from bullets.”
Bart was desperate. His teeth showed, his face was
very pale, and he grated:
“They shall not touch her again—I vow they shall not
touch her !”
Behind the bowlders plunged the trio, just as a bullet
whistled over Frank's head.
Dropping on one knee behind a stone on which he
could rest his elbow, our hero brought the butt of his


Queen of the Counterfeiters. 297
“Shield yourselves as far as possible in both direc-
tions,” cried Frank. “If I am not mistaken, we have
enemies above and below !”
Crouching behind the rocks, they saw the second party
dash into view—four in all. Three of them were men,
but their leader was a girl, who wore a mask over her
face.
“There!” exclaimed Frank—“there is the queen of the
counterfeiters!”


.300 After the Fight.
“I hope she is not harmed,” he said, as he deftly re‘
moved the mask.
The moment the girl’s face was exposed a shout of
amazement broke from the lips of both lads. They stared
first at one girl and then at the other, looking bewildered.
The girls were almost counterparts of each other!
“They are doubles!” exclaimed Frank. “Taken separ-
ately, it would be impossible to tell one from the other.”
Then he turned on the girl they had been defending,
stared straight into her face for a moment, and asked:
“What is your name?”
“Vida Melburn.” '
“It is not Isa Isban ?”
“No, sir.”
“Did I not change two fifty-dollar bills for you on the
Pacific Express, shortly after leaving Ogden ?"
“I never saw you till this morning.”
“That settles it!” cried Frank; “the other girl is Isa
Isban, and she is queen of the counterfeiters. She was
the one for whom I changed the money, and she com-
pletely fooled me by her innocent face and manner.”
“And I mistook her for Miss Melburn,” said Bart.
“Such a thing seems impossible, but it actually occurred.”
“But how Miss Melburn came to be here is what I
cannot understand,” asserted Frank.
“I came up to Tahoe with my father, an uncle, and an
aunt,” said the girl, who was recovering from her terror.
“My uncle and aunt live in Carson, and father and I were
visiting them. We hired a sailboat of a big hermit who
lives somewhere on the shore of the lake, and sailed over
here, coming ashore to have a picnic dinner. The wind
went down, and we could not get back. That evening I
took a little stroll from camp, and I was suddenly seized
from behind, nearly smothered in a blanket and carried
away. I was held a captive in a cabin, far up on a high


504 1 After the Fight.
her kidnapers was the very boy he liad forbidden her to
see or correspond with.
It is needless to say that Bart and Frank were treated
with great courtesy.
Drake did not wish to make anything unpleasant for
Isa, so she accompanied the party as if she were one of
them, although the detective tried to keep an eye on her.
But she was shrewd, and she gave him the slip before
Carson was reached. She was not overtaken and recap-
tured.
The detective was not forced to call Frank and Bart
to testify against the captured counterfeiters, as both fel-
lows confessed freely.
Big Gabe parted from Frank with a show of affection.
“ ’Low yer wuz squar’ when I fust saw yer, burn me
deep ef I didn’t !” said the lazy giant. “I wuz right, too.
No, I ain’t goin’ ter leave Tahoe. Reckon I’ll live ther
rest uv my natteral days hyar. Ef yer ever git round this
yar way, don’t yer fail ter call on Gabe Blake. Yer’ll al-
wus be welcome at his shanty. Ef yer ain’t, you may
brand me.”
When Frank left Carson City Bart was the guest of
Vida Melburn’s uncle. Vida and her father were stop-
ping there, and Frank was urged to remain longer.
But Frank made haste to get away. He had a secret
locked fast in his heart; he knew he, too, might become
smitten by Vida’s charms, if he remained, and he did not
wish to “cross the trail” of his friend.
The boys parted with a warm handshake and a sincere
wish to meet again, before long.
“And where will you go next ?” asked Bart.
“To San Francisco, and from there to South America,”
answered our hero.
He told the truth, and his many adventures that fol-
lowed will be related in the next volume of this series,