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THE BOY FROM THE WEST 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/boyfromwestOOstan 
 
The undaunted boy tore the paper to pieces." 
 
 (See page 5S) 
 
The Boy from the West 
 
 BY 
 
 GILBERT PATTEN 
 
 AUTHOR OT 
 
 "The Boy Cattle King," " Don Kirk's Mine," " Rockspur Nine," etc* 
 
 Mtl % 
 
 «? 
 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER 
 
 610 South Washington Square 
 
Copyright, 1894, 1899 
 By STREET & SMITH 
 
THE BOY FROM THE WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MISPLACED CONFIDENCE, 
 
 "Look out!" 
 
 This sharp cry was followed closely by the shrill, 
 warning whistle of the New York Express. 
 
 "Stop that horse!" 
 
 "They'll be killed!" 
 
 Although these horrified exclamations broke from the 
 lips of the spectators on the station platform, not one of 
 the speakers possessed the courage or presence of mind 
 to check the animal that was whirling two human 
 beings toward a sudden and violent death. 
 
 The mid-afternoon express did not stop at Burnham 
 Junction unless flagged, and, being seven minutes be- 
 hind time, it was rushing through the village at a 
 speed that raised a cloud of whirling dust at each 
 crossing. 
 
 An odd-looking boy who had been sitting on a bench 
 at the end of the depot, apparently half asleep, arose 
 to his feet with the first cry. On the opposite side of 
 the railroad he saw a horse dashing madly down the 
 sloping road toward the crossing, dragging a light 
 carriage, in which were seated two white-faced persons. 
 
 It seemed that the carriage would reach the crossing 
 one second before the train, in which case it would 
 be dashed to pieces by the engine. 
 
 832774 
 
6 Misplaced Confidence. 
 
 Not a Bound cam© from the boy's lips; but he ran 
 forward at a loping gait that seemed dreadfully slow, 
 but was really very deceptive, and crossed the track in 
 front of the express. 
 
 He was barely in time to grasp the horse by the bit, 
 and then came a most astonishing display of strength 
 and skill, for he stopped the animal within a space less 
 than twelve feet. 
 
 As it was, he had not another foot to spare for, as he 
 set the creature back on its haunches and whirled it 
 aside, the first car of the flying train brushed his shoul- 
 der and he was enveloped in a whirlwind of dust and 
 sand. 
 
 With a grip of iron, the strange lad held the horse 
 steady until the last car flashed along, and then, when 
 the danger was past, he calmly drawled : 
 
 "Wa-al, of all the fool tricks I ever saw, this yar 
 trying to run over a train of cars takes the lead." 
 
 The driver of the horse, a man of middle age, rather 
 a rough-looking fellow, bridled instantly, although his 
 voice was a trifle unsteady, as he hotly retorted : 
 
 "You're a smart younker, you be! You came nigh 
 gettin' us all killed ! If you'd let the hoss alone, we'd 
 got over the crossin' ahead of the train, an' " 
 
 "That will do, sir," cuttingly interrupted the person 
 by the driver's side, who was a boy a year or two older 
 than the one who had stopped the horse. "You have 
 been drinking, and we both escaped death by a miracle. 
 You have failed to get me here in time to catch the ex- 
 press, and this ends my dealings with you." 
 
 Having said this, the boy, who was dressed some- 
 thing like a dandy, and carried a stout cane, jumped 
 from the carriage to the ground. 
 
 He was a stout, well-built lad, with dark eyes and 
 hair, a proud face, and haughty bearing. There were 
 
Misplaced Confidence. 7 
 
 oostly rings on his fingers, a diamond pin in his cravat, 
 and a heavy gold chain strung across his vest. A 
 character reader would have said he possessed a very 
 passionate disposition, having a flashy temper that was 
 not readily curbed. 
 
 The driver's face, that had been pale a short time 
 before, now flushed with anger. 
 
 "You agreed to give me ten dollars " 
 
 "If you got me here in time to catch the express," 
 broke in the boy of the dark eyes. "You failed." 
 
 " Well, I s'pose you'll pay the reg'ler price for the 
 team?" 
 
 "Then you make a big mistake. No such a bargain 
 was made. You won't get a cent." 
 
 "I'll collect it of yer dad. He's rich an' " 
 
 "Get it— if you can. That's all." 
 
 And then the speaker turned to the lad who had 
 saved him from being killed, saying rather stiffly : 
 
 "I have to thank you for what you did, and " 
 
 "That yar's all right, partner," was the offhand 
 retort. "I didn't like to see you walked over by the 
 cars, and so I took a hand. I don't ask any thanks for 
 a little thing like that." 
 
 "A little thing! You do not seem to realize what 
 you have done. Come over to the station. As I 
 missed the express, I'll have to take the mixed train 
 back to Somerset Falls." 
 
 "That's the trail I'm bound over." 
 
 The two boys crossed the track, paying no attention 
 to the crowd that was gathering about them, or to the 
 driver of fcbe carriage, who was giving vent to some 
 very violent language. 
 
 The boy who had stopped the horse presented a great 
 contrast to the one he bad saved ; for he was dressed in 
 the very plainest of clothes, wearing long-legged boots, 
 
8 Misplaced Confidence. 
 
 into the tops of which his pantaloons were carelessly 
 thrust. He wore a woolen shirt, with a wide collar, 
 beneath which a tie was knotted, but had on neither 
 coat nor vest. About his waist was a heavy leather 
 belt, from which a coiled horsehair lasso hung at one 
 side; and there were holsters for revolvers on either 
 hip, although they were empty now. On his head was 
 a wide-brimmed Stinson sombrero, the band being 
 thrust full of cartridges. 
 
 In fact, he was dressed like a cowboy from the West, 
 and he had the air of a cowboy. Not the fancy cow- 
 boy who gets himself up in flashy attire and poses in a 
 museum for twelve dollars a week, but the genuine, 
 unpretending article, such as may be found on the 
 great cattle ranches of Kansas or Texas. 
 
 He was a trifle heavy and awkward in his manner, 
 seeming rather ill at ease in the presence of the dandi- 
 fied youth he had saved from a frightful disaster. 
 
 The mixed train for Somerset Falls, which had been 
 standing on a siding, now backed in on the main track, 
 as was the usual custom as soon as the express had 
 passed. 
 
 Somerset Falls was located ten miles away, at the 
 termination of a branch road that was being built 
 through to Clareford, a promising manufacturing town. 
 The road had been completed as far as Somerset Falls 
 the previous year; but an unfortunate legal complica- 
 tion had stopped it there, although the Falls was no 
 more than a village of six or eight houses, being abso- 
 lutely of no importance save as the nearest railway 
 station to Clareford. 
 
 The boys made haste to get inside the one passenger 
 car as soon as possible, so they could escape from the 
 Btaring eyes of the country people who had witnessed 
 the exciting incident described earlier in this chapter. 
 
Misplaced Confidence. 9 
 
 Much to their relief, the train was all "made up," 
 and it soon started. There were only five passengers 
 besides themselves. 
 
 "I take it you are from the West?" observed the lad 
 of the dark hair and eyes, after they had chatted until 
 they became fairly well acquainted. 
 
 "Hit it plumb center first shot," returned the other, 
 with unassumed heartiness. "I reckon I must look to 
 the people round these yar parts about as a tenderfoot 
 looks to us when he shows up out West for the first 
 time." 
 
 "Where are you from?" 
 
 "Kansas." 
 
 "Come East for pleasure?" 
 
 "No; business." 
 
 "It can't be possible you are going to Somerset Falls 
 on business?" 
 
 "Wa-al," smiled the boy from the West, "I don't 
 expect to hang round that yar place long. I'm going 
 on to Lake Kenshaw." 
 
 The lad with the dark eyes started. 
 
 "I came through from Lake Kenshaw to-day," he 
 asserted. "Missed the train at Somerset Falls, and 
 agreed to pay ten dollars to catch the express. You 
 know how I lost it, and, as there is not another New 
 York passenger until midnight, I am going back to the 
 lake." 
 
 "Then we can hang together till we get thar. I 
 say, know a man by the name of Cyrus Stark, who is 
 up that way fishing?" 
 
 Again the city lad started slightly. 
 
 "Stark — Cyrus Stark?" he repeated. "Seems to me 
 I know of the gentleman." 
 
 The boy from the West straightened up stiffly. 
 
 "Maybe he's the kind what you call gentleman here 
 
io Misplaced Confidence. 
 
 in the East," he said; "but out West we'd call him an 
 onery swindler. Look here!" with a sudden burst of 
 confidence, "tbat yar man swindled my mother out of 
 a fortune! Gentleman! Wa-al, if he is, I don't ad- 
 mire the breed." . 
 
 The face of the listening lad flushed, and he bit his 
 lip; but he managed to speak with assumed calmness. 
 
 "Swindled your mother? How?" 
 
 "Wa-al, you see, this Stark and my father were part- 
 ners in some ventures before father died. Stark tried 
 to buy the White Horse Mine, but he didn't work the 
 riffle. When father was killed by a blast as he was 
 goin' through the mine one day, Stark came up with 
 papers that seemed to prove his right to the property. 
 I don't know much about law, but there was a suit, 
 and he beat mother out of her eye teeth. I reckon law- 
 yers, judge and jury were well paid for their decision. 
 Anyhow, I know the whole business was crookeu, ^ 
 my name isn't Bart Stone." 
 
 "Seems to me I have heard of this White Horse 
 Mine," muttered the listening boy. "It proved a 
 failure, didn't it?" 
 
 "The lead was lost." 
 
 "Something like that." 
 
 "Yep. They abandoned the mine — it's been deserted 
 for near two years. Say, can I trust you?" 
 
 " What a question ! Of course." 
 
 "Wa-al, I went through that yar mine less than four 
 weeks ago, and what do you think I found, pard?" 
 
 "Give it up." 
 
 "I found the lost lead. That's what brings me on 
 here. Mother raised five thousand dollars, and sent 
 me to see if I can buy the stock of Cyrus Stark. He 
 holds it all, and it's said he'd be glad to take any price 
 for it. If I can get it back, I'll feel as if I was pretty 
 
Misplaced Confidence. n 
 
 near squar' with him — and I reckon, if the whole black 
 truth was known, you'd see I have more reasons than 
 I have told you yet for wanting to get squar'." 
 
 "And that's why you are going to Lake Kenshaw?" 
 
 "Yep. I want to get at Mr. Stark before he hears 
 anything about the lead being found again." 
 
 At this moment, a brakeman thrust his head in at 
 the car door, calling: 
 
 "Somerset Falls — Somerset." 
 
 The city boy arose to his feet, a sarcastic smile on 
 his face, observing : 
 
 "My dear Mr. Stone, you are altogether too new for 
 this part of the country. As long as you have told me 
 all this without asking my name, I advise you to go 
 back to your Kansas home and give over all hope of 
 purchasing the stock of the White Horse Mine. It 
 will save you a great deal of useless trouble." 
 
 "Your name!" gasped the astonished boy from the 
 West. "What is your name?" 
 
 As the train came to a stop, the other replied : 
 
 "It is Walter St. Omer Stark — and Cyrus Stark is 
 my father. ' ' 
 
12 The Race for the Mine. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE RACE FOR THE MINE. 
 
 "I'll— be—kicked!" 
 
 Bart Stone faintly muttered the words, staring at 
 his late companion, who was deliberately walking from 
 the car." 
 
 "What a big fool a big fool is! I've been and 
 blowed the whole thing to him, and he's Stark's son ! 
 That dishes me!" 
 
 However, he was not the boy to give up so easily, 
 and he leaped to his feet, crying: 
 
 "Stop! Hold on! I want to talk with you a bit, 
 partner!" 
 
 Instead of heeding the call, Walter St. Omer Stark 
 quickened his steps and left the car. 
 
 Bart had started to his feet, and he now hurried after 
 the other boy. He reached the platform just in time 
 to see Walter Stark disappear on the run around a 
 corner of the small depot. 
 
 "Running like a coyote! Here's after him! He's 
 got to be mighty lively on the hoof to get away from 
 me." 
 
 The young cowboy dashed forward in the loping 
 way peculiar to him when he ran, covering the ground 
 in a surprising manner, for all of his heavy boots. 
 
 As he came around the corner of the station, he saw 
 Walter Stark running swiftly and gracefully down the 
 street. Walter turned his head, and Bart fancied there 
 was a defiant, triumphant smile on his haughty face, 
 
The Race for the Mine. 13 
 
 "He thinks I don't know split-hoofs from whole — 
 and he's just about right. All the same, he'll have to 
 hurry right along, now I've got my peepers opened a 
 bit. It's win or lose, and I an't hyar for my health." 
 t The boy from the West knew well enough that his 
 late companion was running for the nearest place to 
 obtain a horse, and, so he followed. 
 
 Walter was a remarkably swift runner, and yet the 
 pursuing lad, for all of his loping gait, managed to 
 hold his own. He saw the rich man's son turn in at 
 the first house he reached. When Bart came up, run- 
 ning easily, he was just in time to hear a red-headed 
 man, who was standing in the open stable door, saying: 
 
 "No, Bill an't back from Burnham yit. Thought 
 you was goin' to New York. How'd you git back so 
 soon?" 
 
 "Missed the express at Burnham, and came back on 
 the afternoon mixed. Must have a horse to get to the 
 lake. Where can I find one?" 
 
 "Wull," mumbled the old fellow, deliberately 
 gnawing at a plug of black tobacco, "Idunno. It's 
 purty certun ye can't git a hoss around here on less 
 Steve Jones will let his." 
 
 "Where does Steve Jones live?" 
 
 "Third house down the next block. You'll find 
 
 -Wull, Isnum!" 
 
 This concluding exclamation was caused by the as- 
 tonishing swiftness with which Walter Stark turned 
 and dashed away. 
 
 Bart had overheard all this; but he was not quite so 
 swift in his movements as the other boy, and, as a re- 
 sult, Stark darted past him. 
 
 "Hyar! Hold on! Wa-al, go it! I'm comin', and 
 I can hoof it a bit!" 
 
 Only one chance of getting a horse I The boy who 
 
14 The Race for the Mine. 
 
 reached Steve Jones' first would succeed, and the other 
 lad would be left. 
 
 "Got to do it; so here goes!" 
 
 Bart ground the words through his teeth, as he set- 
 tled down to run for all he was worth. 
 
 Walter Stark was famous as an amateur sprint? 
 and bis astonishment can bo imagined when he i'o.i u 
 the slow-going cowboy, encumbered as be was with 
 heavy boots, forging along by his side and threatening 
 to pass him. 
 
 "What are you running for, you fool?" be snapped, 
 turning bis dark eyes — now flashing with anger — on 
 the boy from the West. 
 
 "Oh, just for fun!" was the drawled reply. "I may 
 be a fool, but thar's bigger ones to bo corraled any day. 
 You an 't seen me woke up yet, partner; I'm worse'n 
 a long-horn on the rampage." 
 
 "Do you expect to get ahead of «ze?" 
 
 "Wa-al, I expect to try mighty hard. I'll bet a 
 good hawse I do — — " 
 
 "I'll take tbe bet!" 
 
 Whack! With a swift and unexpected movement, 
 Walter Stark lifted the heavy cane he had clung to all 
 this time and brought it down on Bart's head, using 
 all the strength of his muscular arm. 
 
 It was a fortunate thing for Bart Stone, that he wore 
 a heavy felt hat on his head, for had it been otherwise, 
 the cane might have fractured his skull. As it was, 
 the blow dropped him face downward in the dust, 
 where he lay quite still, making no move to get up. 
 
 When Walter saw the result of his savage blow, his 
 face paled, and he half halted, gasping: 
 
 "I hope I didn't kill the fellow! That would be 
 awful! No, he stirs — he's all right!" 
 
 Then the rich man's son hurried onward again, leav- 
 
The Race for the Mine. 15 
 
 ing the victim of his dastardly blow still stretched in 
 the dust of the road. 
 
 How long Bart lay there he could not tell; but be 
 finally opened his eyes, sat up and looked around, some- 
 what dazed. 
 
 "Was I kicked by a mule? or what was it hap- 
 pened?" he muttered, staring at the unfamiliar scenes 
 of the quiet country about him. "My head feels like 
 thar was a stampede of spilt-hoofs inside it. Whar 
 am I, anyway?" 
 
 It took him some moments to collect his scattered 
 wits; but he finally remembered all that had happened. 
 
 "Wonder how long I've laid hyar on the trail?" he 
 mumbled, as he arose to his feet, gathering up his 
 lasso, which had become detached from where it was 
 suspended at his waist. "Maybe Mr. Walter St. Omer 
 Stark has reached his father by this time— maybe not! 
 Perhaps I can stop him, and get the start if I hustle. 
 Here goes!" Unmindful of the throbbing pain in his 
 head, he ran down the street once more, holding the 
 lariat in his hands. 
 
 "Third house around the corner, came from his dry 
 lips. "One, two, three — hyar it is!" 
 
 At that moment a boy, mounted on a spirited little 
 bay mare, rode out from the stable that sat back from 
 the house. He saw Bart coming down the road at a 
 run, and a laugh broke from his lips. 
 
 "The wild boy from the West has a hard head, but 
 there's nothing in it," he chuckled, allowing the little 
 mare to canter out to the road, where he checked her 
 and awaited the approach of the lad he felt he had 
 outwitted. 
 
 Bart's eyes were filled with a desperate light, as he 
 approached, and he made some preparations which 
 Walter Stark did not note. 
 
16 The Race for the Mine. 
 
 The rich man's son sat still on the horse until Bart 
 was quite close, and then he called out tauntingly: 
 
 "Things move in this part of the country, and you 
 are altogether too slow. Better take my advice, go 
 back home, and stick to your cattle. That's the kind 
 of society you're best adapted to. Good-by." 
 
 He touched the little mare with a whip he held, and 
 she wheeled to bound away. 
 
 Bart Stone was still running forward, and something 
 was circling about his head. Of a sudden it darted 
 out, and the noose of the horsehair lasso dropped about 
 the neck of the little mare. 
 
 The instant he made the cast, Bart had leaped to one 
 side of the road and taken a turn of the lasso about a 
 stone hitching-post. 
 
 As a result, the little mare was stopped with a sud- 
 denness that nearly hurled her forward on her nose. 
 Walter Stark was sent flying through the air, to land 
 heavil/ in the dirt of the road, bewildered, dazed, as- 
 tounded. 
 
 Choked by the noose, trembling in every limb, the 
 bay mare stood still, probably wondering what had 
 happened to check her so abruptly and rudely. 
 
 "Whoa — easy!" called Bart, as he released the lasso 
 and reached the side of the horse. 
 
 With his hand on the animal's bridle, he knew he 
 was master of the situation. 
 
 A light spring from the ground took him to the 
 saddle; but he held the prancing creature in check 
 with one hand, while other skillfully coiled the faithful 
 horsehair lariat. 
 
 Walter Stark sat up in the dust of the road just in 
 time to see the bay mare canter easily past him, with 
 the boy from the West on her back. 
 
 Bart turned in the saddle to wave his hand at the 
 
The Race for the Mine. 1 7 
 
 humiliated rich man's son, calling back, in an aggra- 
 vating drawl : 
 
 "I'll think over that yar advice of yours, partner, 
 and maybe I'll take it, if I conclude you was right. 
 But you can't always tell how fast a hawse can trot by 
 counting its ribs. Good-byl" 
 
1 8 4 Too Late 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 "Mr. Stark, if you can spare me the time, I want to 
 talk over a little business with you." 
 
 "Business, business! This is no place for business, 
 young man ! I came here to escape business — I am here 
 to fish. No, sir; I will not discuss business of any 
 sort." 
 
 The words filled Bartley Stone with despair. After 
 passing through so many adventures, and riding on 
 horseback from Somerset Falls to Lake Kenshaw, was 
 he to be baffled simply because this man had resolved 
 not to be bothered with business for the time? 
 
 Unless he could induce Cyrus Stark to talk business 
 immediately, he felt sure he would utterly fail in his 
 purpose, as a short delay would be pretty certain to 
 make the man aware of the truth about the White 
 Horse Mine, now known to his son. 
 
 And still it would not do to let him know the matter 
 was of serious importance, for then he might suspect 
 the truth, and refuse to negotiate at all. 
 
 "I have come a long distance to see you, sir, 
 and " 
 
 "That is nothing to me. I have come a long dis- 
 tance to avoid all bother of business. Physician told 
 me I must — said it was imperative. And you're only 
 a boy. I never transact business with a minor. That 
 settles it, sir." 
 
Too Late. 19 
 
 "It is about the 'White Horse Mine, Mr. Stark." 
 
 The millionaire started and looked the boy over with 
 a slight show of interest. 
 
 "That? Why, it's petered out — no good — failed. 
 You're from the West?" 
 
 ''Yes, sir. I know the lead of that yar mine was 
 lost; but I've been down the shaft, and I reckon I can 
 make it pay on a small scale by working over the aban- 
 doned vein. I'm willing to take the venture, if I can 
 buy the right to the mine." 
 
 " Won't be any trouble about that. Go ahead and 
 dig around in the old shaft as much as you like." 
 
 And Cyrus Stark settled back in the hammock 
 spread beneath the trees close by a pretty cottage that 
 stood on the shore of the lake, purring at his half- 
 smoked cigar. 
 
 But Bart was not be dismissed in such a manner. 
 
 "I bad rather do this thing in a business way," he 
 said. "I have heard the shares of the mine have no 
 quoted value, and that you hold them all. If they can 
 be bought for a small pile, so I can make something 
 out of working the old veins, why I'm hyar to buy 
 them." 
 
 "And you bother me over such a trifling matter? I 
 won't have it! The stock is in the hands of my at- 
 torney, Jubal Heep, No. 73 Broadway, New York 
 City; and he has full authority to dispose of it. Go to; 
 him! I'm done! Won't say another word about it!" ' 
 
 The effort to get anything further out of Mr. Stark 
 proved fruitless; but he had said quite enough to give 
 the boy from the West an idea of the proper course to 
 pursue. 
 
 "To Jubal Heep I'll go," he thought. "If lean 
 reach him before he receives a hint of the truth, I may 
 corral this yar stock, after all. ' ' 
 
20 Too Late. 
 
 Five minutes later he was riding through the dusk 
 of on-coming night, Lake Kenshaw at his back. 
 
 The little bay mare was a wiry animal, for she did 
 
 not seem to mind the effect of the sharp pace at which 
 
 she had covered the six miles between Somerset Falls 
 
 ? and Lake Kenshaw, and she was as spirited and ready 
 
 as ever when headed back toward the town. 
 
 Bart was a pretty hard rider; but he found no occa- 
 sion for urging the little horse. The roads were bad in 
 that section, and it was his chief outlook that the mare 
 received no injury. 
 
 He wondered how he would reach Burnham Junc- 
 tion, knowing there was a midnight passenger train 
 for New York which he might catch, if he could get 
 there on time. 
 
 "I'll hoof it," was his plucky resolve. "I can do it 
 all right. This hawse must be left at Somerset Falls, 
 or else I may be taken for a hawse thief." 
 
 The lights of the little town were twinkling from the 
 windows of the houses when he rode down the dusty 
 street where Walter Stark had been humiliated that 
 afternoon. 
 
 He had noticed a store and post office near the depot, 
 and thither he went, having decided to leave the horse 
 at that place. As he rode up, two men came out of the 
 store. They saw him, and one of them started for- 
 ward, crying: 
 
 "That's the boyl That's my hossl Catch him!" 
 
 Bart immediately realized he was in great danger of 
 being detained there, which would certainly baffle him 
 utterly in his attempt to reach Jubal Heep before the 
 attorney was notified not to sell the shares of the White 
 Horse Mine. 
 
 "Off the trail ! Clear the way for a stampede ! Hyar 
 goes the whole bunch !" Swish ! the coiled lasso hissed 
 
Too Late. 21 
 
 through the air, and cut across the flank of the little 
 mare, causing her to leap forward and shoot past the 
 man who had bounded out to grasp her bit. 
 
 "Can't stop for little matters now," came through 
 Bart's clinched teeth. "Got to make Burnham in 
 time to catch them idnight passenger. I've got the 
 name of lifting a hawse, and so I may as well ride the 
 critter to Burnham." 
 
 He knew there was little danger of immediate pur- 
 suit, for there were not any spare horses in Somerset 
 Falls, as a rule. 
 
 Twice he was obliged to stop and inquire concerning 
 the road to Burnham; but he reached the junction with 
 nearly two hours to spare before midnight. 
 
 He rode direct to a livery stable, where the horse 
 was delivered ; and he left ten dollars to pay for the use 
 of the animal, stating it belonged to Steve Jones, of 
 Somerset Falls, who would call for it. 
 
 Then he went down to the railroad station, where he 
 found a telegraph office, but was informed there was 
 no line running to Somerset Falls. 
 
 The post office and stores of the town were closed ; 
 but he "borrowed" a sheet of paper and an envelope of 
 the station agent, and proceeded to write a letter to Mr. 
 Jones, telling the man where he would find his horse 
 and money to remunerate him for the use of the animal. 
 
 The station agent sold him a stamp, and, when the 
 letter was completed, sealed, and dropped into the 
 mailbox at the depot, he breathed easier. 
 
 "Hanged if I don't feel something like a hawse 
 thief!" he muttered, as he walked up and down the 
 platform. "Never did anything like that before, but I 
 just had to this time. Wonder whar that yar Walter 
 Stark is." 
 
 He soon found out, for a carriage containing three 
 
22 Too Late. 
 
 persons — two men and a boy — whirled up to the station 
 about thirty minutes before the midnight passenger 
 was due; and Bart, who was standing in the darkness 
 at one corner of the building, recognized the lad as the 
 rich man's son whom he had outwitted. 
 
 Walter Stark and one of the men entered the station, 
 and Bart hurried to a window that was standing open. 
 There he heard himself described and inquiries made 
 as to. whether he had been seen by the station agent. 
 The agent said such a boy had certainly been there, 
 but he was gone then. 
 
 "Did he purchase a ticket here?" anxiously asked 
 the son of the millionaire. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And you don't know where he went?" 
 
 "I do not. What has he done?" 
 
 "Stolen a horse," was the reply. "I have a war- 
 rant for his arrest, and the sheriff is with me to serve 
 it. If he shows up here again, detain him, and I'll 
 pay you twenty-five dollars. But he's a perfect young 
 ruffian. You want to look out for him." 
 
 With that, Walter Stark and the sheriff hurriedly 
 left the depot and once more entered the carriage, being 
 driven rapidly away. 
 
 Bart hoped he had seen the last of them ; but he took 
 care to keep out of sight until the midnight train whis- 
 tled. As the train drew up at the station, he got on 
 the last car. 
 
 Just then the carriage containing Walter Stark 
 whirled up to the station again, and the boy sprang 
 out, rushed forward and boarded the train, as it was 
 beginning to move. 
 
 "He's on his way to see Jubal Heep," thought the 
 boy from the West. "Somehow he has got word to 
 his father, and has sent him to get ahead of me." 
 
Too Late. *3 
 
 This made Bart feel anything but pleasant, as he 
 entered the car and sat down. He half hoped Walter 
 Stark would come along, see him, and pick a quarrel. 
 Although he knew it was but natural young Stark 
 should look out for his father's interests, he could not 
 forgive the fellow for knocking him down with the 
 cane, after being indebted to him for the preservation 
 of his life. He did not go through the cars in search 
 for Walter, and the b^ys were not fated to meet on the 
 journey to New York City, which was reached early 
 in the morning. 
 
 From the Grand Central Station Bart took the Third 
 Avenue elevated downtown, crossing City Hall Park 
 in the dusky light of morning, scarcely giving a glance 
 to the settees of drowsing bums and unfortunates who 
 had no other place to spend the night. 
 
 The number of Jubal Heep's office was reached long 
 before the building was opened for the morning; and 
 the anxious and excited boy could do nothing but walk 
 up and down the sidewalk before the door, waiting 
 until Heep should appear. 
 
 He well knew Walter Stark might proceed direct to 
 the home of the attorney, which was unknown to Bart, 
 and thus easily ruin his prospects; but, for all of this, 
 he could do nothing. 
 
 People began to hurry along the street to stores and 
 offices, heavy trucks rumbled over the pavement, and 
 the surface cars were gradually filled until at last they 
 were crowded. Then the janitor came and opened the 
 building. From him Bart learned the number of 
 Jubal Heep's office, and he walked up the stairs until 
 he found the door. 
 
 There he waited. It seemed as if the man would 
 never appear. Other offices were opened all ahout, and 
 there was a general air of business all through the 
 
34 Too Late. 
 
 building by ten o'clock; but it was fully thirty minutes 
 after ten before a nervous little man, with black whis- 
 kers and a nose like the beak of a hawk, unlocked the 
 door of Heep's room. 
 
 Bart entered, and the man looked at him inquiringly, 
 seeming slightly surprised at his curious and unusual 
 appearance. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you, young man?" he in- 
 quired, in a raspy, file-like voice. 
 
 "I — I'm hyar to see Mr. Jubal Heep," faltered the 
 lad. 
 
 "You are looking at him now. What's your busi- 
 ness?" 
 
 Bart had intended to approach the matter cautiously, 
 and in a manner that could not arouse the attorney's 
 suspicions; but Heep's brusqueness disconcerted him, 
 and he answered : 
 
 "I've come to see if I can corral the shares of the 
 White Horse Mine." 
 
 "Corral them? What's that?" 
 
 "Buy them, I mean, sir." 
 
 "Hum! Talk English, young man. You're too 
 late." 
 
 "Too late!" gasped Bart, his heart sinking. "What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 "The stock's no good in this country — isn't worth a 
 penny. So, being instructed by Mr. Stark, the owner, 
 to get rid of it at any price, I decided to send it to Eng- 
 land and spring it on the blooming Britishers. ' ' 
 
 "And " 
 
 "It's in the hands of an agent. He sailed for Eng- 
 land yesterday on the Majestic" 
 
Fairly Balked. 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FAIRLY BALKED. 
 
 Bart actually staggered, as if he had been struck a 
 heavy blow in the face. 
 
 "Sent to England?" he faintly muttered. "Gone! 
 I'm done for!" 
 
 The man looked at him in astonishment, rubbing his 
 beak-like nose with one white forefinger. 
 
 "You seem broke up," he observed. "What's the 
 matter? What did you want of the stock?'' 
 
 The boy from the West straightened up, determined 
 not to let the lawyer know how hard he was really hit. 
 It was not an easy thing to do; but he forced a smile 
 to his face, even though it proved to be a somewhat 
 sickly one. 
 
 "Wa-al," he said, speaking with his habitual drawl, 
 "you see it's like this: My father used to own that yar 
 mine, and " 
 
 "Your father?" exclaimed Jubal Heep. "Is it pos- 
 i sible you are the son of Norman Stone, who was acci- 
 dentally killed in the mine by a premature blast?" 
 
 "I am his son, sir." 
 
 "Well, I don't see what you can want of that petered- 
 out hole in the ground. You ought to know enough to 
 be aware there is nothing in it." 
 
 "I know the lead was lost, sir; but I was through 
 the mine a few weeks ago, while on a trip into Col- 
 erader, and I reckoned I could make something by 
 working over the old vein. I may be wrong. Some 
 
26 Fairly Balked. 
 
 people out whar I live say I don't know shucks; but 
 I'm willing to buy the stock, if I can get it cheap 
 enough, and try to see what I can make out of the old 
 mine." 
 
 "You'd be stuck, and stuck bad, boy. Why, ex- 
 perts failed to find a trace of the lost lead, and they 
 said the mine was utterly worked out. If you've got 
 any money you mean to put into that piece of property, 
 thank your good fortune Ira Wilson has sacked the 
 shares to London." 
 
 "So Ira Wilson is the name of the man who has 
 them?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What's his business?" 
 
 Jubal Heep grinned craftily, again rubbing his 
 nose with one forefinger, a movement that somehow 
 seemed sinister and offensive to the lad. 
 
 "His business? Oh, he's an agent — a promoter — a 
 catcher of suckers." 
 
 Bart did not fail to understand this. 
 
 "And has he gone to England for the express purpose 
 of selling them yar shares to suckers over thar?" 
 
 "Not much!" was the scornful answer. 
 
 "He wouldn't tinker with anything so small. He 
 had a dozen schemes on hand, and I induced him to 
 see what he could do with the old mine. Britishers 
 are particularly anxious just now to sink their good 
 money in any kind of mining property in this country; 
 and I thought Wilson might be able to get something 
 out of the shares. Told him to dispose of them at any 
 price. He's to have a commission, so he'll do his best. 
 Maybe he won't be able to do anything. If not, Stark 
 better burn the worthless old papers. 
 
 "But I can't spend any more time with you, boy. 
 Just go back home, and think yourself in luck." 
 
Fairly Balked. 27 
 
 Bart, however, declined to be dismissed in such a 
 manner. 
 
 "Is it not still possible for me to purchase the stock 
 of you?" he questioned, knowing whatever he did 
 must be done without further delay. 
 
 "You don't want it." 
 
 "Yes, I do, sir." 
 
 "Well, you're not half as smart as I took you to be 
 — and that's saying a good deal." 
 
 The boy flushed, but held his temper, for all of this 
 uncomplimentary declaration. 
 
 "I will pay you for the shares now," he said; "and 
 you can cable to that yar agent of yours not to dispose 
 of them. He'd get the message as soon as he arrives." 
 
 "I can't do business with you; you're only a boy." 
 
 "I'm my own master, Mr. Heep; and I've got the 
 rocks in my pocket." 
 
 "The rocks?" 
 
 "The dust — stuff — money." 
 
 The lawyer was immediately interested, and he 
 rubbed his beak with renewed vigor, a cunning twinkle 
 entering his eyes. If this boy was still fool enough to 
 buy the worthless shares, why not sell them to him? 
 
 "How much money have you, young man?" 
 
 "How much will you take for the shares?" 
 
 "Oh, well, you must know we do not propose to 
 sell them for nothing, as Wilson may make a big strike 
 with them. It will be useless for you to offer an insig- 
 nificant sum. A few hundred dollars are no object, 
 and I do not suppose you have more than a hundred or 
 so?" 
 
 Jubal Heep was trying to sound him. 
 
 "I will pay you five hundred dollars, spot cash for 
 the shares, mister; and that yar' s business," said Bart 
 in his deliberate way. 
 
28 Fairly Balked. 
 
 The lawyer laughed. 
 
 "I knew it would be useless to discuss the matter 
 with you. Five hundred dollars! Why, I wouldn't 
 take the trouble to cable Wilson for that sum ! 
 
 "Come! If you really have any money, make a fair 
 kind of an offer. Speak up!" 
 
 "It won't be any use to try to make the old mine pay 
 if I have to give too much for her," was Bart's cau- 
 tious reply. "You know well enough it's no bonanza. 
 What' 11 you take?" 
 
 "You want me to set a price?" 
 
 "That's about it." 
 
 "Well, then, you may have those shares for the sum 
 of " 
 
 "One hundred thousand dollars!" 
 
 These words came from a third person, who had 
 quietly entered the office just in time to catch what the 
 lawyer was saying. 
 
 "Walter Stark!" gasped the boy from the West, in 
 blank dismay, as his eyes rested on this person. 
 
 "Right you are," came from the lips of the haughty 
 youth, who regarded the other lad with the utmost con- 
 tempt. "I overslept myself this morning, and you 
 came near stealing a march on me; but it seems I am 
 still in time to block the game." 
 
 "You — you — " choked Bart. 
 
 "Now, don't go to calling names, my cow-punching 
 friend! You may get yourself into trouble if you do!" 
 
 "And I saved you from being killed!" 
 
 "I suppose you expect pay for that. Well, I'll give 
 you a tenner, and call it square." 
 
 "Don't do it! It's a blamed sight more'n that yar 
 neck of yours is worth !" 
 
 The son of the millionaire turned pale with anger, 
 starting forward^ his hands clinched, savagely grating : 
 
Fairly Balked. 29 
 
 "You insolent puppy! I've a mind to give you a 
 good thumping!" 
 
 "Come ahead," drawled Bart, his hands on his hips, 
 apparently quite unprepared for an assault. 
 
 "Hold on!" grated Jubal Heep, stepping between 
 them. "I'll have no scrapping in this office! What's 
 the meaning of this, anyway, Mr. Stark?" 
 
 "It means this fellow has been trespassing in the 
 mine, and pretends he has discovered the lost lead. 
 That is why he is so anxious to buy the stock. It will 
 be a very good plan to hold on to it until we learn if 
 there is anything in his discovery." 
 
 "Bosh! This boy discovered the lead, after the ex- 
 perts failed? I don't take any stock in that." 
 
 "At the same time, I have directions from my father 
 to notify you not to dispose of the stock." 
 
 "I have sent it to England." 
 
 "Sent it? When?" 
 
 "Yesterday. The agent sailed on the Majestic'" 
 
 "Then he must be notified as soon as he lands not to 
 let go of the stock until he receives further instructions. 
 Will you see to it?" 
 
 "Certainly, if you say so." 
 
 "I do. As for this smart boy from the wild and 
 woolly West, he is not in it at all. But I am satisfied 
 with breaking him this way. He gave me a nasty 
 throw yesterday, and I'll yet have satisfaction for 
 that." 
 
 Trembling with anger and despair, Bart cried : 
 
 "Any time you want satisfaction, just sail right in, 
 Mr. Walter St. Omer Stark! I'll agree to give you all 
 yer w 7 ant — and a little more!" 
 
 Young Stark smiled sneeringly. 
 
 "You do not know my record, cow-puncher. I'm 
 the champion, amateur boxer of the Troj? Club, and 
 
30 Fairly Balked. 
 
 I knocked out Bob Plummer, the professional, in a fair 
 and square set-to. I'd do you up while you was catch- 
 ing your breath. Remember what I said : You are al- 
 together too slow for the East. Take a tumble to your- 
 self and go back where you belong, or you'll be cap- 
 tured by some dime museum manager and caged for 
 a freak." 
 
 Bart was tempted to launch himself at the sneering 
 and insolent lad, but, by a strong effort, he held his 
 passion in check, deliberately saying: 
 
 "Maybe the time'll come when I'll make you swal- 
 ler that yar bluff! I may be a little slow, but I have a 
 way of getting around sometimes. You'll hear from 
 me again, and you won't be pleased none whatever. 
 Good-day." 
 
 He abruptly left the lawyer's office, Walter Stark's 
 hateful and sneering laugh ringing in his ears. 
 
Hot After the Stock. 31 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOT AFTER THE STOCK. 
 
 "I feel like I'd been run down by a stampeded herd!" 
 muttered the unlucky boy from the West, as he de- 
 scended the stairs, utterly regardless of the elevator. 
 "And it's all my fault! I deserve it for letting my 
 mouth loose and telling all I knew. That was the 
 worst thing I ever did." 
 
 His aspect was certainly that of a crushed and 
 crestfallen boy; and he was so heedless when he 
 reached the street, now thronging with life, that he ran 
 into several persons, being sharply rebuked for his 
 awkwardness in one instance. 
 
 After a time, he realized he was hungry, and he 
 sought a restaurant, where a square meal was ordered 
 and eaten. Indeed, for all his misfortune, his appe- 
 tite was so voracious the waiter stood gazing at him 
 in amazement. 
 
 Being unaccustomed to the ways of the East, he 
 lade several blunders that caused those who saw him 
 ) smile, and brought an abashed flush to his own 
 cheeks. 
 
 Having satisfied his appetite and paid the bill, he 
 left the restaurant and was soon on Broadway once 
 more. Scarcely knowing why he did so, he took a 
 surface car for uptown, getting off at Fourteenth 
 Street, and walking northward. 
 
 Naturally, he attracted a great deal of notice, being 
 attired in a manner quite unusual for Broadway; but 
 
32 Hot After the Stock. 
 
 he paid no attention to the stares and smiles of the 
 crowd, his mind occupied with thoughts of his own 
 affairs. Suddenly, however, as he reached Twenty- 
 third street, these words aroused him to a sense of his 
 surroundings: 
 
 "Hello, old man! Thought you'd sailed. Heard 
 you were going on the Majestic." 
 
 "So I was intending. My passage was paid and 
 stateroom engaged; but I was in that little smash on 
 the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western." 
 
 "You don't say! Escaped all right? Hurt any 
 way?" 
 
 "Not hurt; but I missed the Majestic." 
 
 Bart heard all this, and he looked the two men over 
 with interest. The one who had missed the steamer 
 was a rather dashy, bright-appearing young man, with 
 a shrewd face and a reddish mustache that had lately 
 been curled by a barber. He was well dressed, and 
 carried a large leather grip in his hand. 
 
 "Missed the Majestic!" thought the boy from the 
 West. "What if he " 
 
 He scarcely dared think of that; but he resolved not 
 to let the young man with the grip get out of sight. 
 
 The two men talked a few moments more and then 
 they parted, the one Bart was watching crossing 
 Twenty-third Street. 
 
 The boy followed, in terror lest the stranger should 
 disappear in the moving throng. A block of teams shut 
 in between the man and the lad, and it appeared as if 
 fate would baffle Bart then and there. 
 
 "You can't stop me in this yar way!" he muttered 
 somewhat fiercely. 
 
 The next moment, he astounded the spectators and 
 nearly paralyzed a policeman by leaping to the back 
 of a horse attached to a heavy truck, springing to the 
 
Hot After the Stock. 33 
 
 animal's mate, and dropping lightly to the ground, 
 quickly darting into the crowd. 
 
 He was again close after the man with the leather 
 grip, and this individual was pursued directly to the 
 Fifth Avenue Hotel, where he walked up to the clerk's 
 desk and registered, receiving a room. 
 
 The man's grip was taken by a colored porter, and, 
 as he followed the servant to the elevator, Bart slipped 
 up and looked at the name written on the register. He 
 nearly uttered a whoop cf delight, for it was: "Ira D. 
 Wilson." 
 
 "Luck is coming my way like a bucking bronco on a 
 tear!" he chuckled, striking his clinched right hand 
 into the open palm of his left. "This is the very agent 
 who has them yar shares, or I can't tell a Texas long- 
 horn from a Kansas jackrabbit!" 
 
 He heard a hoarse sound close by his side, and turned 
 to see the face of a man who was peering over his 
 shoulder at the register. 
 
 This man was a decidedly rough-looking person, 
 being none too well dressed, and having a face that 
 was not altogether pleasant to look upon. His shift- 
 ing, unsteady eyes were now filled with a strangely eager 
 light. Instanty Bart was impressed with the idea that he 
 had seen this person before, although he could not im- 
 mediately remember when or where. For the moment 
 his attention was attracted to the stranger, and when 
 he turned to look for Ira D. Wilson, the "promoter" 
 had disappeared. 
 
 In fact, Wilson had entered the elevator and been 
 carried toward the upper part of the hotel, where his 
 room was located ; but Bart knew so little about big 
 hotels that he was uncertain on this point. 
 
 "Eight hyar I'll stay till I spot him again," thought 
 the boy. 
 
34 Hot After the Stock. 
 
 Then he noticed the rough-looking man, who was 
 walking swiftly toward the stairs, up which he disap- 
 peared without being challenged, which was certainly 
 an oversight on the part of those placed there to look 
 out for such matters. 
 
 "Wonder who he is, and whar he's going up thar?' 
 thought the boy from the West. "He an't got any 
 business round this yar hotel, I reckon. And if I 
 haven't seen him somewhar some time, I know a heap 
 less than I think I do." 
 
 He was so nervous he would have paced up and down 
 the tiled floor, but he did not desire to attract the notice 
 of the well-dressed patrons of the hotel, many of whom 
 were staring at him as if he were really a freak. Seek- 
 ing a settee in a corner where he fancied he would not 
 attract a great deal of attention, he sat down. 
 
 Still he was stared at; and he heard a gilded youth 
 observe to another : 
 
 "What is that stwange cwecher over theh, deah boy? 
 Its verwy wemarkable, don't yer know." 
 
 "Why, Algy, old fel," said the second gilded youth, 
 "that's some low fellaw who has been weading blood- 
 and-thundaw stowies. He's got himself up in that 
 wig to go out west in Jersey and kill Indians, don't 
 yer see." 
 
 "Pwobably wun away fwom his mothaw. " 
 
 "Of cawse. He'd be dweadfully fwightened if he 
 met a cigaw-store Indian on a dawk evening. Haw! 
 haw! haw!" 
 
 "Haw! haw! Have a cigawette?" 
 
 "Ya-as, thawnks. Come out wheah we can watch 
 the deah gyrls go past." 
 
 Then they ambled away, leaving a boy behind who 
 was regarding them with the utmost contempt. 
 
 "I suppose them yar are dudes," muttered Bart. 
 
Hot After the Stock. 35 
 
 "If I am slow and from the West, I thank goodness I 
 was not brought up in a city to grow into one of them 
 critters!" 
 
 He was keenly on the alert for the reappearance of 
 Ira Wilson, having faith the agent would show up 
 again before long. In this he made no mistake; before 
 much more than half an hour had passed, the man for 
 whom he was watching sauntered up to the cigar coun- 
 ter and purchased a weed, for which he threw down a 
 quarter and did not receive back any change. 
 
 The boy was seized by a fit of timidity that was quite 
 unusual for him. He trembled violently, and hesitated 
 about approaching the man. 
 
 "What if he has sold the shares already?" thought 
 the lad, holding back and staring at Ira Wilson. 
 "What if he won't talk to me about them at all? He 
 shall! I've got the dust; and I'm going to have them 
 yar shares before Mr. Ira Wilson sails for England ! 
 That's business, and now is my time." 
 
 Having arrived at this conclusion, he deliberately 
 approached the agent, who had lighted his cigar and 
 turned to walk away. 
 
 "Mister," said Bart, reaching Wilson's side, "I 
 want to chin with you a bit, if you can spare me a few 
 minutes of your time. I won't bother you long," he 
 hastily added, fearing the man was about to rebuff him. 
 "It's business I want to talk, and I'll lay a straight 
 trail, so you can follow me without any break." 
 
 "What do you want?" he asked. 
 
 "I want to see if I can buy some mining stock of 
 you," explained Bart, seeing it was best to come to the 
 point at once. 
 
 "You want to buy some mining stock of me?" re- 
 peated the agent, with a puzzled air. "Then you have 
 come to the wrong man." 
 
36 Crooked Work. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CROOKED WORK. 
 
 "The wrong man?" 
 
 Bart gasped the words, his bronzed face paling, and 
 a sudden feeling of weakness running over him. 
 
 Could it be possible there was any mistake and this 
 was not the Ira Wilson he was looking for? Was he 
 to be baffled and defeated again by fate? 
 
 "You're Mr. Ira Wilson, an't you, sir?" 
 
 "That is my name." 
 
 "And you are taking the shares of the White Horse 
 Mine to England to dispose of over thar?" 
 
 Wilson looked somewhat surprised, scowling slightly. 
 
 "It seems to me you know a great deal about my 
 business," he observed, evidently displeased. "How 
 did you find out so much?" 
 
 "I've lately come from Mr. Jubal Heep." 
 
 At this, the man immediately gave him renewed at- 
 tention ; and Bart believed he had hit upon the right 
 course. 
 
 "Heep? Did he send you? That makes a differ- 
 ence. It is not my custom to do business with boys of 
 your age; but if Heep told you to come to me, I'll hear 
 what you have to say." 
 
 "Then you have the stock?" 
 
 "Well, suppose I have, what then?" was the cau- 
 tious retort. 
 
 "I want to know how much you'll take for the whole 
 bunch." 
 
Crooked Work. 37 
 
 "Who do you represent?" 
 
 "Bartley Stone." 
 
 "Stone? Never heard of him before. What is he?" 
 
 "He is a boy about my size and get-up." 
 
 "Oh, you are Bartley Stone?" 
 
 "Hit her plumb center that time, mister. I'm Bart- 
 ley Stone; and I want to buy that thar stock." 
 
 Wilson stepped back, tipped his head to one side, the 
 cigar held in the highest corner in hi3 mouth, and sur- 
 veyed the lad from head to feet, not speaking for some 
 seconds. Bart stood up squarely and looked the man 
 in the face, waiting to hear what he might have to say. 
 
 "You're the genuine article," the agent finally 
 nodded. "No fake about you. What part of the 
 West are 3 T ou from?" 
 
 "Kansas." 
 
 "Great State. Been through Kansas. What are 
 you doing in the East?" 
 
 "Oh, kind of whooping around to see the country. 
 Thought I might pick up a good investment." 
 
 "And that's why you're looking after the White 
 Horse Mine, eh?" 
 
 "Wa-al, I heard as how the stock may be roped 
 mighty cheap." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that," and Wilson shook his 
 head gravely. "Certain English capitalists are hot to 
 get hold of it. That's why I'm taking it over. The 
 mine has been lying idle for some time, on account of 
 legal difficulties and complications; but it is to be 
 opened up and worked on a large scale once more 
 within a few months." 
 
 It was with difficulty Bart succeeded in keeping a 
 smile of amusement from his face. Indeed, there was 
 a queer twinkle in his eyes; but he spoke with the 
 utmost gravity. 
 
38 Crooked Work. 
 
 "This scarcely holds water with what Mr. Heep said 
 about it. He told me the stock was of very small 
 value, having no quoted price; and I kind of reckoned 
 he was giving it to me fair and squar. " 
 
 A look of disgust flashed across the agent's face and 
 disappeared in a second. 
 
 "It is evident Heep was stringing you," he smiled. 
 "I do not suppose he considered you a possible cus- 
 tomer, and so he gave such false ideas. You do not 
 look as if you are stuffed with money." 
 
 "Can't always judge a bird by her feathers, mister. 
 Maybe I'll pan out a heap sight better'n I look." 
 
 "Have you cash?" 
 
 "Some." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "Wa-al, maybe I have enough to buy that thar stock 
 — maybe not. I can tell a great deal better after I find 
 out how much she'll cost at rock-bottom figures." 
 
 Bart was cautious, and the agent did not know ex- 
 actly how to take him. There was a certain independ- 
 ent, straightforward air about the lad that seemed to 
 indicate he meant business, and, yet on account of his 
 years, the man distrusted him. 
 
 Wilson seemed to hesitate, all the while trying to 
 size up the boy. Pretty scon, he said : 
 
 "If I make a bargain with you, how do I know your 
 father will not come forward and repudiate it?" 
 
 "My father is dead." 
 
 "Ah! Where did you get your money?" 
 
 "It was given me for investment by my mother." ' 
 
 "Your mother? Is she well fixed?" 
 
 "I have all the money we possess right in my belt," 
 touching the leather band that ran around his waist. 
 
 "Then let me tell j T ou something," Wilson suddenly 
 returned; "you had better keep it right there. I have 
 
Crooked Work. 39 
 
 stuck a great many suckers in my day, although I'm 
 not so very old; but I'll hanged if I ever beat a boy. 
 If you had plenty of the filthy, I might think it would 
 teach you a good lesson to paste the White Horse stuff 
 onto you. As it is, I confess Jubal Heep told you the 
 truth — the stock is not worth a tinker's hoot. You 
 don't want it." 
 
 Then Bart was obliged to once more tell the story 
 about thinking it possible he could make something 
 working over the old vein. 
 
 "Don't take any chances on that, young man," ad- 
 vised the agent. "The only way to make a mine of 
 that sort pay is to work it on a large scale, and, as you 
 can't do that, you would be a dead loser." 
 
 "Still, I will take my chances, if I can get hold of it 
 cheap enough," persisted the boy from the West. 
 "Will you set a price for the whole bunch, please." 
 
 Ira Wilson puffed at the fragrant cigar, a far-away 
 look in his keen blue eyes. All at once, he seemed to 
 come back to the situation, saying : 
 
 "If you get stuck on this, don't blame me, young 
 man. Of course I am bound to sell, if you have the 
 rhino and persist in buying." 
 
 "Don't you worry about me. I'm able to take care 
 of myself pretty well. Set the price." 
 
 "Well, I'll take ten thousand dollars for the whole 
 lot." 
 
 Ten thousand dollars! That was at least twice as 
 much as Bart had in his possession. 
 
 "I'll give you one thousand, mister," coolly said 
 the lad; "and 'cording to your own tell that yar's 
 morne'n she's worth a heap sight." 
 
 "I can get more than that out of it by taking the 
 shares over the pond ; and I'll save you from wishing 
 you hadn't done so." 
 
40 Crooked Work. 
 
 "Say, call it two thousand. That's business." 
 
 Right there Bart stuck for a long time; but Wilson 
 finally said he would take twenty-five hundred dollars. 
 Barely had he uttered the words when Bart closed with 
 him, thrusting a fifty dollar bill into his hand. 
 
 "This binds the bargain, mister!" laughed the boy. 
 "Them thar shares are mine. I'll take them right 
 away." 
 
 The agent was a bit staggered ; but he finally laughed 
 and said : 
 
 "All right. Come up to my room, and we'll finish 
 up the business." 
 
 Up by the elevator they went. When Wilson 
 reached the door of his room, he uttered an exclama- 
 tion of surprise; for he found it standing slightly open. 
 
 "I'm dead sure I locked it when I went out!" he 
 cried, as he hastily entered. "I hope everything's all 
 right. Ah! here's my grip!" catching sight of it as 
 it sat on a small table near a window. "The stock is 
 in that." 
 
 He advanced to the grip and put out his hand to 
 open it. 
 
 A sudden, startled cry came from his lips, and he 
 leaped forward, catching it up. 
 
 "Cut — slashed! Crooked work! Look here!" 
 
 He turned it so Bart saw a keen knife had ripped a 
 long slit in one side of the grip. 
 
 A moment later, Wilson had torn it open and was 
 hastily examining its contents. After a few seconds, 
 he ejaculated : 
 
 "The stock of the White Horse Mine is gone! The 
 certificates have been stolen!" 
 
 "Are you sure?" gasped Bart, who could scarcely 
 believe fate had struck him such a cruel blow. 
 
 "Sure! There's no mistake! They were taken 
 
Crooked Work. 41 
 
 while I talked with you. The thief cannot be far 
 away ! Out —after him ! ' ' 
 
 In his excitement, he dashed from the room, the boy 
 at his heels. The car of the elevator happened to be at 
 hand, and they caught it going down. 
 
 When the main floor was reached, Wilson rushed 
 toward the desk to give notice what had happened. 
 Bart, however, saw a man who was hurrying toward 
 the front doors — the rough-looking man who had peered 
 over his shoulder at the register. Instantly the sus- 
 picion of the boy was aroused, and he bounded forward, 
 pointing at the stranger, as he cried in ringing tones: 
 
 "Stop that man ! Search him ! He is a thief!" 
 
 The fellow cast a hasty look over his shoulder, and 
 then rushed out to the street. Bart was close after 
 him, and he knew it. 
 
 "I won't go back to do time now!" grated the fugi- 
 tive, as he ran across the wide sidewalk. 
 
 An instant later he had leaped to the seat of a two- 
 horse cab, snatching the reins and whip from the 
 fingers of the astounded driver, who was pitched head- 
 long to the street. 
 
 Swish! crack! the whip cut through the air and 
 scored on the backs of the horses, causing the animals 
 to leap forward madly. 
 
 Bart was a moment too late to catch onto the cab ; 
 but he did not propose to let the man get away. A 
 black boy was holding a saddled horse that was wait- 
 ing for its master to take a dash through the Park, and 
 the pursuing lad saw the animal was just what he 
 needed. 
 
 The next instant the rein was jarked from the black 
 boy's hand, and the horse went tearing down .Broad- 
 Way and into Twenty-third Street, Bartley Stone in the 
 saddle. 
 
42 Crooked Work. 
 
 Yelling for people to clear the way, the fugitive on 
 the cab stood up straight and slashed the horses with 
 the whip; but the animals, encumbered as they were, 
 could not distance the one in pursuit. Bart quickly 
 reached the cab, passed it, and drew alongside the gal- 
 loping horses, for all of the lashing the horses were 
 receiving. 
 
 The boy from the West leaned from the saddle to 
 grasp the bit of the nearest animal, crying: 
 
 "Whoa up, thar ! Stand and deliver them yar shares ! 
 They belong to me, and I'm hyar to take them!" 
 
Walter's Downfall. 43 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WALTER'S DOWNFALL. 
 
 An angry snarl broke from the lips of the fugitive 
 thief, as he saw Bart Stone grasp the bit of the horse 
 nearest him. 
 
 "No, you don't!" 
 
 As he ground the words through his teeth, his whip 
 cut the air again, scoring on the horse's back. At the 
 same moment he gave a strong surge on one rein, liter- 
 ally hurling both animals to the right and against the 
 creature bestrode by the boy. 
 
 It was a desperate move, and, for a moment, the re- 
 sult that followed appeared like a tragedy. 
 
 Bart's horse was sent to the ground in a heap with 
 astounding suddenness, and it seemed the boy from the 
 West must be hurled to the stones and instantly killed 
 or mained for life. Indeed, had he been an ordinary 
 lad who had learned to ride a horse at riding school, no 
 matter how well he had acquired the art, a serious 
 catastrophe could not have been averted. 
 
 Bart Stone, however, was not an ordinary lad, and he 
 had not learned to ride at a school. He was from the 
 plains and mountains; and the cowboys of the Kansas 
 ranches had taught him to ride at highest speed across 
 the prairies, where there are gopher holes and the bur- 
 rows of prairie dogs, into which the leg of a galloping 
 horse may drop at any moment. 
 
 One of the things he had learned was to be ready for 
 
44 Walter's Downfall. 
 
 a horse to fall beneath him at any time. Indeed, in 
 his spare moments, he had trained his own horse to 
 drop at a signal, allowing him to shoot over its head. 
 
 No one can tell when knowledge and skill thus ac- 
 quired may prove of inestimable value to him; and it 
 was certainly worth a great deal to Bart just then, for 
 it enabled him to leap over the head of the falling horse 
 and strike lightly on his feet, unharmed. 
 
 The cab thundered on, and, as the dismounted boy 
 had no time to discover if the horse were injured, he 
 pursued it on foot, shouting to a policeman down the 
 street to stop the thief. 
 
 The officer ran out and made a feeble attempt to 
 check the horses ; but he thought too much of his life 
 to get in the way of actual danger. 
 
 A large crowd of people were now rushing along the 
 street in pursuit of the flying cab, with Bart in the van, 
 although the boy had begun to fear the desperate thief 
 would make his escape. 
 
 As Third Avenue was reached, for all of the skill of 
 the driver on the cab, a collision occurred. A heavy 
 truck was in the way, and a forward wheel of the cab 
 locked with a rear wheel of the truck. 
 
 Then followed a crash and a smash-up of the most 
 startling nature, for the truck, cab, horses and men 
 seemed all mixed together in a struggling mass. 
 
 Policemen rushed forward and grasped the horses, 
 and a great crowd seemed to spring from the ground 
 and surround the spot in a moment. 
 
 Bart Stone came rushing up and literally tore his 
 way through the throng. 
 
 "Whar is he?" was his cry. "Have you roped 
 him?" 
 
 "It's all right," assured a man. "They have the 
 horses safe." 
 
Walter's Downfall. 45 
 
 "Hang the hawses!" shouted the boy. "Whar's 
 the man as was driving them?" 
 
 No one seemed to know, and Bart looked in vain for 
 the slippery thief. The fellow had apparently escaped 
 injury and vanished in the crowd when it gathered 
 around. 
 
 The boy from the West was almost distracted. 
 
 "I'll give a hundred dollars spot cash to know whar 
 the varmint has gone!" he cried wildly. 
 
 "What's the matter with yer?" coarsely asked one 
 of the policemen. "Who was the bloke, anyway?" 
 
 "A thief!" replied Bart fiercely. "A miserable, 
 sneaking thief!" 
 
 " What'd he stole?" 
 
 "Stocks — shares — certificates — the White Hawse 
 Mine! He did it in the Fifth Avenue Hotel! That's 
 how he happened to be drivin' like a whole bunch of 
 steers on the stampede. I was after him." 
 
 Then it came about that a dozen people in the crowd 
 suddenly declared, that they had seen the man go in as 
 many different directions, and Bart realized there was 
 no possible way to determine which course the rascal 
 had chosen. 
 
 This was another terrible rebuff, seeming all the 
 heavier because he had so nearly placed his hands on 
 the coveted shares. He ground his teeth, and his face 
 wore a stern, hard look that told how thoroughly 
 aroused was his nature. 
 
 "The mine rightfully belongs to my mother, and I'll 
 have them yar shares yet!" was his thought. "I've 
 •bought them fair and squar'; and Wilson can't back 
 out, for he accepted fifty dollars to bind the bargain." 
 
 Neither of the cab horse3 had been seriously injured, 
 and Bart explained to the policemen how they were 
 taken from in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, after 
 
46 Walter's Downfall. 
 
 which he hurried back to learn what had become of the 
 animal he had appropriated. 
 
 When he reached the spot where the horse had fallen, 
 he found it was gone,, and a boy told him it had been 
 taken to the hotel. Bart felt some relief at this, for it 
 could not be the creature had broken a leg or received 
 any serious damage. 
 
 Walking forward at a swinging gait, he crossed the 
 street, and was soon on the corner, where he could see 
 the animal he had taken once more standing before the 
 hotel, held by the same black boy, while several per- 
 sons were looking it over, as if searching for injuries. 
 
 Bart did not hesitate about advancing, although a 
 premonition of trouble to follow suddenly came over 
 him. 
 
 One of the persons looking at the horse was dressed in 
 a riding suit, being apparently the owner of the animal. 
 He was talking to a well-dressed youth, at sight of 
 whom the boy from the West set his teeth and scowled 
 slightly, for he recognized Walter St. Omer Stark. 
 
 "If you are the owner of that hawse, mister, I have 
 to ask your pardon for hooking to the critter so sudden 
 without so much as asking leave," said Bart, as he 
 reached the spot. 
 
 The young man in the riding suit and Walter Stark 
 suddenly straightened up and whirled to face the 
 speaker. 
 
 "Dat's de feller!" cried the black boy at the horse's 
 head; "dat's de feller dat took de hoss, sah!" 
 
 "And he's the very chap I said he was when I heard 
 the description of him!" broke from Walter Stark's 
 lips. "This is not the first time he has taken a horse 
 without leave!" 
 
 Bart flushed a bit, but paid no attention to the mil- 
 lionaire's son. 
 
Walter's Downfall. 47 
 
 "I simply borrowed your hawse, sir, to pursue a 
 thief," he calmly explained. "There was no time to 
 ask for it ; and I reckoned the emergency of the case 
 pardoned the act." 
 
 "Then you reckoned wrong," haughtily returned the 
 young man. "Such an offense is not pardonable. If 
 you knew how to ride a horse, it would be somewhat 
 different, but " 
 
 "Stop right thar! I can stand aheap, but I can't 
 stand to have a tenderfoot tell me I don't know how to 
 ride! That just naturally riles me all up! I'm will- 
 ing to pay " 
 
 "Bahl" scornfully cut in Walter Stark. "He 
 knows he's in a bad box, and now he's trying to sneak 
 out of it. Pay! Why, it's a pure case of theft! If 
 you let him off, you're a chump, Steinway !" 
 
 Bart's lips were pressed together once more, but still 
 he did not look at young Stark, pretending he had not 
 heard a word uttered by the vindictive youth. 
 
 Steinway, as Walter had called the young man in 
 the riding suit, seemed spurred on by the words of the 
 millionaire's son; for he took a threatening step toward 
 Bart, who stood quietly yb, showing no alarm. 
 
 "I believe Walt is right; I believe you really did 
 mean to swipe the horse!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Of course he did!" insisted Walter. "He stole 
 one belonging to Steve Jones of Somerset Falls yester- 
 day, and the sheriff is looking for him now. There is 
 a warrant out for his arrest." 
 
 "Do you deny this?" asked Steinway. 
 
 "I deny stealing any man's hawse, sir. I paid for 
 the use of the animal." 
 
 "That won't go down! He does not deny he took 
 the animal without leave — he can't deny it without 
 lying! Better give him a lesson, Ned." 
 
48 Walter's Downfall. 
 
 "Shall I have him arrested?" 
 "Sure." 
 
 "There's no policeman handy." 
 
 "I'll hold him while you get oeo." 
 
 Walter Stark's hand fell on Bart's shoulder, and 
 then the boy from the West looked at him squarely. 
 Quite a number of spectators were watching all that 
 passed. 
 
 "I an't done anything to be arrested for, and I don't 
 reckon I'll run; so you can take that tbar paw off my 
 shoulder." 
 
 "Not much ! I don't propose to give you a chance to 
 sneak, Mr. Cow-puncher." 
 
 A dangerous light flashed in Bart's eyes, which 
 usually wore a rather sleepy look ; and his voice had a 
 hard sound, as he said, in a low tone: 
 
 "Take it off, or " 
 
 "Or what?" sneered Walter. 
 
 For reply, with one swift motion, the boy from the 
 West struck the hand from his shoulder. 
 
 Uttering a cry of rage, the champion boxer of the 
 Trojan Club delivered a sweeping blow straight at 
 Bart Stone's face, expecting to knock the young cow- 
 boy down with ease. 
 
 Never in his life was he more disappointed; for the 
 boy from the West easily ducked and avoided the blow, 
 taking a step to the left and swinging his right foot 
 round with an oblique movement that caught tho shins 
 of the millionaire's son, and sent him sprawling on the 
 sidewalk of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 
 
Bart Stands by the Bargain. 49 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 BART STANDS BY THE BARGAIN. 
 
 It had happened so swiftly that most of the specta- 
 tors were unable to tell how it came about. 
 
 Walter Stark, rather dazed, gathered himself up in 
 time to see a young lady and an elder companion, who 
 were passing at that moment, gazing, at him in appar- 
 ent amazement and dismay. 
 
 "Great heavens I" he faintly gasped. "Miss Van 
 Worth!" 
 
 Shamed and abashed, he turned his eyes away and 
 pretended he did not see the young lady, who passed on 
 and was lost in the throng of pedestrians. 
 
 Walter scrambled to his feet, his face ghastly with 
 fury, quivering all over in his excitement. He would 
 have flung himself at Bart once more, but Steinway 
 caught him by the arm, exclaiming : 
 
 "Letup, Walt — let up! Think what you are doing 
 — fighting with a common creature of that sort ! You 
 are making a public show of yourself!" 
 
 "Let me go!" panted the millionaire's son. "Let 
 me get at him! I'll fix him!" 
 
 Steinway held fast, restraining the enraged lad by 
 main force, as be again urged him to think what a 
 spectacle he was making of himself. 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Walt!" he cautioned sharply. 
 "You will disgrace yourself." 
 
 "I am disgraced already! Miss Van Worth saw 
 me! Let go, I say!" 
 
50 Bart Stands by the Bargain. 
 
 He was fairly foaming in his fierce desire to reach 
 the boy who had overthrown him thus easily. 
 
 Bart Stone did not seem in the least alarmed; for he 
 stood calmly regarding the furious son of the man he 
 believed had swindled his mother out of her rights, his 
 hands resting on his hips and his attitude apparently 
 one of careless indifference. 
 
 Quite a crowd had now collected about the spot, and, ; 
 after some moments, Steinway succeeded in convinc- f 
 ing Walter how foolishly he was acting. 
 
 "What if you whipped him," whispered the young 
 man in the riding suit. "There'd be no honor in it. 
 He's one of the common herd. Do have a little sense !" 
 
 "But it's tough to have a trick like that worked on 
 you by such a creature! Think of me tripped down in 
 this public place! And seen by Miss Van Worth! 
 What can I tell her when we meet? It's horrible!" 
 
 He felt his humiliation so keenly that his chin quiv- 
 ered, and he ground his white teeth together. 
 
 "Move on here — move on!" called a commanding 
 voice. "What's all this mean, anyway?" 
 
 "An officer!" exclaimed Walter and Steinway to- 
 gether. 
 
 "This way, sir," called the young man, motioning 
 to the policeman. "You are wanted." 
 
 "What is it?" asked the man in blue, as the specta- 
 tors scattered before him and he came forward. 
 "What do you want of me?" 
 
 "I want you to arrest that young ruffian;" and Stein- 
 way pointed straight at Bart, who did not flinch or 
 appear frightened in the smallest degree. 
 
 "This one," questioned the officer, dropping his hand 
 ©n Bart's shoulder. " What's he done?" 
 
 "Assaulted me," replied Walter Stark swiftly. 
 "He struck mel" 
 
Bart Stands by the Bargain. 51 
 
 "That's crooked, and you know it," broke in the boy 
 from the West, speaking without any great show of 
 excitement. "You struck at me, and I simply knocked 
 your hoofs from under you. I'll leave it to any of 
 these people if that thar an't so." 
 
 "It is true," affirmed several voices. 
 
 The policeman looked a trifle surprised, but, seeing 
 Walter was well dressed and apparently of the better 
 class, he asked : 
 
 "Do you want to make a charge of assault?" 
 
 "No," cut in Steinway abruptly; "but we want 
 him arrested, just the same. I'll bring a charge 
 against him." 
 
 "What charge?" 
 
 "Theft. He attempted to steal my horse there only 
 a short time ago. Take him to the station house, 
 officer, and I will appear against him." 
 
 Bart had opened his mouth to explain when he 
 caught sight of a man who was pressing his way 
 toward the center of the crowd, and an exclamation of 
 satisfaction escaped his lips as he recognized Ira D. 
 Wilson, the agent and promoter. 
 
 Wilson hurried to Bart's side, panting as if he had 
 recently exerted himself severely. 
 
 "How did he getaway! Where did he go?" ques- 
 tioned the agent, in perturbation. "You did not catch 
 him?" 
 
 Bart knew he was speaking of the thief, and he 
 promptly replied : 
 
 "I did my best, Mr. Wilson; but he got away with 
 the stock." 
 
 "Wilson! Stock!" almost shouted Walter Stark, 
 catching hold of the promoter. "Man, I thought you 
 were on your way to Europe !" 
 
 "Got left," laconically explained Wilson. 
 
52 Bart Stands by the Bargain. 
 
 "What is it about stock?" questioDed the"millionaire's 
 son, a suspicion of truth flashing through his mind. 
 "I hope you haven't " 
 
 "Sold the old White Horse shares to this boy for 
 twenty-five hundred dollars. Great bargain. But a 
 thief ripped open my grip and got away with the cer- 
 tificates. Now, as I cannot deliver, I suppose I'll 
 have to give up the fifty he paid to bind the trade." 
 
 Walter Stark literally gasped for breath. 
 
 "Sold them!" he panted. "Why, the vein has been 
 re-located ! That's what brought this boy here to buy 
 it! Stolen! Well, by Jupiter! you have made a 
 pretty mess, Wiison!" 
 
 The promoter looked thunderstruck, being unable to 
 utter a word for some seconds. Finally, he faintly 
 gasped : 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 "It's true," asserted Walter savagely. "The shares 
 were intrusted in your care, and j t ou are responsible for 
 them. If they are lost, you'll find yourself in a pretty 
 box." 
 
 "Well, they are lost for the present," confessed the 
 agent, nervously twisting his red mustache; "but the 
 police may be able to recover them." 
 
 Then he produced a roll of banknotes, from which he 
 extracted a fifty-dollar bill, turning and tendering it to 
 Bart, observing: 
 
 "As I cannot deliver the stock, I'll have to give you 
 back your deposit." 
 
 The boy from the West drew back. 
 
 "No, mister," he said; "a trade's a trade, aDd I 
 don't back out none whatever. Keep the fifty, and I'll 
 pa3 r the rest and take the shares when they're found. 
 I reckon that thar's about the right way to do this 
 business." 
 
Bart Stands by the Bargain. 53 
 
 ''Make him take it back — make him take it!" cried 
 Walter excitedly. "He can't have those shares at 
 any price!" 
 
 "I kinder 'low you're too late to head off this yar 
 trade," smiled Bart, with no small amount of satisfac- 
 tion. "It's made now, and thar can't be no going back 
 on it." 
 
 "No writings have been made, and the stock is not 
 delivered yet. It's no bargain at all. Give him the 
 fifty, Mr. Wilson." 
 
 The young cowboy put his hands behind him, a 
 determined look on his somewhat stolid face. 
 
 "I'm a little slow," he drawled; "but I an't the big- 
 gest fool this side of Oklahoma — not by two yards," 
 his eyes measuring the distance between himself and 
 the millionaire's son. 
 
 At this Walter flushed hotly and clinched his hands, 
 taking a slight step forward, to be checked by Stein- 
 way. 
 
 "You must accept the money," insisted Wilson. 
 
 "Wa-al, I won't; and that yar' s the whole bigness 
 of it," was the retort. "I call on these yar people to 
 take notice this man has acknowledged the bargain fair 
 and squar'. I propose to make him stand by it." 
 
 "That's right! That's right!" came from several 
 quarters. 
 
 Seeing sympathy was with the boy, Wilson suddenly 
 abandoned the attempt to force the money on him, 
 saying: 
 
 "We'll settle this matter some other time." 
 
 "In the meantime," put in Ned Stein way, "I charge 
 this young scoundrel with attempting to steal my horse, 
 and ask that he be arrested. I will appear against him. 
 Here, officer, is my name and address," handing the 
 policeman an engraved card. 
 
54 Bart Stands by the Bargain. 
 
 "All right, sir," said the officer, respectfully as 
 soon as he had glanced at the card. "I'll take him in. 
 Come along, young feller." 
 
 Bart was marched away to the station house followed 
 by quite a throng of people, who looked curiously at 
 the strangely dressed boy in the policeman's charge. 
 
Unmasking the Thief. 55 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 UNMASKING THE THIEF. 
 
 It must be confessed Bart felt rather downcast when 
 he found himself locked up in a wretched room in com- 
 pany with a "common drunk." He wondered what 
 the result of it all would be, and he felt his situation 
 might be serious; for the enemies pitted against him 
 were both wealthy and influential, as well as unprinci- 
 pled. 
 
 Many times he had listened to his mother's story 
 about how Cyrus Stark had cheated her out of her 
 rights; and he had learned to hate the man who could 
 be guilty of deliberately wronging a woman like his 
 beloved mother. 
 
 He did not doubt that Stark was an abject scoundrel; 
 and he had come East convinced it was his duty to get 
 the best of the man in some manner, and regain posses- 
 sion of the mine that Mrs. Stone had been swindled out 
 of at her husband's death. 
 
 Although Bart was rather unsophisticated and hardly 
 fitted to deal with shrewd business men, he was getting 
 his eyes open with a rapidity that startled himself. 
 He saw it was to be a bitter fight; and it was his re- 
 solve to never give up while there was the shadow of 
 hope. 
 
 He wondered if Steinway and Walter would be able 
 to do anything with him for appropriating the horse to 
 his use in pursuing the thief; and it is certain he felt 
 
56 Unmasking the Thief. 
 
 rather "shaky" when he considered his position and 
 their apparent power. 
 
 He lay down and tried to sleep; but the snoring of the 
 intoxicated man and the earnest attention of certain 
 lively little insects in the bunk made it impossible for 
 him to rest. 
 
 At length he was brought into court and found him- 
 self before the judge. No one appeared against him, and 
 his honor directed that he be taken to a cell and kept 
 until the following day. 
 
 Bart spent a most wretched night, and he was glad 
 when morning came once more. 
 
 Before nine o'clock the boy was surprised to receive 
 a call from the lawyer, Jubal Heep. 
 
 "Well, young man," said the crafty attorney, rub- 
 bing his nose with his forefinger; "you seem to be in 
 trouble." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," returned the boy, as coolly as 
 possible. "I managed to get a free night's lodging." 
 
 "It is possible you are not aware how serious the 
 situation really is," ventured Mr. Heep, in his most 
 insinuating way. "You are liable to receive a long 
 sentence." 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 "Well," mysteriously answered the lawyer, "I 
 understand a very grave charge is to be brought 
 against you." 
 
 "Wa-al, if it an't a secret, I wouldn't mind know- 
 ing just about how the land lays, mister." 
 
 "The shares were stolen from Mr. Wilson while you 
 were in the hotel." 
 
 "I reckon that's right." 
 
 "It is said you are an accomplice of the thief." 
 
 "Wh-a-a-at?" 
 
 Bart was so astonished he could no more than gasp 
 
Unmasking the Thief. 57 
 
 forth the word; but he almost immediately began to 
 laugh heartily. 
 
 "You are pretty sure to discover it is no laughing 
 matter, young man," sharply assured Jubal Heep. 
 "It looks rather black for you." 
 
 "Wa-al, of all the things I ever heard, that yar just 
 about lays over the lot!" 
 
 " You will find it is no fooling affair, boy. If the 
 charge is proved against you, you will get five years 
 at least. I am a lawyer, and I know what I'm talk- 
 ing about." 
 
 Bart was suddenly serious once more, as he 3aid : 
 
 "Look hyar, Mr. Heep, how is a feller to steal what 
 rightfully belongs to him? Tell me that." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "That them thar shares are mine by right of bargain, 
 fair and squar'. I couldn't steal them." 
 
 "Oh, that won't hold water, my lad! You have 
 simply paid fifty dollars, and the charge is that you 
 plotted to have the stock stolen, so you could escape 
 paying the balance. You played your part very well, 
 Wilson says; but he is certain you stood in with the 
 thief." 
 
 A look of anger settled on the face of the boy from 
 the West, and his sleepy eyes suddenly flashed. 
 
 "So that yar Wilson stands up for the rest of the 
 crooked gang!" he cried. "I didn't expect anything 
 better of a man as makes swindling his profession! 
 But I an't beat on this trial, yet, by a heap sight; and 
 they're going to have a right smart tussle to get ahead 
 of me. I'll fight right plum through to the grand 
 round-up!" 
 
 "You are very foolish," assured Heep, scowling and 
 rubbing his beak excitedly. "You'll get the worst of 
 it, as sure as fate. You are nothing but a boy, and that 
 
58 Unmasking- the Thief. 
 
 without friends in this city, while the ones you are try- 
 ing to heat are rich and powerful. 
 
 "Now, look here," he went on. "I can get you out 
 of this scrape, if you'll let me. Just do what I want 
 you to, and I'll guarantee you will not be prosecuted." 
 "Wa-al, what you want me to do?" 
 "Accept this money and sign this paper." 
 Heep held out a bill and a written document ; but 
 Bart accepted only the latter. 
 
 Hastily the boy ran his eyes over the paper, and he 
 quickly discovered it was a document stating he gave 
 over all claim to the stock of the White Horse Mine. 
 "What's your answer?" eagerly asked Heep. 
 "This!" 
 
 With that one word, the undaunted boy tore the 
 paper in two pieces, which he crumpled and cast the 
 scheming lawyer's feet. 
 
 "All right!" shouted Heep, as he picked up the 
 pieces and retreated from the cell. "You'll be sorry 
 for this! You're only a boy, and the trade won't 
 stand, anyway! Perhaps you think you're smart; but 
 you'll change your mind before you are a week older!" 
 When he was once more left to himself, Bart's anger 
 cooled, and he finally smiled in a grim way over the 
 rage of the defeated lawyer. Within an hour he was 
 again taken to the courtroom, and, when his case was 
 called, to his astonishment, the judge promptly dis- 
 missed the whole matter, saying : 
 
 "Young man, you may consider yourself very for- 
 tunate to have a wealthy and influential friend to get 
 you out of such a bad scrape. You may go." 
 
 Bart turned from the bench, vaguely wondering who 
 his mysterious friend could be, but inclined to believe 
 this was simply an excuse of his enemies for not press- 
 ing the charge against him. 
 
Unmasking the Thief. 59 
 
 As he left the building, he noticed a black-whiskered 
 man who started to follow him — or seemed to do so. 
 
 Seeing he was observed, this man pretended to be 
 highly interested in reading a theatrical poster on a 
 dead wall; and Bart walked swiftly on. 
 
 The boy had resolved to proceed directly to the Fifth 
 Avenue Hotel and have a talk with Ira Wilson, so he 
 took the first car bound in the right direction. As he 
 sat down within the car, he was surprised to see the 
 black- whiskered man run from the curbing and swing 
 on the rear platform. 
 
 '-'Wonder if he's trailing [me?" thought Bart. 
 "Blamed if it don't look that yar way ! Maybe they've 
 put a detective after me." 
 
 Instead of alarming him, the thought made him 
 angry; and he fell to watching the man. It did not 
 take him long to decide the black beard was false. 
 
 When he left the car and hurried toward the Fifth 
 Avenue Hotel, he was fully aware the man still fol- 
 lowed him. 
 
 Reaching the hotel, he boldly entered, approached 
 the clerk's desk and asked for Mr. Ira Wilson. 
 
 "He is not here," haughtily asserted the clerk. 
 
 "Not here?" gasped Bart. 
 
 "No. He left last night." 
 
 "Where — where did he go?" 
 
 "I don't know. Please step aside for that "gentle- 
 man." 
 
 The boy left the desk and slowly walked out of the 
 hotel, scarcely knowing which way to turn. He wan- 
 dered along from street to street, hardly heeding 
 whither his footsteps were taking him. 
 
 All at once, he remembered the black-whiskered 
 man and looked back. 
 
 The strange individual was still following him, 
 
60 Unmasking the Thief. 
 
 "I will just know what that yar face under them 
 whiskers looks like," muttered Bart, as be swiftly 
 turned a corner and then halted to await the man's ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 He had to wait but a few seconds, and when the 
 owner of the black beard came suddenly around the 
 corner, the boy stepped forward and confronted him, 
 crying: 
 
 "Look hyar, what for are you follering me round?" 
 
 "Following you?" repeated the stranger, with ap- 
 parent astonishment. "You have made a mistake, 
 young fellow!" 
 
 "Have I? Wa-al, I wonder what you carry behind 
 them thar whiskers?" With a swift snatch, he tore 
 the false beard from the man's face. 
 
 A cry of mingled astonishment and triumph broke 
 from his lips; for the features revealed were those of 
 the thief who had stolen the coveted shares of the 
 White Horse Minel 
 
A Startling Assertion. 61 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A STARTLING ASSERTION. 
 
 "The thief!" 
 
 This exclamation broke from Bart's lips, as he 
 clutched excitedly at the man's arm. 
 
 "'Sh!" cautioned the individual who had been thus 
 unmasked. "You'll attract attention, kid!" 
 
 "Wa-al, that thar's just what I want to do," hotly 
 returned the boy from the West. " I want to attract 
 the attention of a policeman." 
 
 "Don't make a fool of yourself!" snapped the man. 
 "I'm your friend." 
 
 A look of scorn swept across the lad's face, and he 
 quickly returned : 
 
 "Waal, not to any great extent! I don't make 
 pards of such galoots as you." 
 
 "Wait," urged the stranger — "wait till you hear 
 what I have to say." 
 
 "I don't reckon you can say anything that'll make 
 you any less a thief and a sneak. I kind of 'low you 
 want to talk so you can find a chance to give me the 
 slip. No, Mr. Thief, that thar game won't work." 
 
 "But you are dead wrong, boy. What'do you s'pose 
 I was following you around for if I didn't want a 
 chance to talk with you?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "I was waiting until I found a good chance to speak 
 to you without attracting the notice of anybody. 
 There's some blokes staring at U3 now on the opposite 
 
62 A Startling- Assertion. 
 
 side of the street. Come into this hash shop, where we 
 can sit down and talk across a table. You can keep 
 watch of me and grab me, if I try to sneak." 
 
 Bart hesitated. 
 
 " What if I was seen having a powwow with you, 
 stranger?" he said. "They say now that I am a side- 
 pard of yours on this crooked piece of business; and 
 they'd have what would look like proof if we were seen 
 together. No, I " 
 
 "I can tell you some things that will knock you 
 silly," cut in the man. "I know a few points about 
 the White Horse Mine, your father and Mr. Cyrus 
 Stark." 
 
 The boy felt a strong desire to hear what this strange 
 thief had to say; and he finally yielded to it, following 
 the man into the restaurant, where they sat down at a 
 little side table in a corner. 
 
 Bart was hungry; but the excitement of having found 
 the thief had driven all thoughts of eating from his 
 mind. However, when the man coolly gave an order 
 from the bill of fare, the lad decided to have some- 
 thing, and he called for a roast, with vegetables. 
 
 All the while, he was studying the face of the thief, 
 who seemed quite unconcerned and at his ease. More 
 than ever did the man's features seem familiar to Bart; 
 but if he had ever seen the fellow before, he could not 
 remember just when and where. The stranger took 
 note of this scrutiny, and he finally asked : 
 
 "Can you £lace me now?" 
 
 Bart shook his head. 
 
 "Not quite," he confessed; "and yet I'm pretty sure 
 this yere an't the first time we've met." 
 
 "You're right, young feller. I'm Buck Prindle." 
 
 But that name did not bring any light to Bart's 
 mind, as the blank look on his face plainly indicated. 
 
A Startling Assertion. 63 
 
 The food they had ordered was now placed before them, 
 and Mr. Prindle began eating at once, appearing very 
 hungry. The aroma of the roast and coffee reawak- 
 ened the boy's appetite, and he was not long in follow- 
 ing the man's example, although his mind was busy 
 with a jumbled mass of ideas, which, nevertheless, did 
 not cause him to relax in the least his vigilant watch 
 over the thief. 
 
 All at once, when he had partially satisfied his 
 hunger, he was struck forcibly by the singularity of 
 the situation and the thought that he was eating at a 
 table with a man whom he knew to be crooked. 
 
 "Say," and he put down his fork, looking the other 
 square in the face, "I reckon I'm daft to be doing a 
 thing like this yere. I came in hyar to listen to what 
 you've got to say, and if that yar's anything, spit her 
 out mighty smart. I'm going to tell a waiter to call 
 an officer right away soon." 
 
 Mr. Prindle deliberately took a drink of coffee, and 
 then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, after 
 which he said: 
 
 "I s'pose you want to know why I swiped them cer- 
 tificates?" 
 
 "Wa-al, I wouldn't object." 
 
 "I used to work for your father in the old mine." 
 
 "Then that explains why you looked natural to me. 
 I must have seen you some time in them thar days." 
 
 Prindle nodded. 
 
 "Dead sure, kid. I've seen you lots of times, though 
 you have changed amazingly in the last four years." 
 
 "But this don't explain why you corraled the stock." 
 
 "I'm just on this way from Colorader. I went 
 through the mine two weeks ago." 
 
 Bart caught his breath sharply, while Buck Prindle 
 grinned in a knowing way. 
 
64 A Startling Assertion. 
 
 "What did you find thar?" slowly questioned the 
 boy. 
 
 "I found where some bloke had put in a blast and 
 blowed down a few tons of rock." 
 
 "Wa-al?" 
 
 "I was brought up in a city," Prindle went on; 
 "but the time I spent in the old mine when your father 
 an' Stark were workin' her, fixed me so I can tell pay 
 ore when I see it. I found that blast had ripped its 
 way right slap into a rich lead. My eyes told me that; 
 but I scooped some of the stuff an' took it to Denver to 
 be assayed. As soon as I heard the result, I swore I'd 
 have the White Horse Mine by hook or crook." 
 
 Bart pressed his lips together, and watched the man 
 closely, but said nothing, while the miner continued: 
 
 "I didn't have more than enough wealth to buy a 
 second-class ticket to New York; but I came right 
 along, countin' on scoopin' that stock, all the time. 
 Mebbe you wonder how I expected to do the trick. 
 Well, I knew it would not be very hard if old Stark 
 still owned the shares, for I have a double and twisted 
 grip on the sinner, though he didn't expect to be 
 troubled by me for the next eight or nine years, as he 
 supposes I'm servin' a ten years' sentence in Joliet." 
 
 Prindle's face began to work with passion, and there 
 was a fierce look in his eyes, as he ground through his 
 teeth : 
 
 "The sneakin' traitor! Since I :was pardoned out, 
 three months ago, I've found it was his money that 
 procured my conviction for breakin' an' enterin' in 
 Chicago. And all the time he was pretendin' to be my 
 friend! When I was sure of this, I swore I'd get 
 square with the old villain some way; and I'll do it! 
 I'll make him beg before I'm done, or my name an't 
 Buck Prindle! 
 
A Startling - Assertion. 65 
 
 When I got to New York, I discovered he was out of 
 town somewhere, and then, by diggin' around, I found 
 out Jubal Heep was his lawyer, and had charge of the 
 shares I wanted. I went to Beep's office. The door 
 was open, an' I stepped in. Heep was in the back 
 room with Mr. Ira Wilson, and they didn't hear me 
 come in. I laid low and heard the job put up to stick the 
 supposed-to-be worthless stock on the Britishers. Then 
 I slipped out an' follered Wilson when he showed up, 
 waiting for my chance to swipe his grip. I knew if I 
 could get hold of the stock I had a way to make Stark 
 relinquish his claim on it to me, but, at the same time, 
 I was just as sure Wilson would not turn it over if I 
 struck him for it. 
 
 "Well, I just followed that agent everywhere 
 he went, and I was in the smash-up over in Jer- 
 sey. Then I shadowed him to the Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel and saw the number of his room on the register. 
 That was when I noticed you the first time, an' you 
 looked natural, though I couldn't just place ye then. 
 I sneaked up the stairs, and waited till Wilson left the 
 room. Havin' a rig of skeleton keys, it didn't take me 
 long to open the door after he went down; but I barely 
 got out, as you an' he came up together. You can 
 wager your wealth I lost no time in gettin' downstairs; 
 but I was stopped and questioned about my business 
 there. That gave you time to get down and see me 
 goin' out. You know the rest." 
 
 Bart had listened attentively, and he now observed : 
 
 "Wa-al, Mr. Prindle, you may have told the squar 9 
 truth; but I kinder think you took a right crooked way 
 of getting hold of the shares. You're a thief, and you 
 can't get around that none whatever." 
 
 "I'm simply gettin' square with old Cy Stark foi 
 the dirty deal he played me." 
 
66 A Startling Assertion. 
 
 "Them thar shares don't belong to Mr. Stark any 
 more. I've bought them for twenty-five hundred dol- 
 lars, and paid down fifty to bind the bargain ; so you 
 were really stealing from me." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear this; an' I've got a proposal to 
 make." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "That you pay the rest of the money an' agree to 
 take your chances on recoverin' the stock." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "You'll get it all right, if you'll agree to give me 
 half interest in the mine. That's a fair offer, an' you 
 can't refuse." 
 
 "Wa-al, I do refuse, all the same; for I don't pro- 
 pose to go into partnership with ary galoot of your 
 caliber, Mr. Prindle;" and the boy arose to his feet. 
 
 "What are you goin' to do?" asked the man. 
 
 "I'm going to see an officer is called in, and direct 
 him to arrest 3'ou instanter," was the prompt reply. 
 
 Prindle was really alarmed, for he realized the boy 
 from the West would not be easily turned from his de- 
 termination ; and, though he claimed to have a hold on 
 Stark, he had no desire to give the man another oppor- 
 tunity to send him to jail by means of his money and 
 influence. 
 
 "Say!" he gasped; "hold on a minute!" 
 
 Bart was looking around to catch the eye of a waiter, 
 and the ex-convict hastily continued : 
 
 "You want ter get a grip on old Stark yourself; an* 
 I can tell you something that'll fix you so you'll have 
 him foul — something about your father." 
 
 He saw he had struck the right note, for Bart hesi- 
 tated and turned toward him asking: 
 
 " What do you know about Mr, Stark's dealings with 
 my father?" 
 
A Startling Assertion. 67 
 
 "Well, I know more'n you dream — I even know he 
 beat your mother out of her rights after your dad 
 croaked." 
 
 "You say you know this; but how do you know so 
 much?" 
 
 "Set down," urged the man. "I'll tell you some 
 things that'll make your hair stand. I was in the 
 mine when your father was killed; an' I know just 
 how it happened." 
 
 There seemed to be a hidden meaning in Prindle's 
 words, and Bart Stone felt his heart give a sudden leap. 
 Now he was eager to have the miner continue, for it 
 seemed possible the fellow really could reveal some- 
 thing of importance. 
 
 The man saw that he had aroused the lad's curios- 
 ity, and he added : 
 
 "I an' one other was the last ones to see your father 
 alive, kid. Do you know just how he came to his 
 death?" 
 
 "I know he was killed by a premature blast. It 
 was a terrible accident!" 
 
 "Accident!" returned Buck Prindle, scornfully 
 "Let me tell you your father wasn't killed by accident, 
 young feller 1" 
 
68 Trying to Get at the Truth. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TRYING TO GET AT THE TRUTH. 
 
 The words struck Bart Stone like a blow in the face; 
 and L he turned ghastly pale, staring in speechless hor- 
 ror at the man who had given them utterance. 
 
 "Not killed by accident?" he finally managed to 
 gasp. 
 
 "That's what I said," nodded the ex-convict. 
 
 The usually slow and deliberate lad leaned across 
 the table, and, like a flash, his fingers closed with a 
 grip of iron on Prindle's wrist. 
 
 "Man," he panted, shaking with emotion; "do you 
 understand the full meaning of them thar words?" 
 
 The miner looked startled by the strange manner of 
 the boy, shrinking back. Bart's eyes were filled with 
 a wild light, and the clasp of his fingers revealed to 
 Prindle that the boy was the possessor of remarkable 
 strength. 
 
 "Do you know what you have said?" came hoarsely 
 from the lad's lips. 
 
 "Of course I do," mumbled the one questioned. 
 
 "What did you mean?" 
 
 "Just that." 
 
 "My father did not commit suicide?" 
 
 "Of course he didn't." 
 
 "Then thar's only one meaning to be put to what 
 you just said." 
 
 Prindle was silent, a look of fear stealing over his 
 face; for he realized what was coming. 
 
Trying to Get at the Truth. 69 
 
 "If my father was not killed by accident and did not 
 commit suicide," the boy went on, his voice now 
 sounding hard and restrained; "there is but one ex- 
 planation of his death. He was murdered!" 
 
 It was the ex-convict's turn to grow pale, for the 
 word smote on his ear with the staggering force of a 
 fearful accusation. The man began to feel that, in his 
 eagerness to keep the boy from turning him over to the 
 police, he had allowed his lips to utter too much. 
 
 Not for a moment did the lad's eyes leave the face of 
 Buck Prindle; and they seemed to pierce the man 
 through and through with their burning intensity. 
 The miner began to understand the resistless force of 
 this boy's nature and will-power, seeing he had given 
 him a clew that would be followed up until the whole 
 black truth became known. 
 
 "Is that yar right?" demanded Bart fiercely. 
 "Speak up and tell what you know!" 
 
 "Seems to me you're crowdin' the mourners," rather 
 feebly returned Prindle. 
 
 "Speak!" commanded the lad. "You can't turn 
 tail and go back over the trail now. It's too late." 
 
 "I don't want to go back on anything; but I didn't 
 say your dad was — was murdered." 
 
 "You might as well; your words meant that. Look 
 hyar, I'm bound to have the whole of it now, Mr. 
 Prindle; and you may as well tell me just what you 
 know. If you can prove what you've said " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Wa-al, I'll see that you are paid for it as you ought 
 to be. That's squar'." 
 
 It might be square ; but the words struck Buck with 
 a meaning the boy had not intended they should convey. 
 If he received what he merited, even a full confession 
 might not clear him from the grasp of the law. 
 
jo Trying to Get at the Truth. 
 
 The lad saw Prindle was hesitating, and he began to 
 fear the man would go back on what he had already 
 said ; yet he knew not just how to wring a further con- 
 fession from his lips. His hand went around to his hip 
 with an unconscious movement; but the holsters were 
 empty, so his fingers did not close on the butt of a 
 ready weapon. 
 
 The miner saw the movement, and it aroused his re- 
 sentment. 
 
 "Would you pull a gun on me?" he asked hotly. 
 "I can be led, but hanged if I'll be drove!" 
 
 "Take your choice — talk, or I call the police!" reso- 
 lutely returned the boy from the West. "It's plain 
 you know something I have a right to hear." 
 
 "I'm glad you think so, kid," half sneered Prindle, 
 seeking to regain his composure. "Mebbe you'll make 
 a trade with me now, eh?" 
 
 "What kind of a trade?" 
 
 "You know what I want." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "A half interest in the mine." 
 
 Bart pressed his lips together, remaining silent for 
 some seconds. Finally, he said : 
 
 "Do you reckon I'll make a trade of any kind with 
 such a crooked galoot as you have acknowledged your- 
 self to be?" 
 
 "You'll have to, if you get anything further out of 
 me, young feller." 
 
 "And if I should be fool enough, how do I know this 
 yar yarn amounts to anything? You said you could 
 give me a grip on Stark." 
 
 "That's what I meant." 
 
 "What kind of a grip — what did he have to do with 
 my father's death?" 
 
 "A good deal." 
 
Trying to Get at the Truth. 71 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "If I told ye, you'd know," replied Prindle, with a 
 leer. "I an't that big a fool. If you're ready to 
 make a bargain, maybe I'll talk." 
 
 The lad had no intention of entering into such a con- 
 tract with this self-confessed crook and convict; and he 
 considered just how he could force the miner to tell the 
 truth concerning Norman Stone's death. 
 
 That he had struck a trail which might lead to aston- 
 ishing and momentous results he scarcely had a doubt. 
 There had always seemed something singular and in- 
 explicable about the manner of his father's death; and 
 now it seemed this man could clear away the clouds, if 
 he were inclined to do so. 
 
 "Look hyar," Bart finally said; "I'll tell you what 
 I'll do. If you " 
 
 At this moment he was interrupted by a terrible up- 
 roar in the front of the restaurant. Loud words were 
 uttered, a table was upset, amid a crash of breaking 
 crockery, and then two of the waiters were seen vigor- 
 ously mauling each other. 
 
 Naturally, the boy from the West turned to see what 
 all the racket was about, and, when the combatants 
 were parted, he suddenly bethought himself of the 
 necessity of keeping his eyes on Buck Prindle. 
 
 He wheeled around quickly, to make the astonishing 
 discovery that the ex-convict had disappeared ! 
 
</3 The Cast for Life. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 the cast for life. 
 
 "Gone!" 
 
 For an instant, Bart was almost paralyzed with 
 amazement; but he swiftly recovered. 
 
 "Didn't go out front, so he must have gone — this 
 wayV 
 
 With one bound, he dashed behind a screen and saw 
 a door that led to the room where the cooking was done. 
 Into this room he darted, to find himself face to face 
 with a German cook, who was dressed in rather soiled 
 white outer garments. 
 
 "A man came in hyar!" cried the lad. "Running 
 like a hawse with a burr under its saddle! Which 
 way'd he go?" 
 
 "Out dot door," calmly replied the cook, pointing to 
 an open door that led into a back alley. 
 
 Through the doorway leaped Bart, his eyes wide 
 open for a glimpse of the man he was after; but he was 
 not rewarded by the sight of the fleeing thief. 
 
 Buck Prindle had not let the grass grow under his 
 feet, well knowing the lad would be hot after him in a 
 very few seconds. 
 
 Along the alley ran Bart, looking to the right and 
 left at the doorways, trying to decide which course the 
 miner would be most liable to choose. Through to the 
 point where the alley came out on the main street he 
 rushed ; but he might have spared himself the trouble, 
 for it was unavailing. 
 
The Cast for Life. 73 
 
 "Wa-al," muttered Bart, in thorough disgust, as he 
 slowly retraced his footsteps, still looking searchingly 
 at the doorways, but seeing no one who could give him 
 any information, "that thar's the biggest fool trick I 
 ever did! Slow! I reckon Mr. Walter St. Omer 
 Stark is just naturally correct, and no mistake! I'm 
 too slow by a heap sight to get out of the way for a 
 snail that's in a hurry!" 
 
 Never in his life had he felt more crestfallen than he 
 did at that moment. After practically capturing the 
 man who stole the stock, he had allowed the crook to 
 slip through his fingers and get away. 
 
 As he made his way back to the restaurant, he con- 
 demned himself roundly and in the most scathing lan- 
 guage, feeling he was deserving of his own scorn. 
 
 As he entered the cook room, the German asked him 
 if he overtook the man; but he simply shook his head, 
 walking swiftly into the dining room, where he found 
 a waiter looking around for him. He paid his check 
 at the cashier's desk, leaving the place immediately. 
 
 For hours after this the boy from the West wandered 
 about the streets, his eyes searching the face of every 
 man he met, hoping against hope that some fortunate 
 accident might bring him upon Buck Prindle once 
 more. 
 
 He took no note of the flight of time or whither his 
 footsteps led him, his mind being entirely engrossed by 
 a conflicting tumult of thoughts, none of which were 
 pleasant. 
 
 He had failed to recover the stock, even after being 
 face to face with the acknowledged thief; but the man 
 had told him some things of a startling and astonish- 
 ing nature, and awakened within his breast the belief 
 that his unfortunate father had been dealt with foully. 
 
 If this were true, he would have another mission in 
 
74 The Cast for Life. 
 
 the East, for it would be his duty to know no rest until 
 the man or men who had brought about the tragedy in 
 the mine were properly punished. 
 
 Realizing he was confronted by a mighty problem, 
 his face grew very stern and hard, and the light of 
 a great resolution glowed in his usually drowsy eyes. 
 
 "If Cyrus Stark had anything to do with father's 
 death, as well as having afterward swindled mother 
 out of what was justly hers — wa-al, I'll never rest till 
 he is a poor man and has been brought to the round-up 
 bar of justice. I may be no more'n a boy, and a Kansas 
 cow-puncher at that; but I'll find a way of getting 
 squar', or I'm not the son of my father, none whatever. " 
 
 He said this to himself in a cold and quiet way, but 
 it was as good as a registered resolve. 
 
 He was on South Fifth Avenue, with the elevated 
 trains rattling and roaring on the trestle above his head, 
 when he gave a sudden start of surprise, uttering a low 
 exclamation, having discerned on the opposite side of 
 the street two persons whom he knew. 
 
 They were Ned Steinway and Walter Stark. 
 
 The young man and the boy were talking together 
 earnestly, and, as Bart watched them, they suddenly 
 turned and descended some steps, disappearing into a 
 dark basement. 
 
 "Wonder what's down thar?" muttered the lad, as 
 he crossed the street. 
 
 He saw a man who seemed to be following Steinway 
 and Walter. This man hesitated a moment, and then 
 also went down the stairs, pushed open a door and dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Bart was inclined to be venturesome, and it did not 
 take him long to make up his mind how he would act. 
 
 "Hyar goes!" he said, resolutely, as he boldly de- 
 scended the stairs and thrust open the door. 
 
The C ast for Life. 75 
 
 The moment it closed behind him, he found himself 
 in a low, dark passage, at the farthest end of which 
 there was another door. At one side of this door was 
 an open "peephole;" but, as no one was peering out, 
 the young cowboy promptly advanced and tried the 
 door, beyond which he could hear a loud voice dis- 
 tinctly calling off something. 
 
 Not a little to his surprise, the door opened promptly 
 to his touch. The moment it did so, he saw a long, 
 narrow, smoky room, that was filled with men who 
 seemed silent and breathless, listening to the clicking 
 of some instrument and the voice of a big, red-faced 
 rough on a stand. 
 
 "At the first quarter — Lawrence in the lead, the 
 others bunched; at the half, Lawrence by a length, 
 Fleetwood second, Belle Adams third; third quarter, 
 Fleetwood ahead, Rob Roy second, Belle Adams third, 
 Lawrence off his feet; in the stretch, Fleetwood ahead, 
 Rob Roy gaining, Nemo third." 
 
 The suspense seemed intense; and the great throng 
 of men scarcely appeared to breathe, as they listened 
 for the result. 
 
 "Rob Roy by a head, Fleetwood second, Nemo 
 third " 
 
 If the man uttered any further announcement, it was 
 drowned by the cries of excitement from the throng; 
 but a sudden and fierce thumping silenced them. A 
 man with a heavy black mustache shot up on the stand, 
 literally snarling: 
 
 "Youse blokes want ter letup on dat! See? I'm 
 tryin' ter run dis place on der dead q. t. Dat racket'll 
 bring der cops down on me, an' I'll be pinched. If 
 yer don't let up on it, I'll close me shop. See?" 
 
 Bart realized he was in a private poolroom, where 
 men assembled to gamble by wagering money on horse 
 
?6 The Cast for Life. 
 
 races run in different parts of the country; and he had 
 just listened to the result of a particularly exciting 
 race. 
 
 Unfortunately for his curiosity, he was given little 
 time to look around, for, at this moment, he heard a 
 familiar voice saying, in a tone of the greatest disgust: 
 
 "That's all your tips amount to of late, Steinway! 
 I've dropped a clean five hundred on Lawrence! 
 Come, let's get out." I 
 
 And then, of a sudden, he found himself face to face 
 with Steinway and Walter Stark. As they saw Bart, 
 the two started back, astonished, Steinway exclaiming: 
 
 "Great Scott! He's been following us, Walt!" 
 
 "That's what!" broke from the lips of the million- 
 aire's son, as he immediately regained his composure. 
 "I'll fix him this time!" 
 
 Then he shouted : 
 
 ' ' Hey ! hey ! Spotter — spotter here !" 
 
 The cry raised a tumult, the gamblers surging ex- 
 citedly and angrily toward the door, near which the 
 trio were. 
 
 "Where is he?" demanded several voices. "We'll 
 do him up!" 
 
 "There he is!" declared Walter, pointing straight at 
 Bart. "He's a boy hired by the police to pipe off the 
 place." 
 
 Bart boldly faced the excited mob, although he rea- 
 lized the false accusation of his enemy had placed him 
 in a dangerous position ; for these gamblers were men 
 easily wrought to acts of violence. 
 
 Suddenly a man stepped from the crowd and placed 
 a hand on the young Westerner's* arm, facing the 
 sports, and saying quietly : 
 
 "Gentlemen, the charge is false. This boy is a 
 stranger in the city and from the West, as you can see 
 
The Cast for Life. 77 
 
 by his attire. I give you my word he does not stand 
 in with the police, and is not here for the purpose of 
 causing trouble. I am going out immediately, and he 
 will accompany me." 
 
 The moment the speaker appeared, Walter Stark 
 gave a gasp of dismay and tried to slink out of sight. 
 In this he was not very successful, for the searching 
 eyes of the gentleman followed him half scornfully. 
 
 "Come!" 
 
 The word was spoken in Bart's ear; and then he felt 
 his unknown friend conducting him through the door 
 and along the passage to the street, which was reached 
 by ascending the flight of stairs. 
 
 The boy discovered his benefactor was the man he 
 had seen follow Steinway and Walter into the poolroom. 
 
 As soon as the street was reached, the stranger said : 
 
 "I got you out of a very bad scrape, my boy; for 
 those men would have been sure to do you injury." 
 
 "I reckon you're giving me a sure trail, mister," 
 agreed the lad. "I thank you." 
 
 "That's all right," smiled the man, as he walked 
 toward a cab that seemed waiting for him at the curb. 
 "I had a purpose in going in there, and I presume you 
 did also. This is the second time I have been able to 
 get you out of a bad fix." 
 
 With those words, and no more, he stepped into the 
 cab and was driven swiftly away, without giving the 
 bewildered boy time to utter anything further. 
 
 "The second time," muttered Bart, as he walked 
 slowly along the street. "What'd he mean? I know! 
 It must be that tbar man's the friend the judge said 
 got me off when Steinway had me arrested. And I 
 don't even know his name!" 
 
 Thinking of this, he wandered on and on, passing 
 Union Square, and finally coming to a little park that 
 
78 The Cast for Life. 
 
 was all fenced about with a high iron railing. Near 
 this park were some stables, and out of one of these 
 a man suddenly dashed, hatless and coatless, wildly 
 crying : 
 
 "Look out! He's broke out of the cage! Run — run 
 for your lives!" 
 
 Several people who were passing paused and looked 
 at the man, as if they considered him deranged. 
 
 But in another moment a terrible roar came from the 
 stable, and out of the door shot the form of a huge 
 beast — an enraged panther ! 
 
 It seemed that two bounds carried the creature across 
 the street, and then it crouched low to the ground, 
 within ten feet of a bright-looking, tastity-dressed girl, 
 lashing its tail and preparing to leap upon her. 
 
 So great was the girl's horror that she appeared 
 turned to stone, standing still in her tracks. It seemed 
 that nothing could save her, for all the spectators were 
 motionless with terror and dismay. 
 
 No, not all of them ! The boy from the West was the 
 only one who retained his presence of mind, or made a 
 move to save the girl. 
 
 Quickly detaching the lariat from his side, he sent it 
 whirling about his head, ran forward a few steps with 
 the lightness of a cat, and made the cast for life. 
 
Roping a Panther. 79 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ROPING A PANTHER. 
 
 The escaped panther was on the verge of making a 
 spring at the helpless girl. 
 
 As Bart Stone sent the noose sailing through the air, 
 he leaped to the iron fence of the park and made one 
 end of the lariat secure by a quick double-hitch. 
 
 Over the head of the terrible animal dropped the 
 noose, with not four feet of rope to spare. 
 
 At that very instant the beast leaped for the girl. 
 
 The horsehair lariat was of the very finest quality, 
 and its strength and value were tested at that moment. 
 
 The panther rose in the air, but was immediately 
 hurled backward to the ground, striking heavily and 
 rolling over and over, stunned, choked, astounded. 
 
 The bewildered spectators who had seen it all could 
 scarcely understand what had happened, although they 
 realized the panther had been prevented from reaching 
 its intended victim. 
 
 "Run!" shouted Bart to the girl, who was putting 
 out her hands and swaying unsteadily. "The ornary 
 critter may get away. Make a break for cover, and 
 don't delay!" 
 
 If she heard his words, she did not understand or 
 had not enough strength to follow his instructions; for 
 she seemed on the point of tottering forward toward 
 the overthrown and defeated animal. 
 
 Of a sudden, Bart Stone darted forward, and, un- 
 heeding the danger, ran past the panther. 
 
80 Roping a Panther. 
 
 With a snarling yowl, the creature gathered itself 
 and leaped again, this time for the boy. 
 
 It was a hasty spring, but once more the horsehair 
 cord saved a human life, for the right forward paw of 
 the infuriated beast touched the back of the boy's 
 woolen shirt, and the claws ripped the garments open, 
 although no further harm was done. 
 
 Then the lariat again snatched the panther back and 
 sent it rolling over and over, scratching, snarling, and 
 biting. 
 
 Bart was barely in time to catch the fainting form of 
 the girl in his arms, and he lost not a moment in bear- 
 ing her from the dangerous locality, leaving the pan- 
 ther to escape or be captured. 
 
 A man ran to his assistance and told him he could 
 take the unconscious girl into a house near at hand. 
 This Bart did, allowing no one to touch her until she was 
 placed on a couch, after which the lady of the house 
 and the servants set about restoring her to conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 "It was a brave and wonderful act!" declared the 
 man, looking admiringly at Bart. "I saw it from a 
 distance. That girl is indebted to you for her life, my 
 boy!" 
 
 Bart blushed with genuine confusion. 
 
 "Why, that thar wasn't nothing much," he modestly 
 declared. "A feller as can rope a steer ought to be 
 able to rope any other kind of critter." 
 
 "But the daring of it — and the way you ran past the 
 beast and caught the girl as she was falling ! It was 
 remarkable!" 
 
 Finding that he was to be lionized by the man, Bart 
 soon made an excuse to leave the house, saying he was 
 going back for his "rope." 
 
 Outside he found a great crowd had gathered about 
 
Roping a Panther. 81 
 
 the place where he had last seen the cleverly snared 
 beast, and he wondered what was happening. Running 
 toward the spot, he was not long in discovering the 
 animal's trainer had arrived and promptly caused a 
 substitute cage to be brought from the stable, where the 
 panther was being kept for a week, preparatory to the 
 beginning of an engagement at a popular animal show. 
 
 The trainer had, with little loss of time, succeeded in 
 getting the escaped beast into the cage, which was now 
 surrounded by several very bold policemen, who had 
 discreetly kept at a comfortable distance until they 
 were sure the creature was beyond doing harm. 
 
 Already were there several newspaper reporters on 
 the spot, and they were eagerly seeking "particulars." 
 
 To Bart's dismay, he discovered the trainer had cut 
 the horse-hair lariat as soon as the panther was caged. 
 
 "Look hyar!" cried the boy from the West, coming 
 forward; "what'd you want to do that thar thing for? 
 Didn't you know this yar rope was worth a clean hun- 
 dred dollars, and you've just naturally spoiled it for 
 good and all!'* 
 
 The man looked at him in surprise. 
 
 "Was it yours," he asked. 
 
 "That's what it was; and I want the galoot that cut 
 it to pay for it plenty quick!" 
 
 "And did you lasso the panther?" 
 
 "Yes, I roped the critter." 
 
 "That's the very boy!" cried several of those who 
 had witnessed Bart's skillful feat. 
 
 In a moment, the surprised lad found himself seized 
 by the energetic reporters, every one of whom was ask- 
 ing him a different question, all speaking together. 
 There poured a perfect torrent of inquiries upon him, 
 wanting to know his name, age, place of birth, where 
 he belonged, how he happened to be in New York, how 
 
82 Roping- a Panther. 
 
 he learned to throw a lariat, who the girl was he had 
 saved, and forty other things. 
 
 "Wa-al this is worse'n a cyclone," gasped the be- 
 wildered boy. "For time sake, let me get clear of this 
 yere razzle! I can't hear myself think!" 
 
 But he could not escape the reporters until they had 
 obtained answers to at least fifty per cent, of their 
 questions, the answers to the other fifty per cent, being 
 supplied by themselves. 
 
 By that time the owner of the panther had arrived, 
 and after a short consultation with the trainer, this 
 man made no delay in finding Bart. 
 
 "Are you the boy?" he eagerly inquired. "Say, 
 you may not know it, but you've made a ten-strike to- 
 day. Why, the accounts of this affair will be in every 
 evening paper! It's a great ad. — great! And you — 
 why, I'll shove up a wad you'll be offered an engage- 
 ment at the show to appear with Stanley, the panther." 
 
 "To appear! What do you mean?" questioned the 
 astonished lad. 
 
 "To show yourself at the performances, of course. 
 It'd be a great card. Think of the crowds coming to 
 see the ferocious, untamed Stanley, and the boy who 
 lassoed the beast when it had escaped, and was at lib- 
 erty in the streets of New York! By jove! this ought 
 to pay you a good roll. It'll make you famous." 
 
 "Wa-al, I didn't s'pose people in the East'd make 
 such a rumpus over a little thing!" exclaimed Bart in 
 disgust. 
 
 "Little thing!" spluttered the man. "Are you 
 crazy, boy! I understand you saved a young lady 
 from being killed by Stanley. This is great! It's the 
 luckiest day I've hit in a year!" 
 
 The man was plainly delighted, but he was not so 
 pleased when Bart insisted he must pay for the lariat. 
 
Roping a Panther. 83 
 
 He refused to believe the horse-hair rope could be 
 worth a hundred dollars; but he finally decided to pay 
 the money "on account of the ad.," as he expressed it. 
 
 Bart pocketed the money, but, in truth, he would 
 rather have the lariat in perfect condition, as the rope 
 had belonged to his father, and he set a great store 
 by it. 
 
 Then the owner of the panther, whose name was 
 Zachery Pulsifer, insisted that Bart should accompany 
 him to his hotel and take dinner with him that night. 
 The beast was left to the care of the trainer and some 
 assistants. 
 
 Bart would not go anywhere until he knew if the 
 girl he had saved had recovered from her faint, and so 
 Mr. Pulsifer accompanied him to the house where she 
 had been taken. 
 
 When they reached the place the man of the house 
 hurried the boy to the parlor, saying : 
 
 "The young lady's father is here, and he wants to 
 see the brave lad who saved his daughter. Here he 
 is." 
 
 To Bart's astonishment, he found himself face to 
 face with his mysterious friend, the gentleman who had 
 twice done him a favor, having that day saved him 
 from the mob of angry gamblers in the poolroom. 
 
Honors to the Hero. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HONORS TO THE HERO. 
 
 "You?" 
 
 Both man and boy uttered the word, as they stared 
 at each other in surprise. 
 
 "I might have known it was you by the description," 
 the gentleman hastily added; "but I was so excited I 
 scarcely thought of anything but Ferda." 
 
 "Wa-al, I never dreamed of you !" confessed Bart. 
 
 "My dear boy," and the gentleman grasped the lad's 
 hand, "I owe you a debt that I can never repay!" 
 
 "Don't!" protested the confused youth. "It makes 
 me feel like I had been kerflopped by a burro — and 
 that's onerary! If this yar thing keeps up, I'll take 
 to my hoofs and stampede for tall timber heap sood." 
 
 "He is a brave and noble lad, sir," cut in Mr. Zach- 
 ery Pulsifer, pressing forward. "Why, this is a great 
 snap for him ! Being a man of business, sir, and an 
 artist in my line, I immediately appreciate an accident 
 that gives me an ad. of this sort. Every paper will 
 have it: Stanley, the untamed panther! Roaming 
 through New York as if in his own native forest ! The 
 magnificent beast owned by Mr. Zachery Pulsifer, the 
 world's greatest collector of wild animals! The " 
 
 "I beg 3 T onr pardon, sir," rather brusquely inter- 
 rupted the girl's father; "this is no time or place for 
 you to go into rhapsodies over the value of your ad. I 
 presume you are Mr. Zachery Pulsifer, the owner of 
 the panther?" 
 
\y^~ Honors to the Hero. 85 
 
 "I have that honor, sir," was the reply, as the 
 speaker drew himself up with dignity. 
 
 "Then I may as well inform you it is possible I shall 
 bring suit against you." 
 
 "Wh-wh-what?" almost shouted the astonished Mr. 
 Pulsifer, looking staggered. "Bring suit against me? 
 'Cause why?" 
 
 "For maintaining a dangerous nuisance in that stable. 
 The escape of the panther is all the proof I want. I 
 can make you pay heavy damages." 
 
 Zachery Pulsifer collapsed, all his dignity leaving 
 him in a moment, as he excitedly spluttered : 
 
 "You can't be in earnest — you can't! Why, it's 
 preposterous! Your daughter was not harmed. It 
 will make her famous ! Man alive, her name will be 
 in the papers — she'll be advertised!" 
 
 "That's one reason why I think of bringing suit 
 against you," calmly declared the gentleman. "I 
 object to such advertising very decidedly." 
 
 This was more than the owner of the panther could 
 understand, and for a few minutes he poured forth a 
 torrent of protests and entreaties. He was finally cut 
 off by the man of the house, who politely hinted that 
 he had better withdraw. 
 
 "All right," mumbled Mr. Pulsifer, in disgust. 
 "It's plain some poeple don't know a good thing when 
 they see it. I am going now. I shall be prepared to 
 defend any suit. Mr. Stone, you are coming with me 
 to " 
 
 "Excuse me," said the gentleman whose daughter 
 Bart had saved, "I have the strongest claim on him. 
 He will remain with me, I think. Eh, my lad?" 
 
 "Wa-al," decided Bart, "if I had my choice, I'd a 
 heap rather be all by my lonesome out on a prairie. 
 As it is, I reckon I'll stay hyar." 
 
86 Honors to the Hero. 
 
 ) 
 
 "Very •well," bowed Pulsifer, stiffly, "if you see fit 
 
 to decline my invitation to dinner I have nothing fur- 
 ther to say. However, I shall be pleased to see you 
 any time. Here's my card. Will you give me your 
 address? I may wish to communicate with you." 
 
 "His address for the next few days, at least will be 
 my home," said the father of the girl, giving a num- 
 ber on Madison Avenue. 
 
 A minute plater Zachery Pulsifer had taken his de- 
 parture. 
 
 Both men laughed when he was gone, and Bart's 
 mysterious friend observed : 
 
 "The fear of a suit rather cooled Mr. Pulsifer. I 
 fancied that would be the easiest way to get rid of him, 
 and it was plain he is not a very desirable acquaint- 
 ance. I advise you to look out for men of this sort, 
 my boy. But now let me thank you again and again 
 for your brave and noble act. You " 
 
 "Say, mister," broke in the boy, "I don't reckon 
 I've done any more'n squar' accounts. I owed you a 
 heap, for I judge you are the one who went to the 
 court and got me out of that bad fix when Steinway 
 had me arrested." 
 
 "Well, you are right on that point," smiled the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 "How'd you happen to do it?" 
 
 "I was in the Fifth Avenue Hotel when you accused 
 the thief and pursued him. I saw the whole affair. I 
 was afterward with the spectators who watched you 
 send Walter Stark sprawling after he tried to strike 
 you. I saw you were in the right all the time, and my 
 sympathy was enlisted, causing me to resolve to get 
 you out of the scrape. When this fellow Steinway 
 and young Walter Stark heard I had decided to see 
 that you had fair play they simply dropped the matter." 
 
Honors to the Hero. 87 
 
 "Wa-al, it's right lucky for me you took a hand in 
 the business, I'll allow. And then you got me out of 
 another scrape to-day." 
 
 "I stopped at Fourteenth Street to look after some 
 business, and was on my way up town when I heard 
 of the panther escaping in this neighborhood. Then I 
 came over, little thinking it was my own child who 
 had been so nearly killed by the beast. From the win- 
 dow, Ferda, who had recovered, saw me passing and 
 had me called in here. And now it turns out you are 
 the boy who saved her!" 
 
 The delighted gentleman wrung Bart's hand again, 
 assuring the boy of his gratitude, while the latter still 
 remained confused. 
 
 "What is your name, my lad?" 
 
 "Bartley Stone." 
 
 "Stone. That is a good solid name. I once had a 
 schoolmate by that name. I am Roger Van Worth, 
 and this" — as a rather pale-faced but pretty girl en- 
 tered the room, accompanied by an older lady — "is 
 Ferda, my daughter, who owes her life to your bravery. ' ' 
 
 The girl came forward and held out her white hand, 
 a bit of warm color mounting to her cheeks as Bart 
 hesitatingly toucher! the fingers, bowing low, his broad- 
 brimmed hat in his hand. There was a certain rude 
 gallantry in his manner that told his instincts were of 
 a gentlemanly sort. 
 
 "I am right glad to meet Miss Van Worth," de- 
 clared Bart, choking somewhat over the words. 
 
 "And I am thankful to know the brave young man 
 who saved me from that awful beast," earnestly as- 
 sured Ferda, looking him full in the face with her 
 great brown eyes. "I have wanted to know you ever 
 since — ever since I first saw you," she finished, hesitat- 
 ing and glancing quickly at her father. 
 
88 Honors to the Hero. 
 
 "To-day is not the first time she observed you, Mr. 
 Stone," explained Roger Van Worth. "She happened 
 to be passing the Fifth Avenue Hotel as you upset 
 Walter Stark, and she saw it all. When I came home 
 she asked me about all that happened, and I will con- 
 fess she influenced me to go down to court and see the 
 judge on j'our behalf." 
 
 The girl was now blushing in confusion, and Bart 
 suddenly realized how extremely pretty and charming 
 she really was. Again he bowed low before her, speak- 
 ing with a great deal of feeling: 
 
 "I just naturally judge it was the work of Provi- 
 dence that gave me that thar chance to do her a turn 
 and kind of squar' things." 
 
 Bart was then introduced to the gentleman and lady 
 of the house, and the praises they showered on him 
 made him once more feel that he would give almost 
 anything to be alone on a Kansas prairie. 
 
 Finally, when this was all over, Mr. Van Worth 
 went out to look for a carriage, soon returning to state 
 one was waiting at the door. 
 
 The boy from the West would have made his escape 
 from his friends if possible, but they would not hear 
 of such a thing, and he soon found himself in the closed 
 carriage with Roger Van Worth and his pretty daugh- 
 ter, being carried toward the millionaire's elegant 
 home on Madison Avenue. 
 
A Surprising Discovery. 89 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A SURPRISING DISCOVERY. 
 
 Bart was literally astounded by the elegance of 
 Roger Van Worth's home, and he felt greatly out of 
 place and embarrassed, although the millionaire and 
 his pretty daughter did their best to put him at his ease. 
 
 Ferda's mother had been dead several years, and as 
 she was the only child and idol of her father, she was 
 the practical mistress of the house, although a maiden 
 aunt resided there and acted as a sort of chaperon 
 toward her. 
 
 The boy tried to get away before dinner, thinking 
 how unsuited for such an occasion he must appear, but 
 he found his efforts useless, for Mr. Van Worth would 
 not listen to such a thing. 
 
 "Didn't you hear me tell Mr. Zachery Pulsifer your 
 address for the next few days would be this house? 
 That meant that you were to remain right here. Never 
 mind how you are dressed. You are from a part of the 
 country where people wear such clothes from early in 
 the morning until late at night " 
 
 "And then a right good many of them wear such 
 clothes all night," put in the boy. 
 
 "That is a fact," smiled Mr. Van Worth. "Here is 
 Ferda. She has come down prepared to chat with you, 
 while I run out to keep an appointment. I will be on 
 hand for dinner." 
 
 So the boy and girl were left together, and they got 
 along famously, for Bart overcame his diffidence after 
 
90 A Surprising- Discovery. 
 
 a time, and talked unreserved ly of his home in the 
 West and the wild, free life he knew so well. Indeed, 
 he grew rather eloquent in his way, and Ferda listened 
 with the deepest interest. 
 
 The girl had more than half suspected Bart was illit- 
 erate, his manner of speech seeming to prove this, but 
 when she came to sound him she was astonished at his 
 actual fund of knowledge. He was a good English 
 scholar, could translate French, although he did not 
 speak it verj T well, and could read Latin as well as 
 Ferda herself. His Western accent and vernacular 
 he had unconsciously acquired by constantly mingling 
 with people who always spoke in that manner. 
 
 They were discussing books and authors, and Bart 
 had told Ferda many interesting things about great nov- 
 elists and poets, showing an astonishing familiarity 
 with all the masters of literature, when Mr. Van Worth 
 came in quietly and stood listening to them. The gen- 
 tleman was no less astonished than Ferda at Bart's 
 knowledge, and his respect for the boy advanced a step. 
 
 "I am glad to see you are enjoying yourselves," he 
 smiled, as he came forward. "Here is something that 
 may interest you, Mr. Stone," and he passed Bart a 
 newspaper. 
 
 It was New York's most sensational evening paper, 
 and on the first page was a two-column article, the 
 "scare headings" of which were as follows: 
 
 "LASSOED A PANTHER! 
 Stanley, the savage monarch of the forest, free in the 
 
 city streets ! 
 FEARFUL PERIL OF PRETTY FERDA VAN 
 
 WORTH. 
 
 Saved from a frightful fate by a seventeen- year-old boy 
 
 from the West. 
 
 Bold Bartley Stone roped the raging beast." 
 
A Surprising Discovery. 91 
 
 Then followed a picturesque and rather inaccurate 
 account of the whole affair, but what literally as- 
 tounded Bart and took away his breath was the fact 
 that his picture was printed in the paper. 
 
 To be sure, it was not a first class likeness, but then it 
 did resemble him. 
 
 Roger Van Worth laughed softly as he saw the 
 speechless boy stare helplessly at the printed "story" 
 and the picture, utterly unable to express himself. 
 
 "That's what they call newspaper enterprise in New 
 York," he observed. 
 
 "But — but, I just naturally don't understand it! 
 How'd they get my picture?" 
 
 "One of those reporters must have been armed with 
 a camera and taken a snap-shot at you." 
 
 "But it's been such a short time. I plumb can't 
 understand how they got the picture made and all this 
 yarn into print." 
 
 "It was certainly quick work; but every late evening 
 paper in the city has something about the affair, al- 
 though none of them spread themselves as this one did. 
 We would have been run over by reporters here, but 
 when I went out I detached the electric wires, so not a 
 bell in the house would ring, and gave directions to the 
 servants to admit no one. The butler tells me six or 
 eight men have been vainly pushing at the door button 
 at various times since." 
 
 "Wa-al," slowly spoke Bart, "I must allow I don't 
 like this yere thing none whatever. It seems foolish 
 to me to make such a rumpus over the business." 
 
 "You are modest, my lad," said Roger Van Worth. 
 "To-night you are the best known and most popular 
 boy in New York City." 
 
 It took some time for Bart to realize this was actually 
 the truth, and then, of a sudden, he thought of his 
 
92 A Surprising Discovery. 
 
 mother, away out West in her Kansas home. He would 
 send her the papers, and he knew how her cheeks would 
 flush and her eyes fill with tears of pride and joy. 
 Chance and his skill with the lariat had made him 
 famous for the time. 
 
 They talked but a few moments after Mr. Van 
 Worth's return, and then dinner was announced. 
 Ferda's aunt appeared, and they all went down to- 
 gether. 
 
 The boy still felt out of place, but his new friends 
 were agreeably surprised to discover his table manners, 
 while not elegant or in exact accordance with fixed rules, 
 were those of a natural gentleman. If he did not dip 
 the spoon from him in eating soup, he also did not tip 
 the plate to get the last drop, and not once did he put 
 his knife in his mouth. 
 
 And Roger Van Worth inwardly decided this boy 
 who sat at his table, clothed in the garments worn on 
 the Western ranches, was more of a gentleman than 
 ninety-nine per cent, of the city-bred youths with so- 
 called aristocratic parents. „ 
 
 As for Ferda, there was a positive glow of admira- 
 tion in her eyes ever3 T time they rested on Bart. 
 
 The conversation flowed along freely, and when des- 
 sert was reached, Mr. Van Worth asked Bart how he 
 happened to be in New York. By this time the boy 
 was ready to open his heart, and he quietly explained 
 his reasons for leaving his home and seeking to secure 
 the stock of the White Horse Mine. 
 
 The millionaire listened with ever-increasing interest 
 to the lad's story, expressing genuine disappointment as 
 Bart told of his rebuffs. 
 
 "You have certainly had wretched luck," said Mr. 
 Van Worth. "You deserve to secure those shares, and 
 I believe you will get them in the end. But I know 
 
A Surprising Discovery. 93 
 
 from experience Cyrus Stark is an utterly unscrupulous 
 man. I have dealt with bim on Wall Street, and he 
 once beat me out of something like seventy thousand 
 dollars by a direct lie. Although we have apparently 
 remained friendly, I vowed then I would get even 
 •vith him some day, and I mean to keep my word, I 
 , am simply awaiting the opportunity to do so by fair 
 means, for I will not resort to his own crooked methods. 
 
 "As for Walter Stark, I believe him a chip of the 
 old block, even though he did seem like a respectable 
 young fellow. He has been very friendly with Ferda, 
 and I resolved to discover if he w^ere the sort of a youth 
 she should know. That is why I followed him into the 
 pool-room to-day. His companion, Edward Steinway, 
 is decidedly questionable, although of good parents; 
 and it is plain Steinway has led Walter to gamble and 
 frequent low resorts. Hereafter, my doors are closed 
 to Walter Stark, and Ferda is forbidden to associate 
 with him at all." 
 
 "For which Ferda does not feel very bad," smiled 
 the girl. Then she went on, impulsively. 
 
 "Oh, father! wouldn't it be jolly if you could help 
 Mr. Stone get ahead of Cyrus Stark in this matter! 
 You could get square w T ith that man in such a way." 
 
 Mr. Van Worth looked doubtful. 
 1 "Perhaps you are right," he slowly said. "I had 
 I not thought of that. I like Bartley for his manliness, 
 ' and 1 feel boundlessly in his debt. He reminds me of 
 my old schoolmate, Norman Stone." 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed Bart, excitedly, "that was my 
 father's name!" 
 
 "Indeed!" ejaculated Mr. Van Worth. "It cannot 
 be possible your father was the Norman Stone who was 
 my schoolmate and boyhood chum !" 
 
 "How do you know?" broke from Ferda's lips, and 
 
94 A Surprising" Discovery. 
 
 her cheeks glowed with enthusiasm. "Perhaps he 
 was! Oh, wouldn't that be strange — wouldn't it be 
 jolly!" 
 
 "Where did your father come from?" questioned the 
 millionaire. 
 
 "New Hampshire," answered the boy from the West. 
 
 "What part of New Hampshire?" 
 
 "Hooksett." 
 
 "That's the very State and town!" came excitedly 
 from Roger Van Worth's lips. "I lost track of Nor- 
 man, but now I remember he went out West some- 
 where. My lad, I believe your father was actually my 
 boyhood chuml" 
 
A Strong Ally. 95 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A STRONG ALLY. 
 
 Before they left the dinner table it was decided be- 
 yond a doubt that Roger Van Worth and Norman 
 Stone had really been schoolmates and chums. 
 
 This caused the New York millionaire to look with 
 renewed and heightened friendship and regard upon 
 the boy who had saved his child from the panther. 
 Indeed, a genuine feeling of affection for Bartley 
 sprang up in the man's breast and made him resolve to 
 assist this brave boy in the battle for his rights. 
 
 Ferda was delighted, and in her charming, girlish 
 way, she openly expressed her pleasure. 
 
 "It is perfectly lovely !" she exclaimed, her cheeks 
 flushed and e}*es glowing. "And to think this discov- 
 ery came about because I walked down to see Nettie 
 Sprague and was nearly eaten up by a horrid panther. 
 Isn't it strange?" 
 
 " 'God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to 
 perform,' " quoted the maiden aunt, who was very 
 $ religiously inclined. 
 
 * When the dinner was quite over, Mr. Van Worth 
 < said to Bart : 
 
 "Come with me to the library. I want to have a 
 quiet talk with you, my boy." 
 
 Ferda understood what that meant, and she did not 
 venture to intrude, but when she bade Bart good- 
 night, she held out her shapely hand and gave him an 
 impulsive pressure as he clasped it with his brown 
 fingers. 
 
96 A Strong Ally. 
 
 The boy from the West felt that fortune had smiled 
 upon him in his darkest hour of trouble and despair. 
 
 He was very thankful toward his new-found friends 
 for their kindness, as he followed Roger Van Worth 
 into the handsome library and sat down in a big com- 
 fortable chair, as directed by the man. 
 
 For some moments Mr. Van Worth paced the floor 
 in a moody manner, and when he paused he was 
 pinching his under lip with a thumb and forefinger, 
 while he gazed steadily at the son of his old schoolmate 
 and comrade. 
 
 "So poor Norman is dead?" he finally murmured, a 
 tender light in his eyes and a softened look on his 
 strong face. "It is thus boyhood friends drift apart 
 and are lost to each other forever. I used to think of 
 him often, but the bustle of city life and the constant 
 struggles of money-getting gradually drove him from 
 my mind, and, till now, I have scarcely paused in 
 years to allow memories of the old days — the dear old 
 days — to intrude upon me. 
 
 "Norman was a jolly fellow. I can see him now as 
 he used to look with his bare feet, chubby face and 
 yellow straw hat, in the crown of which was a hole 
 that often allowed a lock of his long hair to protrude. 
 Our mothers used to cut our hair then in the universal 
 roundabout fashion, and sometimes when the household 
 duties pressed hard upon them, the shocks were sadly 
 neglected. 
 
 "Norman and I stood by each other through thick 
 and thin, and I recall only one quarrel that we had. I 
 was the taller and older, and I used to consider myself 
 the superior, but one day he got tired of being bossed, 
 and rebelled. Then we had it — and he gave me a 
 beautiful pair of black eyes, bless his dear soul! 
 
 "I remember the old pond and the raft from which 
 
A Strong Ally. 97 
 
 we used to fish for pickerel and bull-heads — and the 
 'Swimmin' Hole,' where we often disported ourselves 
 in direct disobedience to our parents' commands — and 
 how his father came down one day and caught him in 
 the water and gave him a good drubbing with a birch 
 withe. 
 
 "We often planned on what we would do when we 
 became men. I was going to become a great explorer 
 and go to Africa. I believe I had been reading about 
 Livingstone, Sir Francis Bacon, or somebody who had 
 traveled up the Nile. Norman had learned a few sim- 
 ple tricks of legerdemain, and it was his fixed resolve 
 to become a great magician and travel over the country 
 giving shows and capturing dollars. 
 
 "Such were the dreams of boyhood. And now poor 
 Norman is dead and gone!" 
 
 He cleared his throat with a rasping sound, turning 
 to produce a handkerchief and blow his nose in a vigor- 
 ous attempt to cover his emotion. After a few seconds 
 he turned back and sat down near Bart. 
 
 "My lad," he said, "it seems that fate has brought 
 us together. You have told me your story, but I fan- 
 cied you did not tell everything. Was I right?" 
 
 "You were," acknowledged Bart. 
 
 "I do not wish to pry into your secrets, but I stand 
 ready to give you whatever assistance I can in this 
 battle against a man who has wronged you. If you 
 told me all " 
 
 "I will," impulsively broke in the boy from the 
 West. "Thar's not much more to tell, but I reckon I 
 have reasons to believe my father came to his death in 
 an underhand manner." 
 
 Mr. Van Worth started and looked doubly inter- 
 ested, while Bart continued : 
 
 "I told you how I unmasked the thief, but I did not 
 
98 A Strong Ally. 
 
 tell you be let fall words which led me to believe father 
 was foully dealt with." 
 
 He then went on and related all that had passed 
 within the restaurant, and Roger Van Worth's face 
 grew stern and cold as he listened. At the end, the 
 man was on his feet, agitated with horror and indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 "If your suspicions are correct," be hoarsely said — 
 "if the words of that crook were true, Cyrus Stark is a 
 blacker-hearted villain than I ever imagined. It is my 
 duty to the memory of my old schoolmate to see that 
 the wretch receives his merited deserts, and I propose to 
 follow this matter up faithfully. Stark shall no longer 
 enjoy his ill-gotten gains if there is a way to reach him 
 and bring him to justice." 
 
 If ever Roger Van Worth spoke in earnest he did at 
 that moment, and Bart had found an ally who would 
 prove invaluable to him. 
 
 "To-morrow," the millionaire went on, "I will en- 
 gage the best detectives in the city to track down Buck 
 Prindle and recover the stock. That is the first thing 
 to be- done." 
 
 Then followed a long talk between the man and boy, 
 during which they agreed on a plan for the campaign 
 against Cyrus Stark and his associate sharps. 
 
 Before he slept that night, Bart wrote a long, hopeful 
 letter to his mother. He also placed in a wrapper two 
 or three of the papers containing accounts of the lasso- 
 ing of the panther, and Mr. Van Worth sent them to 
 be deposited in a corner mail-box. 
 
 The tired boy slept well that night, rising greatly 
 refreshed in the morning. 
 
 At thirty minutes past ten in the forenoon Jubal 
 Heep was in his office, engaged in earnest conversation 
 with Cyrus Stark, who had come to town the day be- 
 
A Strong Ally. 99 
 
 fore, when the door opened and Roger Van Worth 
 walked in. 
 
 "Ah! how do you do, Van Worth," saluted Stark, 
 familiarly. "Glad to see you. " 
 
 "I'm first-rate, Stark," was the quiet reply, as Mr. 
 Van Worth pretended not to see the hand that was ex- 
 tended toward him. "Heard you were out of town." 
 
 "I was. Came in last night. Tried to get away 
 from business. No go. Wanted to catch fish, and 
 now " 
 
 "You have come back to catch suckers, eh?" 
 
 Stark looked surprised, and then laughed saying: 
 
 "You're not given to joking, Van Worth. It's 
 something new for you. Suppose you came in to see 
 Heep?" 
 
 "Yes; I wanted to have a little business talk with 
 him, if he could spare the time." 
 
 "I am quite at liberty, sir — quite at liberty," as- 
 sured the lawyer, rubbing his nose with his finger and 
 looking doubtfully at Van Worth. "What can I " 
 
 Again the door opened, this time to admit Bartley 
 Stone, who promptly advanced into tbe room, a light 
 of satisfaction in his eyes as he saw Cyrus Stark. 
 
 "You are the very person I wished to strike, Mr. 
 Stark." 
 
 The man looked at the boy in a disdainful manner, 
 retorting: 
 
 "I think you have made a mistake. I have no deal- 
 ings with striplings." 
 
 Bart flushed, but held his temper, saying quietly : 
 
 "Maybe you'll have something to do with me, sir. 
 Out whar I come from, some boys get to be men a 
 heap sight sooner than boys do hyar. My name's Bart- 
 ley Stone, and I'm the son of your pard as was, Nor- 
 man Stone." 
 
ioo A Strong- Ally. 
 
 "I remember him," and Stark's lip curled, as he 
 caressed his black beard. "Died in debt to me — never 
 got what was due — dead loss." 
 
 The flush left the face of the Western lad, and he 
 was unable to keep the indignant ring out of his voice 
 as he cried : 
 
 "My father was in debt to no man when he died ! I 
 do not think you have any reason to speak of him in 
 that yar way, and I don't like it none whatever!" 
 
 Stark laughed outright, as he picked up a half- 
 smoked cigar and began to chew on it, as it was no 
 longer burning. 
 
 "Hear the young whippersnapper!" was his con- 
 temptous exclamation. "Oh, well! he's only a boy. 
 What do you want of me, youngster? My time is 
 valuable." 
 
 "I purchased the entire stock of the White Hawse 
 Mine from your agent, Mr. Ira D. Wilson, but before 
 he could deliver the shares, they were roped by a thief. 
 I paid him fifty dollars to bind the bargain, and now I 
 want to squar' for the rest." 
 
 As he said this, Bart took a fat roll of bills from his 
 pocket and stepped to the square table in the center of 
 the room, at which Cyrus Stark was sitting. 
 
 "Hold on!" admonished the man. "I don't know a 
 thing about any such transaction. Mr. Wilson is the 
 man for you to deal with." 
 
 "Where can I find him?" 
 
 "In Europe." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "He sailed yesterday afternoon," calmly declared 
 Cyrus Stark, a gleam of triumph in his small eyes. 
 
Bart's Accusation. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BART'S ACCUSATION. 
 
 This was, for a moment, a staggerer for Bart ; but 
 the boy quickly recovered. 
 
 "Wa-al, it an't just naturally needful that I do up 
 this yar business with him. I can bring a right smart 
 bit of witnesses as will sw'ar he acknowledged the 
 trade on the sidewalk in front of the Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel." 
 
 Stark snapped his fingers. 
 
 "If Mr. Wilson made such a bargain as you claim, 
 he overreached himself, young man." 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 "Mr. Heep, my lawyer here, intrusted that stock in 
 his hands to be disposed of in England. Ira Wilson 
 had no authority to sell a single share in this country. 
 Mr. Heep was quite capable to attend to anything of 
 that sort." 
 
 "That's right! that's right!" nodded Heep. "Mr. 
 Stark is correct in this matter. You will have to look 
 to Wilson for the fifty dollars, young fellow. As for 
 the shares, you have not purchased them, and you can- 
 not obtain them at any price." 
 
 It certainly seemed as if the boy was squarely balked 
 in his purpose, being no match for the scheming rascal 
 who had swindled his mother; but still he would not 
 give up. For an instant his eyes met those of Roger 
 Van Worth, who was listening with apparent uncon- 
 cern, and he saw encouragement in the glance of his 
 millionaire friend. 
 
102 Bart's Accusation. 
 
 "That thar's very well, Mr. Stark; but I give you 
 fair warning I shall make a right smart rustle for the 
 shares. Do you refuse to accept this money?" 
 
 "Certainly Ida" 
 
 "Wa-al, I have put detectives out after the thief, 
 and when I get possession of the certificates, I shall do 
 my level best to hold them by law." 
 
 Cyrus Stark smiled grimly, retorting: 
 
 "You are troubling yourself for nothing, boy. You 
 may as well call in your detectives." 
 
 Bart felt his heart sink. 
 
 "Call them in? Why?" 
 
 "They may find the thief, but they will not find the 
 stock." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because it is no longer in his possession." 
 
 "Then where is it?" 
 
 "Where I can put my hand on it when I want to do 
 so. It is plain you came on from Kansas with an idea 
 you were going to get the best of me in this matter ; 
 but I advise you to go back as soon as possible." 
 
 "That's correct, governor!" cried a familiar voice; 
 and Walter Stark, who had quietly entered a few 
 seconds before, came forward, smiling scornfully at 
 Bart. "I told this remarkable individual from the 
 wild and woolly West that he was altogether too slow 
 for this part of the country, and it is possible he may 
 tumble to the fact that I was right." 
 
 It was with the greatest difficulty the Kansas lad 
 held himself in check, as he returned : i 
 
 "Out whar I come from people have a way of fight- 
 ing as long as they can wiggle, and you'll find I'm 
 built on that yar plan. You seem to have the best of 
 me right now, Mr. Stark, but I don't propose to give 
 up." 
 
\ 
 
 Bart's Accusation. 103 
 
 "Oh, all right. You are simply putting yourself to 
 lots of bother for nothing. The old mine may not be 
 worth anything, after all, but I'll soon have that point 
 settled, as I have sent an expert on to examine it. If 
 there is anything in it, you may be sure the stock will 
 remain beyond your reach. 
 
 "Now, I trust you will have sense enough to with- 
 draw and give me no further trouble at present. If 
 you continue to annoy me I shall have you arrested." 
 
 That was more than Bart could swallow. All his 
 pent-up passion burst forth. 
 
 "Arrest if you dare, Mr. Cyrus Stark! If justice 
 was done, I reckon you'd be the one arrested! You're 
 not only a swindler of women, but thar's a blacker 
 stain of crime on your soul !" 
 
 "Young dog!" hissed Stark, starting to his feet. 
 "Do you dare make such talk to me?" 
 
 "Yes; and I dare make more. I dare say that if 
 the whole black truth was known, you'd make a right 
 peert subject for a lynching bee!" 
 
 "Heep! Heep! Will you have this in your office? 
 Throw him out!" 
 
 "Stop! The galoot that lays a paw on me will get 
 hurt plenty quick! I want to tell you, Mr. Cyrus 
 Stark, that I know how my father was killed!" 
 
 The millionaire scoundrel recoiled, his face paling 
 and a look of absolute terror entering his eyes. 
 
 "How — he — was — killed!" he gasped, his voice 
 shaking. And then, with a mighty effort, he recovered, 
 to go on : "He was killed by a premature blast — it was 
 an accident." 
 
 "An accident well planned!" 
 
 "Do you dare insinuate " 
 
 "You saw him when he died — or, at least, you were 
 one of the last to see him alive." 
 
io4 Bart's Accusation. 
 
 "What of that?" 
 
 "A heap, Mr. Cyrus Stark. The time is not far dis- 
 tant when you'll be rounded up by the law and forced 
 to swallow the dose you deserve." 
 
 These words had flowed hotly from the lips of the 
 speaker, and the witnesses of the scene were impressed 
 by what they beheld and heard. 
 
 Now, however, Walter Stark, fairly boiling with 
 fury, cried out: 
 
 "What's the dirty cur trying to get through him, 
 governor? Is he accusing you of killing somebody?" 
 
 "No, no!" hastily answered the man. "It's all a 
 mistake! The boy wouldn't dare!" 
 
 "Well, it seems to me that he has dared," snapped 
 Walter; "and I propose to put a new face on him for 
 it! I'll throw him out on his neck, that's what I'll 
 do!" 
 
 "By this time you ought to know better'n to try that 
 thar trick," came from Bart's lips, as the other boy 
 advanced upon him. "You'll get hurt again, or I 
 don't know shucks!" 
 
 "Bah! It was an accident before. This time " 
 
 He finished by darting at the young cowboy and 
 clutching him about the waist, obtaining both under 
 holds. It certainly seemed he had such an advantage 
 that Bart would be easily handled, and Walter cried : 
 
 "Open the door! I'll throw him — Ug-g-g-gh !" 
 
 The words ended with a choking groan, the speaker 
 being unable to utter another sound, for while Bart's left 
 arm clasped him tightly around the shoulders, the West- 
 ern lad's right forearm had been inserted under Walter's 
 chin, and a single strong thrust forced the head of the 
 millionaire's son back until the bones of his neck 
 cracked and his eyes protruded. 
 
 In truth, had he chosen, the Kansas boy could have 
 
Bart's Accusation. 105 
 
 broken the neck of his adversary, in that manner. As 
 it was, Walter felt himself robbed of his strength in a 
 moment, and he sank limply into Bart's grasp. 
 
 Cyrus Stark had dropped weakly into his chair at 
 the table, where he sat staring at the two boys, seem- 
 ing dazed. 
 
 Bart Stone lifted his foe from the floor and gave him 
 a whirling fling that sent him sliding across the table, 
 to sweep pen, ink, and paper to the floor and plunge his 
 head fairly into the pit of his father's stomach. Father 
 and sou tumbled in a sprawling heap to the floor, their 
 downfall being accompanied by a splintering crash, as 
 the chair was broken and ruined. 
 
 When they gathered themselves up, some moments 
 later, the boy from the West and Roger Van Worth 
 had left the office. 
 
i06 Preparing for the Race. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PREPARING FOR THE RACE. 
 
 "My boy," said Roger Van Worth, when he and 
 Bart were seated in a cab that was rolling up Broad- 
 way, "you are a wonder! Walter Stark is the cham- 
 pion all-round amateur athlete of the Trojan Club, 
 and he has a record for doing up several professionals, 
 yet you handled him almost as if he were a child. It 
 is remarkable!" 
 
 "It's all in knowing things he does not suspect I 
 know," was the reply of the rather gloomy-faced young 
 Westerner. "He reckoned he was tackling a critter as 
 didn't know shucks about fighting, and that's whar he 
 fooled himself. I'm just naturally slow until I get 
 woke up, and then I'm quicker'n a cat and stronger'n 
 a mustang. If he'd 'lowed I knew anything about the 
 tricks of fighting, I judge I'd had a harder time in the 
 scrimmages with him." 
 
 "Well, it must be you have taught him a lesson he 
 will not forget. It was beautiful to see you fling him 
 across the table onto his father and send them both 
 sprawling on the floor. You upset them neatly." 
 
 "But not half so completely as I was upset myself," 
 was the rather doleful rejoinder. 
 
 Mr. Van Worth glanced hastily at his youthful com- 
 panion and saw Bart was looking completely crest- 
 fallen. 
 
 "Cheer up, lad," was his advice. "You are not out 
 of the fight, by any means." 
 
Preparing for the Race. 107 
 
 "Wa-al, it just naturally looks as if I didn't have any 
 show now." 
 
 "It certainly does look as if Stark had the best of it 
 at present, but you cannot tell bow things will turn." 
 
 "He has the stock." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And he'll take good care I don't get my hands on 
 it. Thar doesn't seem to be anj' show to beat him." 
 
 "It can't be you mean to give up?" 
 
 "Wa-al, none whatever; but, for all that, it seems 
 that I'm clean out of the game." 
 
 "Remember, I have promised to aid you. Stark is 
 a speculator — a gambler on a large scale. While my 
 dealings on the street have always been what are desig- 
 nated as 'legitimate,' I am now ready to meet this man 
 on his own ground, and fight him with his own 
 methods, as that seems the only way to punish him. 
 He is wealthy, it is said, but I believe I have enough 
 money to crush him in less than six months, if I set 
 myself to do it. And you shall aid me, Bart." 
 
 "I? How?" 
 
 "I will find a way. How much money have you?" 
 
 "About five thousand dollars, I reckon." 
 
 "That may be enough. If you need more, I will let 
 you have it, and take your paper as security." 
 
 "I'm only a boy, Mr. Van Worth. My paper " 
 
 "Don't worry about that. If I am willing to accept 
 it, why shouldn't I do so?" t 
 
 Bart was somewhat staggered by the proposal of his 1 
 new-found friend, but he felt a glow of gratitude, and 
 his spirits rose, for, with such an ally, there might still 
 be hope of accomplishing his purpose. Impulsively 
 he grasped Mr. Van Worth's hand, crying: 
 
 "You are too kind, sir! I don't reckon I've don© 
 anything to " 
 
108 Preparing for the Race. 
 
 "You saved Ferda, and your father was my boyhood 
 friend. I have not entered into this matter in a half- 
 hearted way, my lad — I am in it to crush the man who 
 wronged your mother by cheating her out of her rights, 
 and may have brought about your father's death. 
 Trust me." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 For some moments they were silent, while the cab 
 rumbled over the stones. Suddenly, Roger Van Worth 
 asked : 
 
 "Can you run?" 
 
 "Wa-al, a little." 
 
 "But, for my purpose, you must be able to run more 
 than a little." 
 
 "I've followed a hawse for three hours." 
 
 "That was on the stretch, and therefore a test of en- 
 durance. Can you make a swift dash for one hundred 
 or two hundred yards?" 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 "If I thought you could win," muttered the man, in 
 a musing way; and then he was silent. 
 
 Wondering what this meant, Bart ventured to ask : 
 
 "What is it you want me to win?" 
 
 "A race." 
 
 "What kind of a race?" 
 
 "I believe it is to be a hundred -and-fifty -yard sprint." 
 
 "When? Where?" 
 
 "Day after to-morrow, at the Rink. It is to be 
 under the management of the Trojan Club, and Walter 
 Stark is expected to carry off first prize. I think I see 
 a way to begin getting even with Cyrus Stark." 
 
 Bart's eyes flashed, and his nostrils dilated, while he 
 eagerly asked : 
 
 "Is thar any way for me to run against Walter 
 Stark?" 
 
Preparing for the Race. 109 
 
 "I am a member of the club, and so I can enter you, 
 if I choose; but I do not want you to run unless you 
 stand a good show of winning." 
 
 "How can we settle that?" 
 
 "I'll have to see you run. If you think it is any 
 use, I will take you into the country this afternoon and 
 give you a chance to show what you are made of." 
 
 "I'd surely like to try it, sir." 
 
 "Then we'll consider that settled. As soon as we 
 have eaten lunch, we'll go out beyond the Harlem, and 
 you shall show your speed." 
 
 That afternoon Roger Van Worth and Bartley Stone, 
 accompanied by a professional runner and trainer, pro- 
 ceeded to the country, stopping at a secluded hotel. Mr. 
 Van Worth had brought the proper racing rig, and 
 from the hotel the three made their way to an aban- 
 doned trotting park, where the test was to take place. 
 
 The professional, whose name was Joe Yates, re- 
 garded Bart with something like amusement in his 
 eyes, as if he could scarcely refrain from laughing at 
 the idea that this boy should imagine he could run, for 
 the Western lad certainly seemed heavy and not a little 
 awkward in his high boots and cowboy rig. 
 
 But when Bart had stripped and donned the tights, 
 his air appeared quite changed, causing Yates to 
 whistle softly under his breath and gaze admiringly at 
 the lad's magnificently developed legs. 
 
 The boy from the West was certainly built for an 
 athlete, bat he still seemed slow and sleepy in his 
 movements. All this time, Bart remembered his first 
 race with Walter Stark, and he felt sure he could beat 
 the son of his enemy, for he had threatened to pass 
 Walter Stark when the young fellow struck bim sense- 
 less with his cane. But he wished to convince Mr. 
 Van Worth of his ability. 
 
1 10 Preparing- for the Race. 
 
 The result of the test race not only convinced the 
 millionaire, but it astounded the professional sprinter, 
 as Joe Yates was forced to his best pace, or he would 
 have been beaten around the track. He came in blow- 
 ing heavily, with Bart close at his shoulder, and, as he 
 dropped on a bench, he gasped : 
 
 "That boy is a corker! Give me a week, and 1*11 
 have him so he'll beat an)' amateur in this country." 
 
 "But there is not a week to spare," said the delighted 
 spectator of the test. ' ' He must run against a first- 
 class man day after to-morrow." 
 
 "At the Rink?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Stark, the amateur?" 
 
 "That is the fellow." 
 
 "I will fix him to-morrow so he'll stand more than 
 an even chance of winning the match." 
 
 "Do it. Keep your mouth closed, and name your 
 price. You will both remain here at the hotel, and the 
 boy is to be trained discreetly. I am going back to the 
 city and enter him as an unknown. There is a decided 
 surprise in store for Cyrus Stark, who, I understand, 
 has backed his son heavily." . 
 
 If Bart had not been in perfect condition and fresh 
 from the plains and mountains, the training he was 
 put through by Joe Yates would have completely in- 
 capacitated him for the struggle to come; but the pro- 
 fessional found the boy hard as iron and able to endure 
 almost anything. 
 
 When Mr. Van Worth appeared again, late the next 
 day, Bart was able to hold his own with Yates, who 
 once more declared him a marvel. 
 
 "I succeeded in entering him as Unknown," said the 
 millionaire, "although I had to swear he was not a 
 professional and had never run for a purse. I suppose 
 
Preparing for the Race. 1 1 1 
 
 you think, Yates, that, barring accident, he stands a 
 good shew of winning?" 
 
 "I'm certain of it, Mr. Van Worth." 
 
 "I am glad of that," smiled Bart's friend, "for I 
 have succeeded in placing a wager of ten thousand dol- 
 lars with Cyrus Stark that my Unknown will beat his 
 son." 
 
112 "Go!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 "go!" 
 
 The Rink was crowded on the evening of the great 
 athletic exhibition, which proved an unparalleled suc- 
 cess in the history of the Trojan Club. The patrons of 
 the club were of the most aristocratic and wealthy 
 class, the members being sons of bankers, brokers, rich 
 merchants, etc., with an occasional wealthy older mem- 
 ber, like Cyrus Stark and Roger Van Worth. As a 
 natural result, the spectators at the exhibition were 
 men who could command millions, and whose credit 
 was unimpeachable. 
 
 Stark himself, evidently in the best of humors, sat -in 
 a conspicuous box, with several of his choice friends 
 close at hand, a basket of champagne being within 
 easy reach. The wine flowed pretty freely, and, as the 
 time for the hundred and fifty yard sprint approached, 
 Stark was frequently heard offering to wager large 
 sums on his son. 
 
 Roger Van Worth was not in appearance during the 
 first of the evening, and Stark looked about in vain for 
 him until less than twenty minutes before the hour for 
 the race. 
 
 "I wonder where Van Worth and his Unknown are?" 
 he cried in a loud tone. "I have him down for ten 
 thousand dollars, and I'll win the money so easy it 
 will make him tired of sporting." 
 
 "Don't be so sure of that," said a calm voice directly 
 beneath the box, and Stark looked down to see Van 
 
"Go!" 113 
 
 Worth standing there. "You are not going to have a 
 walk-over, my friend. I know your boy can run a 
 little, but my Unknown is a pretty good sprinter." 
 
 "He won't be in it at all," laughed the man in the 
 box, who never once thought the Unknown could be 
 Bart. "Walt was never in such trim in his life." 
 
 The time for the race finally arrived, and the run- 
 ners appeared, coming from the dressing rooms. Wal- 
 ter Stark was the first to show himself, being dressed 
 in flesh-colored tights, and really looking very graceful 
 and formidable. He was greeted by a burst of ap- 
 plause, as he walked lightly down toward the starting 
 point, and he smiled up at his father in a confident 
 way, the elder Stark crying : 
 
 "That's my boy, and he's the lad who wins the 
 sprint. I have plenty of cash that says so!" 
 
 The wine had loosened the man's tongue, and he was 
 talking much more freely than was his custom. 
 
 The other starters followed young Stark down, one 
 being an English lad named Burleigh, the second, a 
 New Yorker named Hamp, who hoped to win second 
 position, and the third, a French Canadian, who gave 
 his name as Clukey. 
 
 Stark looked eagerly for Van Worth's Unknown, 
 but that mysterious individual did not immediately 
 show himself, whereupon the father of the champion 
 amateur called to Roger : 
 
 "Where's your man? If he fails to start, the money 
 is mine." 
 
 "He will not fail," was the retort. "Here he comes." 
 
 Down from the dressing rooms shambled a figure in 
 black tights, and the companions of Cyrus Stark 
 laughed outright as they observed his apparent awk- 
 wardness. Stark himself grinned, and then gave a 
 start, staring hard at the lad in black. 
 
H4 "Go!" 
 
 "Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "It is the boy from 
 the West! Is it possible you have wagered your good 
 money on him, Van Worth?" 
 
 "That is what I have done," nodded the man ad- 
 dressed. "He is something of arunner, you will find." 
 
 "He's awkward as a clown," broke out one of the 
 men in the box. "Why, that fellow can't run!" 
 
 "Of course he can't!" chorused several others. | 
 
 But Walter Stark himself knew better, and he was ( 
 gazing at Bart with a feeling of dismay and consterna- 
 tion in his heart, for he remembered the race at Somer- 
 set Falls, when he had found it necessary to knock the 
 Kansas lad down in order to outstrip him. 
 
 The elder Stark, however, knew nothing of this, and 
 when he had recovered from his astonishment at the 
 appearance of the awkward and slow-moving Western 
 lad, he cried : 
 
 "That? Why, he won't be in it at all! If that's 
 your Unknown, Van Worth, I'll go you two for one, 
 for any sum, that he does not take first." 
 
 Walter Stark whirled around to warn his father, but 
 the voice of the man challenged was distinctly heard 
 to say : 
 
 "Very good, Stark; I will make it ten thousand 
 dollars, outside the original bet, the entire sum to be 
 posted immediately. Mr. Clay, at your side, shall be 
 stake-holder. Here is my cash." 
 
 Stark was startled, and he paled a bit, saying : 
 
 "I do not believe I have so much at hand, Van 
 Worth." 
 
 "That is all right," was the quiet assurance. "Just 
 put your I O U against my dollars. A man of honor 
 never refuses to acknowledge his own signature." 
 
 Stark could not have withdrawn then, if he had so 
 desired, and he quickly wrote an I O U on a leaf torn 
 
"Go!" 115 
 
 from his notebook, placing it in the hands of Clay, 
 who already held Van Worth's money. 
 
 "This is like finding cash," he laughed, regaining 
 his composure. "You must be eager to throw away 
 j^our wealth, Van Worth." 
 
 But the man beneath the box had turned away, and 
 did not appear to hear this remark. 
 
 Walter Stark set his teeth, a hard look coming to his 
 face, as he muttered : 
 
 "That cow-puncher shall not beat me! I will win 
 some way — by fair means or foul!" 
 
 "That's right, Walt," said a familiar voice, and 
 Steinway, who had overheard the words which fell 
 from the amateur's lips, appeared at Walter's side. 
 "The lumbering chump can't beat you, anyway.*' 
 
 "You may think so, but I tell you he can run in an 
 amazing fashion. I know, for I have raced with him. 
 Can't stop to tell you about it now, but I confess I do 
 not expect a walk-over. ' ' 
 
 Steinway looked somewhat alarmed, as he hastily 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "You must win, old man! I have every dollar I 
 could raise on you at odds, and it will put me in a bad 
 hole if you lose. You must run as if it were for your 
 life!" 
 
 "I shall, depend on that. If I lose — well, it will not 
 be my fault." 
 
 It was to be a handicap sprint, Walter being rele- 
 gated to the scratch, on account of his reputation. 
 Three of the others were placed in various positions, 
 according to their records, and the manner in which 
 the handicapper had sized them up. 
 
 To the surprise of every one except Bart and his 
 backer, the boy in black was placed at the scratch with 
 Walter Stark. 
 
n6 "Go!" 
 
 Although the Kansas lad seemed muscular to a cer- 
 tain extent, the heaviness with which he carried him- 
 self and the sleepy look on his face, caused the specta- 
 tors to wonder if he could really run at all. 
 
 "Oh, give him a show!" called Stark, with a coarse 
 laugh. "He won't get started from that position be- 
 fore the race is finished." 
 
 "Don't worry about him," advised Roger Van 
 "Worth, who did not appear in the least anxious. "You 
 are going to have a fair show for your money." 
 
 "Thanks; but I was thinking of you." 
 
 "If I lose, Mr. Clay has the cash ready for delivery. 
 He will hand it over without delay." 
 
 Everybody within the huge rink was anxiously 
 awaiting the coming race, for it was generally known 
 by this time that Cyrus Stark had wagered thirty 
 thousand dollars on his son, while Roger Van Worth, 
 who was equally well known, had staked twenty thou- 
 sand dollars that the boy in black would come in first. 
 
 Sympathy was with Walter Stark, beyond a doubt, 
 for although in many ways he was not a popular lad, 
 he spent his money freely, and that counted for a great 
 deal with his class. 
 
 At length the call was made for positions, and the 
 babel of voices quickly became hushed as the contest- 
 ants assumed their places. Every eye was turned on 
 them, and scores of stop-watches were in their owners' 
 hands. 
 
 The handicapper moved along the line, making sure 
 that everything was exactly as it should be, and then 
 his voice rang out clearly : 
 
 "Get ready, gentlemen!" 
 
 Five shapely figures leaned far forward over the 
 scratches, and the five runners held their breath for the 
 word. And now a death-like silence had settled over 
 
"Go!" 117 
 
 the great throng, while hundreds of hearts beat with 
 increased rapidity. 
 
 The starter lifted his hand, a pistol gleaming in his 
 fingers as he again called : 
 
 "One! Two! Three— go!" 
 
 At the word "go" the pistol spoke, and the contest- 
 ants shoe forward. 
 
 The race had begun. 
 
3i8 The Race. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE RACE. 
 
 On the instant, Walter Stark darted ahead like a 
 grayhound, overtaking Burleigh, the Englishman, in a 
 moment. At the first bound he seemed to leave the boy 
 from the West slightly in the lurch, and it was plain to 
 every one he had gained an early advantage over the 
 lad in black. 
 
 Cyrus Stark laughed aloud as he exclaimed : 
 
 "What a fool Van Worth is! He ought to know 
 better than to buck against me. Some men never learn 
 their lesson." 
 
 He was more than ever confident of winning, for he 
 saw Walter was not yet doing his best, and he had al- 
 ready passed Burleigh, and was right at the shoulder 
 of the French Canadian, while Hamp was barely hold- 
 ing the lead he had been given, although it was too hot 
 a pace for him to keep up to the end. 
 
 Walter certainly looked very pretty and graceful as 
 he soon dashed ahead of Clukey, and reached a posi- 
 tion at the side of Hamp, whose face wore a desperate 
 do-or-die look. 
 
 All this had taken place while the race was yet in its 
 infancy, which caused young Stark's admirers to break 
 into premature applause. 
 
 Where is the boy in black? 
 
 Walter asked himself that question, wondering if he 
 had left Bart Stone at the start. Had he looked over 
 
The Race. 119 
 
 his shoulder he might have been spurred to another 
 spurt by perceiving the Westerner had not lost a foot 
 after the first bound, and was close behind Hamp, hav- 
 ing also passed Burleigh and Clukey. 
 
 But what was the most astonishing was the fact that 
 the Kansas lad did not seem to be doing his best by 
 any means, for there was still the trace of a lope in his 
 gait and a confident look on his face. 
 
 A large number of the spectators saw this, and the 
 applause died away to a breathless silence again. 
 
 Then, just as Walter Stark was passing Hamp, the 
 desperate runner stumbled and fell directly in the track 
 of Bart Stone, while the amateur champion darted 
 ahead — alone! 
 
 No, net alone! 
 
 If any one had doubted the Kansas lad's quickness 
 and agility, their doubts were quickly put to flight, for, 
 although Hamp dropped almost beneath his feet, Bart 
 shot into the air and went flying over the unfortunate 
 runner, scarcely losing an inch by the accident. 
 
 Clukey and Burleigh were not so fortunate. The 
 French Canadian cleared Hamp, but lost his footing and 
 went down, while the Englishman struck the first man 
 to drop, and went whirling over him to land heavily 
 on Clukey, which put all three of them out of the race 
 in a moment, so far as any chance of winning first or 
 second place was concerned. 
 
 This all took place inside the forty yards, leaving 
 Walter Stark and the boy in black as the two principal 
 cont?stants. Walter realized what had happened, but 
 he did not dream Bart was so close until the Kansas 
 lad appeared almost at his shoulder. 
 
 The spectators saw Walter gather himself and rush 
 forward like the wind, but still the figure in black hung 
 thera at his shoulder. 
 
120 The Race. 
 
 Fifty — seventy-five — a hundred yards, and still Wal- 
 ter Stark was unable to gain an inch. 
 
 The pace had been a fearful one after the fall of 
 Hamp, and the young amateur champion was feeling 
 the effect of it. His breast was heaving tumultuously, 
 but his teeth were set, and a sort of mad determination 
 gleamed in his eyes. 
 
 It did not seem possible that the runners could hold 
 out at such a speed to the end of the course, and still 
 the Kansas boy was actually beginning to press Walter. 
 
 A perfect furnace of fury burned in Walter's heart 
 Could it be possible he was to lose this contest to the 
 boy whom he had learned to hate with all the fierce- 
 ness of his passionate nature? So furious was he at 
 that moment that he would have readily chosen death 
 in preference to defeat. 
 
 Still Bart was creeping up with increasing rapidity, 
 threatening to take the lead inside the next twenty 
 yards. 
 
 If he could hold his own five seconds longer, Walter 
 knew he would come in the winner, and save his 
 reputation and his father's money. 
 
 "I could kill that whelp!" was the thought within 
 his heart as he plunged forward until a sort of haze 
 came over his eyes and he was threatened with blind- 
 ness. 
 
 Through this haze he saw Bart reach his side, and he 
 knew the boy from the West would pass him in another 
 second. 
 
 "I'll do it !" 
 
 Walter staggered a bit, and then, while still run- 
 ning, he swung out a foot, and tripped his opponent. 
 
 It was done with deliberate intent to fling the other 
 hoy forward on his face, but in this case it recoiled 
 against the perpetrator of the dastardly trick. 
 
The Race. 121 
 
 Bart seemed to realize the crooked intention of his 
 enemy, and although his foot was struck by that of 
 Walter he was not overthrown. 
 
 On the contrary, the flying feet of the Westerner, 
 who was now running with the grace and ease of an 
 antelope, seemed to knock the legs from beneath young 
 Stark in a twinkling, and Walter was flung heavily. 
 
 Bart nearly went down, but he recovered, and ran 
 on, amid a wild uproar from the spectators. 
 
 Burleigh and Hamp were entirely out of the race, 
 both being injured by their falls, but Clukey had held 
 on persistently, and he now followed Bart into the end 
 of the course, taking second place. 
 
 Then there was a wild rush of friends, and Walter 
 Stark was surrounded by a score of sympathizers, as he 
 dejectedly walked to the termination. 
 
 "Foul! foul!" shrieked a hundred voices, and scores 
 of fists were shaken at the winner. 
 
 Stark's friends raised such an outcry that the voice 
 of the referee could not be heard, but the sccrer chalked 
 the decision on a huge blackboard, where all could see 
 it, and the boy from the West was given the race in 
 fifteen and one-half seconds, with Clukey second. 
 
 The third place was left vacant! 
 
 Then there was another terrible uproar, for it was 
 plain to every one that Walter Stark had been thrown 
 out by the referee. 
 
 The mob that had surged to the floor swayed and 
 raved, hurling their threats at both the referee and the 
 winner of the race. The latter, however stood breath- 
 ing heavily, somewhat dazed, but triumphant, with 
 Roger Van Worth and Joe Yates wringing his hands. 
 He did not seem in the least disturbed by the threaten- 
 ing appearance of the spectators. 
 
 "Foul! foul!" again shouted Walter's friends and 
 
122 The Race. 
 
 those who had placed heavy money on him. "Stark 
 was beaten by a foul I" 
 
 The young man's father had sunk back in his seat, 
 his face pallid and his hands shaking. Twice he tried 
 to speak to those near him, but failed, being able to 
 summon no more than a ghastly smile to his face. 
 Every one could see he was hard hit, not having 
 dreamed it possible his son could be beaten. 
 
 At length the referee was able to make his voice 
 heard, and from a raised stand he loudly called : 
 
 "The board shows my decision, gentlemen. Mr. 
 
 Stark made the foul, as " 
 
 Again the babel burst forth, but it was not as fierce 
 or long continued as at first, soon dying away. 
 
 Then somebody up on the high seats was lifted to 
 the shoulders of two friends, and shouted : 
 
 "Hurrah for the boy in black! He's a dandy!" 
 A scattering and rather faint cheer went up from 
 various parts of the great building. 
 
 Under cover of the excitement, Yates and Mr. Van 
 Worth attempted to hurry Bart to his dressing room, 
 but they could not force a passage through the mob that 
 blocked their way. 
 
 And now a hundred voices from the seats took up the 
 cry: 
 
 "Unknown! Unknown! Where is Van Worth's 
 Unknown? Who is he?" 
 
 "I'll tell you who he is!" screamed a reporter, who 
 had obtained a position of prominence. "He is Bartley 
 Stone, the boy from the West — the fellow who lassoed 
 the panther and saved Ferda Van Worth! Three 
 cheers for Bartley Seton!" 
 
 The result of the reporter's words were simply mar- 
 velous. 
 There was nothing weak or scattering about 
 
The Race. 123 
 
 the mighty cheer that followed. Everybody was on 
 his feet, and hats and handkerchiefs were furiously 
 waved, as the great throng literally thundered: 
 
 " Hurrah for the boy from the West! hurrah! hur- 
 rah! hurrah!" 
 
124 Hot After Stark. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 HOT AFTER STARK. 
 
 The fickleness of great crowds is often astounding, 
 and it was almost bewildering in this case to note the 
 remarkable change that came over the spectators the 
 moment the name of the boy who had defeated the 
 heretofore petted Walter Stark was made known by 
 the reporter. 
 
 The call for cheers for the "boy in black" had re- 
 sulted in a wavering answer, but the announcement 
 that the winner was the young Kansas cowboy who 
 had roped the escaped panther was enough to bring a 
 very tornado of applause from the great gathering. 
 
 The spectators were all intelligent, and but few of 
 them had failed to read the lurid accounts of the way 
 in which Bartley Stone roped the monarch of the forest 
 just as the beast sprang for Ferda Van Worth. Not a 
 few of thera had felt they would be pleased to meet the 
 plucky lad, anyway, and when they realized he was 
 the person who had run the race as an "Unknown," 
 and succeeded in defeating the pride of the Trojan 
 Club, they gave their shouts to swell the uproar of 
 admiration. 
 
 Round after round of cheers were given, the cries 
 seeming to shake the very roof of the Rink. 
 
 As for Bart, he made a desperate effort to break 
 through the crowd and reach the shelter of his dress- 
 ing room, gasping : 
 
Hot After Stark. 125 
 
 "Wa-al, of all the crazy critters I ever saw! The 
 whole herd acts like it was locoed." 
 
 But he could not escape thus easily, and he suddenly 
 found himself lifted on the shoulders of several strong 
 fellows, who bore him to the raised platform by the 
 great blackboard. 
 
 "Here he is!" roared one chap, with iron lungs. 
 "Take a look at him! He's a daisy!" 
 
 After another volley of applause, somebody raised 
 the cry of "speech," which was taken up in all parts 
 of the building. 
 
 Roger Van Worth had kept at Bart's side with great 
 difficulty, but he was thrilled to the very soul with 
 pride and delight. 
 
 "Hyar them galoots whoopin' for a speech !" gasped 
 the Kansas lad, as he looked at his friend in a dazed 
 way. "I just naturally can't say anything — and I 
 won't" 
 
 He meant it, and all urging was vain; so, in order 
 to quell the tumult, Mr. Van Worth stepped to the 
 front of the platform, pulling his protege forward and 
 motioning for silence. 
 
 The cheering and cries died away, and Mr. Van 
 Worth said, speaking loudly, so all could hear: 
 
 "Gentlemen, my young friend is quite unable to 
 make a speech after running such a race, as you all 
 should know, but he wishes me to express his thanks 
 for your kind show of regard. That is all." 
 
 Then he whispered in Bart's ear, "Bow! — bowl" 
 and the boy in black obeyed. 
 
 Again there were cheers, and then a voice was heard 
 crying questioningly : 
 
 "Is he really the chap who lassoed the panther?" 
 
 "He is," assured Roger Van Worth. "He saved 
 my daughter from a terrible death." 
 
126 Hot After Stark. 
 
 "Well, he's a corker!" returned the questioner. 
 "Give him another round !" 
 
 Another round was given, and then Bart escaped 
 from the platform and reached the seclusion of hi3 
 dressing room, whc^e Yates and two assistants rubbed 
 him down, and Mr. Van Worth, congratulated h im on 
 his victory. 
 
 "You will find yourself in all the papers again to- 
 morrow morning," laughed the gentleman. "If this 
 keeps up, you are on the high road to fame." 
 
 Bart's blood had been stirred by the reception given 
 him "when the crowd knew who he was, and a hot flush 
 was in his face, while his sleepy eyes no longer wore a 
 sleepy look. If ever a lad looked handsome, be did at 
 that moment while the men were at work ove? his 
 muscular body. 
 
 "Stark was giving me a right smart race," he con- 
 fessed; "though I reckon I would have managed to 
 take the lead at the finish. I saw his trick when he 
 swung his foot, and I fooled the ornary varmint by 
 upsetting him as he meant to me, though I near went 
 down myself." 
 
 "You struck a heavy blow at Cyrus Stark, my lad. 
 I do not know which he will feel the most keenly, the 
 loss of his money or the defeat of his son." 
 
 "This is the beginning," came grimly from the 
 Western lad's lips. "There is more to follow." 
 
 Mr. Van Worth left Yates to attend to Bart, while 
 he went out to look for Stark; but Stark was not in his 
 box, although Mr. Clay was there, looking all around 
 in a searching manner. Roger made his way up to 
 the box, and entered, finding it entirely deserted, save 
 for Clay, who, hearing his step, turned. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed the stakeholder, recognizing the 
 other man; "you are the person I was looking for." 
 
Hot After Stark. 127 
 
 "Mr. Stark- 
 
 "Has gone. He instructed me to deliver the wager 
 into your hands, 'which I will do before witnesses." 
 
 Clay then called up two young men whom he knew, 
 after which he handed the money and the I O U over 
 to the winner of the wager, saying : 
 
 "Mr. Stark directed me to tell you to call at his 
 office any time to-morrow and receive a check for the 
 amount of this paper." 
 
 "That is all right," smiled Mr. Van Worth easily. 
 "With Mr. Stark's name attached, this is as good as 
 his check." 
 
 Less than an hour later the millionaire and Bart 
 were in the magnificent home of the former, where he 
 was overwhelmed with congratulations from Ferda. 
 
 "I knew you would do it!" laughed the impulsive 
 girl, her eyes like twin stars. "I did not have a doubt 
 of it!" 
 
 "Wa-al, I thank you a heap for your confidence," 
 rather awkwardly said the victor. "I kind of 'lowed 
 I'd do it, but I wasn't noways sure." 
 
 "The entire winnings are yours," asserted Mr. Van 
 Worth. "You earned them, and you deserve them — 
 thirty thousand dollars in all." 
 
 To his astonishment Bart firmly shook his head, re- 
 turning : 
 
 "I don't reckon I'll touch it, Mr. Van Worth. My 
 mother always told me not to bet, and I do not believe 
 she'd want me to take anything that was won by a 
 bet." 
 
 "Nonsense 1 This is a free gift, then." 
 
 "I wouldn't take a free gift of thirty thousand dol- 
 lars from any man, sir." 
 
 "But you ran against Walter Stark knowing my 
 money was wagered on your head." 
 
128 Hot After Stark. 
 
 "Because I believed his father a villain who has 
 done me a wrong that nothing can squar', sir. I did 
 it to strike at him ; for no other reason — none what- 
 ever." 
 
 "Well, you are the queerest boy I ever met!" cried 
 the man, while the glow of admiration in Ferda's eyes 
 deepened. 
 
 That night, before retiring to bed, Roger Van Worth 
 unfolded another possible scheme for getting in a blow 
 at Cyrus Stark. 
 
 The Denver, Texas and Fort Worth Railroad was 
 contemplating extending a branch of its line across a 
 tract of land in northern Texas, which land was 
 owned by the Pan Handle Land Com pan} 7 . In case 
 the railroad crossed the tract, its value would advance 
 enormously, and it would be sought after by specula- 
 tors. Already had Stark made a bid on chance, and 
 the Land Company had agreed to consider any offer he 
 should make, giving him first opportunity. 
 
 Roger Van Worth had means of knowing exactly 
 what the railroad decided, and he would obtain the 
 knowledge in advance of all others, so he proposed to 
 use this information to defeat Stark in his ambition. 
 
 A meeting of the railroad directors and stockholders 
 was to take place the coming day, and it was expected 
 that by three o'clock in the afternoon the matter would 
 be definitely settled. 
 
 With the object of reaching Stark again, Mr. Van 
 Worth began work at an early hour in the morning, 
 and by two o'clock in the afternoon the report had 
 somehow got abroad that the railroad had decided on 
 the extension. This rumor had originated from a few 
 words which seemed to slip accidentally from Van 
 Worth's lips, although be had not said a thing that 
 could possibly be distorted or construed as a statement. 
 
Hot After Stark. 129 
 
 At exactly twenty minutes of three, Cyrus Stark en- 
 tered the office of the Pan Handle Land Company on 
 Nassau Street. The manager of the company, together 
 with one or two prominent members, were present, and 
 Stark was greeted with business-like formality. 
 
 ''Well, gentlemen," he said, as soon as he was 
 seated, "I have come to find out what you have to say 
 to my proposal." 
 
 "I thought you understood we declined it, sir," re- 
 turned Mr. Ratcliff, the manager. "I endeavored to 
 make that plain the last time you were here." 
 
 "Well, I didn't know but you had changed your 
 mind." 
 
 "Not much. In fact, we now hold the section at an 
 advanced price." 
 
 It was evident the rumors had reached the Pan 
 Handle Land Company, and Mr. Stark scowled a bit. 
 
 "Then you have determined on a price? Have you 
 any objection to stating it?" 
 
 "I believe you asked the privilege of making an 
 offer. We are ready to listen." 
 
 Without doubt, Mr. Ratcliff intended to take full 
 advantage of the rumors in circulation. 
 
 "I am willing to take chances in this matter and 
 make you an offer before the decision of the railroad is 
 absolutely known," said Stark. "That is why I am 
 here at this hour. I will give you ninety thousand 
 dollars for a free and clear title to every foot of land 
 the company owns in northern Texas." 
 
 "Hold on thar before you sell!' cried a boyish 
 voice. "I'll go ten thousand dollars better — a hundred 
 thousand dollars, spot cash, will I give for that yar 
 land!" 
 
 The door had opened to admit the boy from the 
 West, who was followed by Roger Van Worth. 
 
130 Matching Wits. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 matching wits. 
 
 "Furies!" 
 
 Cyrus Stark snarled out the word, as his eyes fell on 
 the now thoroughly hated boy and the man behind him. 
 
 "How do you do, Stark," greeted Mr. Van Worth, 
 smoothly. "I trust we are not intruding?" 
 
 "Not at all, sir, " promptly assured Ratcliff, who knew 
 and respected Roger, speaking before the discomfited 
 Stark could utter a word. "You are quite welcome." 
 
 "This is merely a little matter of business, and you 
 know business can always wait," said Stark, sarcastic- 
 ally. 
 
 ' ' I inferred you were here on business, happening to 
 hear your offer as we entered," returned Mr. Van 
 "Worth, ignoring the real cut intended in the words of 
 the other man. "My young friend here is a Westerner, 
 and knowing something about the Texas Pan Handle, 
 has taken a fancy to make an offer for the tract across 
 which I hear the D., T. and F. W. is going to run." 
 
 li Do you mean that this boy really makes an offer of 
 one hundred thousand dollars in good faith?" asked 
 the company's manager, in evident doubt. 
 
 "Certainly, sir. I can vouch for him." 
 
 Ratcliff drew a long breath and stared hard at Bart 
 for a few moments, after which he turned to Stark, 
 who was nervously pulling at his black beard and bit- 
 ing his lip. 
 
Matching Wits. 131 
 
 "You have heard the boy's offer, Mr. Stark. Do 
 you go any higher?" 
 
 The man addressed sprang up, as if to pace the office, 
 but sat down as suddenly, replying : 
 
 "I don't know as I will." 
 
 "Then we are at liberty to negotiate with the boy?" 
 
 "Look here!" and Stark thumped the desk with his 
 clinched fist, a black look on his face. "I want to 
 know what kind of a sale you call this?" 
 
 "What kind of a sale?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; is it an auction?" 
 
 Ratcliff's face cleared, and he half-smiled, as he 
 coolly replied: 
 
 "We have no objections to selling our land at private 
 auction, if that is what you want, Mr. Stark." 
 
 "Confound it! It's not what I want! It is no way 
 of doing business! If you don't know what is right 
 and proper " 
 
 "Stop right there!" the manager broke in, rather 
 warmly. "If you pause to consider, you will realize 
 you are going too far, Mr. Stark. You are letting your 
 excitement get the best of you, and you will be saying 
 something you'll regret." 
 
 The man addressed was checked, and he sat still, 
 silent for awhile, as he surveyed Bart Stone from head 
 to feet, finally observing : 
 
 "You seem destined to cause me no end of trouble, 
 young man. It strikes me you are running a bluff 
 here. If so, I propose to call you. Mr. Ratcliff, will 
 you kindly draw up a written statement that one hun- 
 dred thousand dollars is offered, and see that this up- 
 start stripling signs it, with Roger Van Worth's name 
 also attached as a sponsor?" 
 
 "What's the use of that yar trouble, as long as I 
 propose to pan out spot cash?" asked Bart. 
 
132 Matching Wits. 
 
 After some moments' discussion, Ratcliff asked 
 Roger Van Worth : 
 
 "Will you back this boy in any offer he may make?" 
 
 "Most assuredly, sir," was the prompt reply. "I 
 am here for that purpose." 
 
 "That is quite enough," nodded the manager. "If 
 you secure the land, Mr. Stark, you will have to outbid 
 the young man." 
 
 Stark ground his teeth, his heart full of rage, but he 
 spoke hurriedly when he had glanced at his watch : 
 
 "All right. I'll give one hundred and ten thousand 
 dollars. Let him go over that if he dares!" 
 
 "Wa-al, I'll give one hundred and twenty-five thou- 
 sand dollars, I reckon," calmly drawled Bart. 
 
 "One hundred and thirty!" 
 
 "One hundred and thirty-five." 
 
 Stark's hand was not very steady, as he took out a 
 pocket check- book and hastily wrote in it. 
 
 "There!" he cried; "this draft is all filled out ex- 
 cept putting in the figures, and I propose to stay right 
 here and bid till I get this piece of land. When I 
 write a draft it shows I mean business. I'll give a 
 hundred and forty thousand dollars!" 
 
 Roger Van Worth had taken a position at the door, 
 which was now open, where he could command a view 
 of the interior of the office, the elevator and the stairs. 
 He did not seem to be greatly interested in the bidding 
 for he watched the stairs and the elevator more than 
 he did Stark and the boy from Kansas. 
 
 Bart had chosen a position near Ratcliff's desk, lean- 
 ing easily on the back of a chair, his wide-brimmed 
 hat in his hand. Barely had the last words fallen 
 from Stark's lips, when he said : 
 
 "I will make it an even hundred and fifty thousand 
 dollars." 
 
Matching- Wits. 133 
 
 "One hundred and sixty!" almost shouted Stark, 
 his voice shaking perceptibly. 
 
 "One hundred and seventy-five thousand." 
 
 Again Stark's temper gained control of him, and he 
 leaped to his feet, sneering: 
 
 "What a wretched farce! I tell you there is nothing 
 in it! This boy will never make good his bids! How 
 can he?" 
 
 "We have the assurance of Mr. Van Worth, which 
 we consider quite enough," said the manager. 
 
 "Confound it, Van Worth, what do you mean by 
 playing this game against me?" 
 
 Roger lifted his eyebrows, making a gesture of pro- 
 test with his right hand. 
 
 "You are excited, Stark — that is evident. You are 
 talking about games as if you never indulged in any- 
 thing of tho kind. That boy is the son of my old 
 schoolmate, and anything I have is not too rich for 
 him." 
 
 "But do you intend to let him throw away your 
 money? How dare you permit him to sink such a sum 
 in this tract of land? Why, it would be a sheer loss if 
 the railroad did not cross it!" 
 
 "Have you thought of that yourself? It is plain you 
 have heard the reports already in circulation, but you 
 ought to know, I am generally around to catch on to 
 such things." 
 
 "Then it is you who is really buying this land? 
 Why not come out squarely, instead of doing it 
 tb agh a stupid boy?" 
 
 " The stupid boy, as you call him, has already won 
 me thirty thousand dollars of your money. Perhaps I 
 consider him a mascot." 
 
 Like a flash, Stark wheeled back to his chair, saying 
 hoarsely : 
 
134 Matching Wits. 
 
 "If you get this land you'll pay dear for it! I am 
 going to fill out this check, and offer it to Mr. Ratcliff. 
 It is my limit." 
 
 In a moment he had written in the sum and torn the 
 slip of paper from the book, handing it to the manager 
 of the Pan Handle Land Company. 
 
 "How much is his offer?" quietly asked the boy 
 from the West. 
 
 "Two hundred thousand dollars," replied Mr. Rat- 
 cliff. 
 
 "If I don't go more, I reckon you'll accept that?" 
 
 "I shall." 
 
 At this moment, Roger Van Worth started and 
 coughed in a singular manner, leaving the door to 
 walk into the office. 
 
 "Wa-al," drawled Bart, deliberately, "I 'low Mr. 
 Stark'll have to corral the land. I'm done bidding," 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed the triumphant purchaser. 
 "Your nerve failed you at last." 
 
 At this point a messenger boy entered the office. 
 
 "Is Mr. Stark here— Mr. Gyrus Stark?" he asked. 
 
 "Right here," replied the man, as he caught the 
 envelope and quickly tore it open, his eyes running 
 over the brief note at a glance. 
 
 He turned pale as a corpse, and with a gasping cry, 
 sank helplessly back in the chair, the paper fluttering 
 to the floor. 
 
Stark Squirms. 135 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 STARK SQUIRMS. 
 
 These were the words which Cyrus Stark had read, 
 hastily scrawled in the, to him, familiar handwriting 
 of his trusted attorney : 
 
 "Street rumors false. Make no deal. D., L. and 
 F. W. decided against the extension across the Pan 
 Handle Land Company's grant. Heep." 
 
 At first Stark's face was ghastly white, and he 
 seemed on the verge of fainting; then there came a 
 rush of blood that turned his features crimsori, and 
 from crimson to purple. His eyes stared, and he 
 clawed convulsively at his throat. 
 
 Ratcliff, still holding the draft in his hands, started 
 to his feet in alarm, exclaiming: 
 
 "The man is having a stroke of apoplexy!" 
 
 The other gentlemen were on their feet in a moment, 
 some one crying : 
 
 "Call a physician 1" 
 
 The agitated man, however, tore open his collar and 
 motioned for them to sit down. 
 
 "Water!" he finally gasped. 
 
 A glass of water was quickly brought, and, after a 
 few swallows, Stark's face slowly assumed its proper 
 color, and he began to appear natural. 
 
 There was no look of triumph on the face of the boy 
 from the West, nor did he seem in the least alarmed by 
 
136 Stark Squirms. 
 
 Stark's manner. Stooping, he picked up the message 
 and placed it on the desk at the man's elbow. 
 
 Roger Van Worth displayed a certain amount of 
 solicitude for Stark, but was not greatly excited, al- 
 though he seemed relieved when the schemer recovered. 
 
 Ratcliff sank back in his chair, but the other gentle- 
 men remained standing. 
 
 The messenger was waiting for Stark to sign, which 
 was soon attended to, and then he took his departure. 
 
 "It is apparent you have received bad news," ob- 
 served Roger Van Worth, in his quiet way. "Nothing 
 serious, I trust?" 
 
 Those words cut Cyrus Stark like blows from a 
 whip, and he sprang unsteadily to his feet, shaking his 
 fist at the speaker, as he almost screamed : 
 
 "You hypocrite! I believe you knew it all the time I 
 I see through your trick now!" 
 
 Mr. Van Worth raised his eyebrows, and looked 
 mildly astonished. 
 
 "Is the man crazy?" he exclaimed. "What can be 
 possibly mean by such language?" 
 
 "You know what I mean!" stormed the excited 
 speculator. "You were aware the railroad had decided 
 against the extension! It was a deliberate plot to 
 draw me into this trap!" 
 
 Then he whirled on the manager of the land com- 
 pany, snarling: 
 
 "It's a fraud. How much did you have to pay this 
 man and boy to work me into this rascally scheme? 
 Oh, I see through it all!" 
 
 Ratcliff's face was pale, but he replied, severely : 
 
 "Sir, you are using unpardonable language! I 
 thought you considered yourself a gentleman! You 
 owe us an apology !" 
 
 Even this did not recall Cyrus Stark to his senses, 
 
Stark Squirms. 137 
 
 for he raved up and down the office like a madman, 
 uttering words that would not look well in print. His 
 fury spent itself after a time, however, and he flung 
 himself down in the chair, panting and glaring at 
 Eoger Van Worth and Bart. 
 
 The manager of the land company turned to one of 
 the other gentlemen, saying: 
 
 "Leland, will you kindly call in Mr. Smith. The 
 papers shall be drawn up immediately and the transfer 
 made to Mr. Stark." 
 
 "Hold on!" entreated the baffled schemer. "Let's 
 talk this matter over." 
 
 "I see no reason for making further talk," said Rat- 
 cliff. "I have your draft, and have accepted your 
 offer. That settles it." 
 
 "I suppose I have been hasty in my language," con- 
 fessed Stark, with sudden humbleness; "but this is 
 enough to break any man's nerve. If I have said any- 
 thing out of the way to you, Mr. Ratcliff, I apologize." 
 
 Although this was said in a conciliatory manner, it 
 was also intended as a roundabout thrust at Roger Van 
 Worth ; but if Stark expected that gentleman to show 
 he felt it, he must have been disappointed. 
 
 "All right, all right," nodded the manager. "I 
 accept the apology, Mr. Stark. Now we will have Mr. 
 Smith called before he leaves his office for the after- 
 noon. This matter may as well be settled at once." 
 
 "Don't be in such a hurry. How much will you 
 take to call the bargain off?" 
 
 Something like a cutting laugh came from Roger 
 Van Worth's lips; but as he was talking in a low tone 
 to Bart, and did not seem to be heeding what was pass- 
 ing in the office, it was barely possible he had not 
 thought of a return thrust at Stark. 
 
138 Stark Squirms. 
 
 However, Cyrus turned a severe glare on the man 
 and boy, both of whom he now hated with undying 
 intensity. 
 
 "It is a fair and square deal," said Ratcliff. "I 
 hold your draft for two hundred thousand dollars, and 
 I see no reason why there should be a withdrawal 
 now." 
 
 "I may make it worth while for you to withdraw." 
 "I think not." 
 
 "But you do not know," desperately insisted the 
 schemer, who had quite lost his head, or he would have 
 asked that Roger and Bart be requested to withdraw. 
 In his eagerness to get out of the trap into which he 
 had leaped, he was humbling himself still further in 
 their presence. 
 
 Ratcliff lifted his hand to his mouth, but when he 
 removed it, his face was perfectly grave. 
 
 "For what sum will you call the bargain off and re- 
 turn me that draft?" anxiously asked Stark. 
 
 "One hundred thousand dollars," was the stagger- 
 ing reply. 
 
 Stark looked as if he had received a blow in the face. 
 
 "Sir!" he gasped; "this is astonishing! Do you 
 mean to say you have beaten me to the extent of one 
 hundred thousand dollars in this matter?" 
 
 "We do not mean to say anything about it," was 
 the cool reply. 
 
 "But your words mean as much! It is a fraud — a 
 swindle! I will have satisfaction!" 
 
 Ho was getting excited and violent again. 
 
 "Mr. Stark," spoke Ratcliff, severely, "you will 
 kindly remember we simply accepted your own offer — 
 nothing more. You are again using language that is 
 unpardonable." 
 
 " I will give you ten thousand dollars to return that 
 
Stark Squirms. 139 
 
 draft and cancel the bargain!" burst from the insnared 
 schemer's lips. "I will write the draft at once." 
 
 "You have heard our figures." 
 
 "But it is outrageous! I will not submit to such a 
 fraud! I protest!" 
 
 "Mr. Leland," once more said the manager of the 
 land company, "call in Mr. Smith." 
 
 Leland started for the door. 
 
 "I will make it twenty -five thousand dollars!" 
 panted Stark. "You can't refuse that!" 
 
 "But we do, just the same. You have made a fair 
 trade, Mr. Stark ; why not stand by it? You should 
 know it is useless to kick in such a matter." 
 
 "I'll not accept any papers! I'll stop payment on 
 that draft!" 
 
 This brought the matter to a culmination, for Rat- 
 cliff arose to his feet, his face like a stone, and his voice 
 hard as the ring of steel. 
 
 "If you stop payment we shall have to bring suit, 
 sir!" 
 
 "Bring it, and be — hanged!" 
 
 "You will not think of such a measure?" 
 
 "Won't I? Well, you'll see! The bank is closed 
 for the day now ; and I'll take good care you do not 
 draw your money to-morrow. I mean it!" 
 
 "You must be out of your senses! If you do such a 
 thing, the Pan Handle Land Company will promptly 
 bring suit against you, and we will win the case." 
 
 With the aid of his chair Stark slowly arose to his 
 feet, a look of despair in his eyes. 
 
 "Man, you will ruin me!" he half-groaned. 
 
 "Impossible! A man of your standing cannot be 
 ruined by the purchase of a tract of land at two hun- 
 dred thousand dollars! Now you are joking!" 
 
140 Stark Squirms. 
 
 "You do not know all that has happened of late " 
 
 Stark began, only to break off abruptly, as he evi- 
 dently realized what he was saying. 
 
 With a great effort, he assumed a shadow of his 
 usual haughty air, turning on Roger Van Worth. 
 
 "Sir," he said, "you have beaten me in this matter, 
 but I promise to even things up some day." 
 
 A sudden change came over the usually quiet gentle- 
 man, and he started forward, his face black as a storm- 
 cloud. 
 
 "I wish to hear no more of your threats, Stark!" 
 came crushingly from Roger's lips. "You have in- 
 sulted both myself and my young friend, but I do not 
 expect an apology from such a man as you. How- 
 ever" — suddenly producing a slip of paper and waving 
 it before the other's eyes — "I do expect the cash for this 
 acknowledgment of a debt, to which your name is 
 signed." 
 
 It was the I. O. U. for the sum of twenty thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 At first it seemed that Stark would give way to an- 
 other outbreak, but he restrained himself, saying, 
 with something like his usual manner: 
 
 "I instructed Mr. Clay to tell you to call at the office 
 for your money. You did not call." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, I am not in the habit of carrying around 
 that amount of cold cash with me." 
 
 "Then give me your draft for it." 
 
 But a moment did Stark hesitate, and then he sat 
 down and wrote the draft, as requested, passing it to 
 Mr. Van Worth, who bowed and smiled with all his 
 accustomed suavity. 
 
 "Thank you, Stark. This ends our dealings with 
 each other — for the present." 
 
Stark Squirms. 141 
 
 "I trust so," was the retort, as Stark refused to 
 recognize the significance of the final words. 
 "Good-day, gentlemen. Good-day, Stark." 
 The trapped schemer made no answer, but turned 
 his back squarely on Mr. Van Worth, who, smiling 
 quietly, left the office, Bart following. 
 
142 After Buck Prindle. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AFTER BUCK PRINDLE. 
 
 The man and boy entered a cab that had been wait- 
 ing for them at the curb below. 
 
 For some moments after the cab started to roll north- 
 ward, neither spoke. Mr. Van Worth was the first to 
 break the silence, and he turned to Bart, saying: 
 
 "We have made a good beginning. If we can keep 
 this up, you will soon see Cyrus Stark crushed, and I 
 suppose that is what you want?" 
 
 "I want to hear him confess — I want to win back the 
 property that rightfully belongs to my mother. I feel 
 a desire to avenge my poor father!" 
 
 "And you are not to biame. I am with you, and 
 something seems to tell me we will win this fight. 
 You saw how badly broken up Stark was. Well, he 
 has been losing heavily on the street of late, and he 
 hoped to set himself on his feet by this deal that has 
 gone against him. How he hates us both!" 
 
 "I'd rather have his hatred than his love, aheap 
 sight. I never in all my life felt I'd like to hurt any 
 human critter till I knew how he had injured mother. 
 Then I wanted to get back that yar mine, but I reckon 
 I'd been content at that if I hadn't heard the words of 
 Buck Prindle. They 'roused a suspicion that father 
 was dealt with foully, and now I'll never let up till I 
 have follered the trail plumb through to the end." 
 
 The boy's manner showed how much in earnest he 
 
After Buck Prindle. 143^ 
 
 really was, for he was grave and more like a man than 
 a lad of seventeen. 
 
 "Buck Prindle is the man we must get hold of," 
 nodded Mr. Van Worth. "He must tell what he 
 knows." 
 
 "It may not be an easy thing to make that thar 
 galoot tell anything." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Wa-al, I kind of suspect he's mixed some way so 
 he'll be afraid to talk." 
 
 "By Jove! I believe you are right. If not, why 
 hasn't he talked before?" 
 
 "That's it." 
 
 "Then, when my detectives find him, he shall be 
 forced to confess." 
 
 "When your detectives find him?" 
 
 "Yes; I have had two men on the search for him 
 since you told Stark you intended to send men out to 
 recover the stock." 
 
 This was news for Bart, but he immediately appre- 
 ciated the wisdom of the gentleman's course. 
 
 Mr. Van Worth went on to say one of the detectives 
 had tracked Prindle to a low joint in Brooklyn, and 
 there the trail had ended as completely as if the man 
 had dissolved into thin air. Still, the ferret was work- 
 ing on the other side of the East River, hopeful of soon 
 bringing information of further success. 
 
 Little did the man and boy dream how soon such in- 
 formation would be received. When they reached Mr. 
 Van Worth's Madison Avenue home, the detective was 
 found waiting there. 
 
 "What news?" eagerly asked the millionaire, as, 
 with Bart, he appeared in the library, where Carrol, 
 the detective, was waiting. 
 
 The detective looked inquiringly at Bart. 
 
144 After Buck Prindle. 
 
 "He's all right," assured Roger, understanding the 
 meaning of that glance. "He is the boy I am pushing 
 this matter for. You ma.y talk before him freely. 
 Have you found any trace of Prindle?" 
 
 "Yes, sir!" 
 
 "Ha! That is interesting. What's the result?" 
 
 "I have found Prindle himself." 
 
 "Good! Where?" 
 
 "Out on Long Island." 
 
 "Indeed ! What is he staying over there for?" 
 
 "Because he can't get away." 
 
 Mr. Van Worth lifted hi3 eyebrows as he heard this 
 singular reply, staring hard at the detective. 
 
 "Eh?" he exclaimed. "I don't understand you. 
 Why can't he get away?" 
 
 "He is a prisoner," was the still more surprising 
 answer. 
 
 "A prisoner?" 
 
 "Exactly, sir." 
 
 "Great Scott! What has he been doing to get him- 
 self arrested?" 
 
 "He has not been arrested." 
 
 Roger gazed at the detective as if he could scarcely 
 credit the evidence of his ears. 
 
 "You are puzzling me very much, Carrol," was his 
 deliberate assertion, after a moment of silence. How 
 can he be a prisoner if he has not been arrested?" 
 
 "He has been made a prisoner by private parties, not 
 by officers, sir." 
 
 Bart was listening with eager interest, having twice 
 opened his lips to say something and then closed them 
 again, trusting all to tho older man. 
 
 "By private parties?" burst from Mr„ Van Worth's 
 lips, as he began to suspect the truth. "Who?" 
 
 "Cyrus Stark." 
 
After Buck Prindle. 145 
 
 "I knew it!" nodded Bart, unable to keep silent 
 longer. "I reckoned as much the minute he said Prin- 
 dle had been corraled. If this yere don't prove thar's 
 something in what that critter said about Stark having 
 a hand in my father's death, I don't know shucks!" 
 
 Roger was also greatly aroused, and he cried : 
 
 "Tell us all about it, Carrol— lively !" 
 
 "There is not much to tell. I have found Stark put 
 private detectives after the man, in order to recover the 
 missing stock, and Prindle was nailed in the Ivy 
 Green, over in Brooklyn. There the detectives got in 
 with him and managed to get a drugged drink down 
 his throat, with the result that when Mr. Buck Prin- 
 dle awoke he found himself comfortably and closely 
 confined in a cellar, with a tough character standing 
 guard over him." 
 
 "Where is the cellar?" 
 
 "Know Jarley's old abandoned road house — the 
 place they say is haunted?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The cellar is under that house." 
 
 "Did Stark get the stock?" 
 
 "I don't know; I suppose so." 
 
 Roger Van Worth was silent some moments, walk- 
 ing swiftly up and down the library. Finally, he 
 halted, wheeling toward the detective and the expectant 
 boy. 
 
 "Buck Prindle is the man we want above everybody » 
 and everything else," he declared. "If we do not ] 
 get him soon, Stark is liable to spirit him out of the 
 country." 
 
 "Wa-al, I reckon we can get him this yar night!" 
 cried the Kansas lad. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Go and take him. This yere detective says thar 
 
146 After Buck Prindle. 
 
 ain't but one man on guard, and thar are three of us. 
 We ought to be a heap plenty for one." 
 
 "That's right! It is just the kind of talk I like to 
 hear. What do you say to it, Carrol?" 
 
 "I am in you employ, sir, and with you as far as the 
 law will allow," was the answer of the adventurous 
 detective. "This man is held prisoner against his will 
 by those who have no right to do so, and it is proper we 
 should release him." 
 
 That settled it. Without delay, Mr. Van Worth 
 ordered a lunch prepared for them all, and instructed 
 one of the servants to bring his revolvers to the library. 
 The lunch and the revolvers were forthcoming at the 
 same time. 
 
 "Can you shoot, Bart?" asked the gentleman. 
 
 The boy from the West smiled. 
 
 "Wa-al, a little," was his modest reply. "I heard 
 as how people didn't tote around guns in this yar part 
 of the country none whatever, so I left mine at home." 
 
 "Take one of these. Carrol is armed." 
 
 The lunch was soon dispatched, and the party started 
 on its way, crossing to Brooklyn by the Twenty-third 
 Street ferry. 
 
 A team of high-stepping horses was obtained, and, 
 with Carrol handling the reins, they reached the coun- 
 try as twilight came creeping down. On into the 
 gathering night the spirited horses bore them, the beat 
 of their iron hoofs making a rhythmical ring, with now 
 and then the flash of a spark from the stones, like the 
 glinting glow of a firefly. 
 
 For nearly an hour this steadily continued, and then 
 Roger Van Worth spoke in a low tone to the boy at his 
 side. 
 
 "Ready for business, my lad. Jarley's road house 
 is not far away. There may be hot work on hand. " 
 
At the Old Road House. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AT THE OLD ROAD HOUSE. 
 
 In the western sky there were no stars, for a great 
 bank of clouds lay there, and an occasional sullen mut- 
 tering told that a storm was threatening. 
 
 Somehow there was something like a smell of sulphur 
 in the soft country breeze; but that was far preferable 
 to the smell of bricks and stones that actually seemed 
 to pervade the city at the close of sweltering days. 
 
 Bart felt his blood stir as he listened to Mr. Van 
 "Worth's words, and his hand went around to his hip, 
 to make sure the revolver was there. 
 
 But his nerves were steady, for the excitement of the 
 round-up and an occasional stampede had taught him 
 to look on danger as something to be constantly faced 
 in life, and he now considered himself prepared for 
 whatever adventure might follow. 
 
 All at ©nee the detective drew in the horse and turned 
 into a sort of lane, driving a little distance from the 
 main road and stopping. .■ 
 
 "We had better leave the team here and approach ; 
 the house on foot," he said. "In that way, we will' 
 not give the alarm, and may be able to come down on 
 the guard, and take him by surprise. If we do that, 
 the fellow may not make any resistance." 
 
 The horses were hitched, and then they hurried down 
 the road, with Carrol in the lead, stealing like grim 
 specters through the gloom. 
 
 The old road house had been located in an out-of-the- 
 
148 At the Old Road House. 
 
 way place, and it had never borne anything but a most 
 shady reputation. Jarley's wife had died there under 
 "suspicious circumstances," and Jarley himself soon 
 closed up the place and vanished, going none knew 
 whither. Then the report was set in circulation that 
 the old house was haunted by the ghost of Jarley's 
 wife, and an effort to open it and restore its lost popu- 
 larity with a certain class had proved a failure. 
 
 Not long after leaving the carriage the trio saw the 
 outlines of the old house looming blackly before them. 
 All was silent and dismal about the place, which really 
 seemed to have a ghostly aspect. 
 
 The three crept up cautiously, following the line of 
 the fence and crouching low, so they might escape the 
 observation of any one on the watch. From the fence 
 they darted across a patch of tangled grass and reached 
 the house, making no sound to raise an alarm. 
 
 They had not been challenged, and a death-like still- 
 ness seemed to brood about the place, as if it were en- 
 tirely deserted. At the back of the house was a piece 
 of marshy woods, from which came the mournful peep- 
 ing wail of a tree-toad, and, for some reason, the sur- 
 roundings and this dreary sound caused a strange sen- 
 sation to creep over Bart — not a sensation of fear, but 
 a sort of shuddery chilliness. 
 
 "This way," whispered the detective, as he led them 
 toward the back entrance. "There is a window out 
 here that I can open." 
 
 But when they reached the back door they found it 
 standing wide, creaking a bit on its rusty hinges, as an 
 occasional breath of wind swept around the corner. 
 
 The three halted abruptly and stared toward each 
 other through the darkness, evidently trying to read 
 the thoughts of their companions. If such was their 
 desire, they were baffled by the deep gloom. 
 
At the Old Road House. 149 
 
 A faint flash of lightning blazed a single instant in 
 the western sky, showing Bart the expression of sur- 
 prise and consternation on the faces of the two men. 
 The lightning faded, but not until the thunder had 
 muttered in a faint and grumbling manner and died 
 away to silence, did one of the three venture any ex- 
 pression. Then Roger Van Worth asked: 
 
 "What does it mean?" 
 
 "Give it up," whispered Carrol. "Perhaps Stark's 
 guard has stepped out and left the door open until he 
 returns." 
 
 "What had we better do — wait for him, and make 
 him our prisoner when he appears, or go into the house 
 and look for Prindle?" 
 
 The question was open for discussion, but Bart did 
 not venture to express himself until his opinion was 
 asked. 
 
 "Wa-al," he whispered, with his usual deliberation, 
 "I reckon it's best to go in and find out just how the 
 land lays. Maybe we can get Prindle out before the 
 guard shows up. If so, what's the need of having a 
 racket with the guard, anyway?" 
 
 There was wisdom in this, and it was soon decided 
 that they should all enter the house and make sure the 
 guard was not there. Then Carrol could go into the 
 cellar and release the captive, while Mr. Van Worth 
 and Bart watched for the return of the guard. 
 
 They were pretty well prepared for whatever might 
 happen, as they cautiously crept into the house, having 
 their weapons in hand for quick use in case of need. 
 
 The detective had brought a dark lantern, and he 
 opened the slide as soon as they were fairly inside. 
 This enabled them to find their way about without 
 making any more noise than was absolutely necessary. 
 
 To the surprise of the detective, the apparently awk- 
 
150 At the Old Road House. 
 
 ward lad made lees noise than either of the others, 
 moving with an ease and caution that was simply re- 
 markable. 
 
 The old road house seemed entirely deserted. When 
 they had reached one of the main rooms, they paused 
 and listened. The only sound to be heard was the fit- 
 ful clapping of a loose board that was disturbed by the 
 gusty wind that seemed to come out of the night at in- 
 tervals. The sound was uncanny and awe-inspiring, 
 like the dropping of clods on a coffin, and Bart shook 
 himself together with a shiver. 
 
 Had either of the trio believed in ghosts, there was 
 an air about the place that would have convinced them 
 it was haunted ; but it happened they were skeptics in 
 fact as well as in statement. 
 
 "Stay right here until I go down into the cellar," 
 whispered Carrol quietly. "If the guard comes, jump 
 on him, and I will be with you the moment I hear the 
 racket." 
 
 "All right," replied both the man and the boy. "Go 
 ahead." 
 
 The detective seemed to understand the arrangement 
 of the old house, for he soon found the door that led to 
 the cellar stairs. He left it standing wide open, de- 
 scending by the aid of his lantern. 
 
 Soon the light disappeared, and the man and boy 
 were left alone. 
 
 For some reason, neither ventured to whisper a word, 
 although both felt a strong desire to say something. 
 They remained silent, listening for any sound from the 
 cellar or the footstep of the returning guard. 
 
 Within a few moments they heard a low cry of evi- 
 dent dismay from Carrol, and directly after he came 
 hurrying incautiously up the stairs, crying : 
 
 "He's gone!" 
 
At the Old Road House. 151 
 
 The words rang hollowly through the old house, 
 awaking strange echoes that seemed like scornful 
 laughter — or would have seemed so to a superstitious* 
 person. 
 
 "Gone?" gasped Mr. Van Worth and Bart in a 
 breath. 
 
 "Yes," was the answer. "He was confined in the 
 cemented storeroom, but the door of that is open, and 
 he is not there." 
 
 "What does it mean?" cried Eoger. 
 
 "It means trouble — work — a hot hunt." 
 
 "Then you think — just what?" 
 
 "I think it likely that he has been removed to some 
 other place. Possibly he has agreed to leave the coun- 
 try, and that is how he has escaped from the cellar." 
 
 "Hark!" 
 
 The word came from Bart's lips as he caught the 
 speaker by the arm. 
 
 They all listened, and the sound of carriage wheels 
 was heard. The carriage left the road and came to the 
 front door of the house, where it stopped a moment, 
 then it moved again, rolling around to the back door to 
 make a final halt there. 
 
 "Someboy's coming!" sibilated Bart. "Hunt cover 
 right lively, pards!" 
 
 "Listen!" admonished Roger Van Worth. 
 
 They were silent, distinctly hearing the voices of two 
 persons. 
 
 "It is Cyrus Stark!" softly exclaimed Roger. 
 
 "And t'other critter's his son Walt, or I don't know 
 a jack rabbit from a jack mule!" declared the boy from 
 the West. 
 
IA2 Baffled Rascals. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 BAFFLED RASCALS. 
 
 What had brought Cyrus Stark and his son to the 
 deserted road house at that hour? 
 
 That was the question that flashed through the mind 
 of the trio who heard the voices of the man and boy at 
 the back door. 
 
 If Buck Prindle had been removed from the place at 
 the instigation or direction of Stark, something of a 
 remarkable nature must have happened to induce the 
 man and boy to visit that lonely spot under cover of 
 darkness. 
 
 The man and boy could be heard talking in subdued 
 tones, and it Was evident that they were securing their 
 team before coming into the house. 
 
 "To cover!" once more whispered the Kansas lad. 
 "Them galoots '11 be coming in this yere way right 
 soon." 
 
 The detective flashed the light of his lantern around 
 the room, revealing a door that was standing open on 
 the long hallway that led to the front of the house. 
 
 "In there!" he whispered. "If they come, we will 
 be prepared to receive them." 
 
 Roger Van Worth hurried noiselessly across to the 
 door and into the hall, Bart at his heels, with the de- 
 tective following close. Carrol swung the door until it 
 was only open on a crack, at which he listened. 
 
 It was not long before the two Starks were heard en- 
 tering by the back door, breaking the awesome silence 
 
Baffled Rascals. 153 
 
 of the lonely house by their loud voices, and stamping 
 heavily with their feet. 
 
 "Where can that worthless whelp be?" stormed 
 Cyrus. "The idea of leaving the back door wide open! 
 Ten to one he's drunk again !" 
 
 "I won't go you on that, governor," Walter was 
 heard to say, at the same time forcing a laugh, as if he 
 did not feel very comfortable. "He is surely drunk if 
 he has been able to get anything to drink of an intoxi- 
 cating nature. He's a guzzler." 
 
 "Bob! Bob!" called the man. His voice awoke the 
 echoes of the empty rooms, and Walter was heard to 
 gasp : 
 
 "Great Scott! Hear that! Let's get out of here"as 
 soon as possible, old man! I don't fancy the place." 
 
 "Don't be a fool!" harshly returned Stark. "There's 
 nothing here to harm a kitten. Where is that misera- 
 ble Bob?" 
 
 "Perhaps he has skipped, pop." 
 
 "Skipped?" 
 
 "Yes — flew the coop." 
 
 The Starks had brought no light with them, but at 
 this point the man struck a match. It flared up, and 
 they saw the cellar door standing wide open, just as 
 the detective had left it when he came hurriedly up the 
 stairs. 
 
 "He must be down there," said Cyrus; but there 
 was a strangely excited ring to his voice, mingled with 
 a quaver of doubt. 
 
 "Go you odds he isn't, pop," came quickly from the 
 boy's lips. 
 
 "Oh, dry up! Come on, and we will soon find out." 
 
 "Come on where?" 
 
 "Into the cellar." 
 
 "Not on your life, pop." 
 
154 Baffled Rascals. 
 
 "What do you mean? What is the matter with 
 you?" 
 
 "Think I'd go down in that cellar without a light? 
 Nut much! That kind of a thing lets me outl" 
 
 "What are you afraid of, you young fool?" 
 
 "Nothing in the world, pop. I simply decline to go 
 down there and take my chances of falling and break- 
 ing my neck. See?" 
 
 "There must be a lamp about the place." 
 
 Several moments passed, and then another match 
 was lighted. An exclamation of satisfaction broke 
 from Stark's lips as soon as he held the light above his 
 head and looked around the room, for on a high shelf 
 he espied a lamp. This was soon brought down and 
 lighted, whereupon the man promptly started for the 
 cellar, saying: 
 
 "Come." 
 
 "No, you will have to excuse me," said Walter; "I 
 am not feeling like taking so much exercise." 
 
 "All right; stay here in the dark!" snarled Stark, 
 as he began to descend the stairs. 
 
 Of a sudden Walter changed his mind and hurried 
 after his father, the precious pair descending together. 
 
 Not a word was heard to come from their lips until 
 presently a hoarse, harsh cry rang through the cellar 
 and floated up the stairs. It was a cry of mingled fury 
 and despair, and it was followed by the sound of ex- 
 cited voices. 
 
 The rascally father and son had discovered the cap- 
 tive was gone. 
 
 Almost immediately they were heard rushing madly 
 up the stairs, uttering excited exclamations as they 
 came. 
 
 Up into the room they dashed, the man still ahead, 
 the lamp grasped in his shaking hand. 
 
Baffled Rascals. 155 
 
 "Gone!" he was saying wildly; "gone, and I am a 
 ruined man. Oh, such beastly, infernal luck! We 
 should have tortured the whelp into telling where he 
 had concealed the stolen stock, instead of trying to 
 starve him to that point. Then — Blazes!" 
 
 This final exclamation, with which he interrupted 
 himself, was caused by the sight of a person who sat 
 astride an old chair that had been planted squarely in 
 the center of the room. This person was resting his 
 elbows on the back of the chair, with his chin comfor- 
 tably planted on his hands, while he stared at the as- 
 tounded man and boy in the coolest manner imagina- 
 ble. 
 
 It was Bart Stone, the boy from the West. 
 
 For some moments the Starks were too astounded to 
 utter a sound, staring at the lad on the chair as if he 
 were an apparition. Walter was the first to regain his 
 composure, and he gasped : 
 
 "Great Jupiter! Where did it come from?" 
 
 The words seemed to arouse Cyrus Stark, for he 
 grated his teeth, a wicked light in his eyes : 
 
 "That miserable boy again! He is my evil genius! 
 He will ruin me yet!" 
 
 "An eye for an eye is the old Bible law, Mr. Cyrus 
 Stark!" came grimly from Bart Stone's lips. "My 
 father does not rest easy in his grave, and he never will 
 until the ornary skunk that killed him is rounded up 
 as he deserves." 
 
 "What do you mean bj T saying that to me, you 
 young dog?" almost howled the man, suddenly making 
 a step forward. "You want to have a care, or I'll " 
 
 "What?" Bart put the question with aggravating 
 coolness, a smile of contempt on tns face. 
 
 "Well, you'll go to keep your worthless father com- 
 pany!" returned the villain, utterly thrown off his 
 
156 Baffled Rascals. 
 
 guard. "I always hated the man after he refused to 
 take me in as a full partner on the White Horse lead, 
 and so " 
 
 He broke off abruptly, fully aware he had already 
 said more than was prudent. 
 
 "Oh, don't stop thar!" cried the young cowboy, all 
 the sleepy look gone from his eyes. "Go on, Mr. 
 Cyrus Stark; go on! Make a full confession." 
 
 "Confession! You are crazy! I'm making no con- 
 fession." 
 
 "Wa-al, if it wasn't mighty nigh it I don't know 
 shucks," nodded Bart. "You had a grudge against 
 my father, and you wanted to get hold of the mine. 
 Motive enough for the crime, I reckon." 
 
 "Do you dare accuse me — do you dare?" fumed 
 Stark. "You fool! I will " 
 
 "Stop right thar! It an't healthy to get too near 
 me!" 
 
 The boy from the West lowered one hand to point a 
 finger straight at Cyrus Stark, which halted the man 
 as quickly as if it had been a deadly weapon. 
 
 "Lo you threaten?" he cried. "What have you 
 done with Prindle? Where is that stock?" 
 
 "What stock?" 
 
 "The shares of the White Horse Mine." 
 
 "Really, pard, you ought to know. It was not 
 many days ago I heard you say as how you had it right 
 fast. I don't reckon as you're a galoot as can tell a 
 lie!" 
 
 "You've got that stock — I know it — I can see it in 
 your manner!" burst from Stark's lips. "You shall 
 give it up! I'll force you to do so!" 
 
 "You may find that a right hard thing to do, pard. 
 I can sometimes be coaxed, but I'm worse 'n a donkey 
 to drive." 
 
Baffled Rascals. 157 
 
 "We won't spend any time in coaxing you, my game 
 chicken ! You will find you monkeyed with the wrong 
 man when you tackled Cyrus Stark." 
 
 "That's the stuff, governor!" put in Walter. "He's 
 worked it some way to set Prindle loose and get the 
 certificates. But he'll never get out of this house till 
 he tells where they are!" 
 
 Bart actually laughed aloud at this threat. 
 
 "How are you going to stop me?" he asked. 
 
 Walter suddenly produced a revolver and leveled it 
 at the head of the boy on the chair. 
 
 "With this!" he cried. 
 
 And still the Kansas lad did not seem at all alarmed. 
 
 "Is she loaded?" he drawled. " 'Cause if she is, 
 you want to look out she don't go off and hurt you." 
 
 "Ready, pop," said the lad with the revolver. 
 "Jump on him, while I keep him under the gun!" 
 
 The rascally father and son moved toward Bart, who 
 remained calmly seated in the chair, observing: 
 
 "You're just a little slow, my festive galoots. If 
 you'll take the trouble to cast your lookers over yon 
 toward that thar door, you'll see a brace of my friends 
 as holds the drop on you, and holds it bad. They can 
 shoot some, and when the fun begins, you won't be in 
 it, none whatever." 
 
 "We are right here," spoke the voice of Roger Van 
 
 < r orth, causing the trapped scoundrels to whirl about 
 m consternation. 
 
 Stark uttered an exclamation of great fury and con- 
 cern as he saw Mr. Van Worth and the detective stand- 
 ing in the now open doorway, cocked revolvers in their 
 hands. 
 
158 A Night of Desperate Deeds. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A NIGHT OF DESPERATE DEEDS. 
 
 "It is a trap!" gasped Walter in dismay. "They've 
 been laying for us, pop." 
 
 The greatest fury was expressed by the face of the 
 cornered rascal, and he snarled : 
 
 "Satan take them all ! They can't throw me down !" 
 
 "Wa-al, you two don't seem to be jumping me as 
 much as you were," drawled Bart. 
 
 "What brings you here, Van Worth?" demanded 
 Stark. "What business have you in this house?" 
 
 "Thought I would come down here and see how your 
 captive was getting along, don't you know," was the 
 reply. "It would scarcely do to allow Mr. Stone to 
 come down here alone, as there was a chance he might 
 fall into bad company." 
 
 Stark's face wore a look of the most intense hatred, 
 but he endeavored to speak with something like cool- 
 ness, as he asked : A 
 
 "Wbat have I ever done to you, Van Worth, that I 
 you should persistently hound me?" 
 
 "Do you remember the great safe vault scheme in 
 which I sunk the slick little sum of seventy thousand . 
 dollars all through your misrepresentations?" 
 
 Stark winced. 
 
 "I remember," he confessed, "that I made an error 
 of judgment. But surely you have squared that with 
 me by this time? You beat me out of thirty thousand 
 
Sent the lariat whirling and made the cast." 
 
 (See page 78) 
 
A Night of Desperate Deeds. 159 
 
 at the Rink, and with this miserable boy, lured me 
 into giving at least one hundred thousand dollars to 
 the Pan Handle Land Company as a present. What 
 more do you want?" 
 
 "I want to know exactly how my old schoolmate, 
 . Norman Stone, came to his death," was the stern reply, 
 causing Cyrus to turn still paler. 
 
 "He came to his death in his own mine by a blast 
 that was fired by one of his own men." 
 
 Roger Van Worth's face wore a look of incredulity. 
 
 "That may be true, Stark; but there are ugly rumors 
 afloat about it. You are the man who knows the whole 
 truth." 
 
 "No matter what I told you, you would not believe 
 me." 
 
 "That's right, governor," put in Walter. "Don't 
 let those chaps give you the bluff!" 
 
 This seemed to start the man's blood, for he sud- 
 denly grew enraged, crying furiously : 
 
 "Draw revolvers on me, will you! Do you think to 
 cow me that way? I am not afraid of your bullets." 
 
 Then, with a swift motion, he whirled and flung the 
 lighted lamp fairly at Bart Stone's head. 
 
 The boy from the West ducked just in time to avoid 
 the missile, which crashed against the wall, flinging a 
 P flood of blazing oil over that side of the room. 
 v In a moment Jarley's old road house was on fire, 
 doomed to destruction. 
 
 Bart leaped away to avoid the burning oil, colliding 
 with Walter Stark. He grappled the son of his enemy, 
 just as Cyrus Stark, shouting fire, leaped with a crash 
 fairly through a window out into the night. 
 
 "Stop the old hawse!" cried the Kansas lad. "I 
 can take care of this one. ' ' 
 
 The detective and Roger Van Worth followed Stark 
 
160 A Night of Desperate Deeds. 
 
 through the window, while a terrific struggle took 
 place between the two boys, who were left alone in the 
 burning building. 
 
 "This time it is you or I, and one of us won't go 
 out!" came fiercely from young Stark's lips. * 
 
 "Then I reckon you'll stay," returned Bart. "But 
 I " 
 
 He never finished the sentence, for at that moment 
 Walter, who was exerting himself to the utmost, sud- 
 denly succeeded in casting him against the chair, over 
 which Bart fell backward, his athletic young foe add- 
 ing his weight to the force of the fall. 
 
 It was the unexpected that overthrew the young cow- 
 boy, for he had not been on his guard against the chair, 
 and the back of his head struck the floor with terrible 
 force, fairly stunning him. 
 
 "Knocked out!" panted Walter exultantly. "This 
 is my turn. Let him get out of this house the best 
 way he can." 
 
 Then, as the fire was spreading rapidly, the young 
 villain left Bart where he had fallen, bounding swiftly 
 to the window, at which he paused an instant to look 
 back. The Kansas lad lay quite still, the light of the 
 flames flaring fitfully across his pallid features. 
 
 For one instant Walter Stark's better nature sought 
 to gain control, for he half started toward the imperiled 
 youth, gasping : 
 
 "I can't leave him there!" 
 
 Then a little stream of liquid fire ran down across 
 the floor, making a barrier between the two boys. 
 
 In a moment Walter turned and leaped through the 
 broken window, abandoning Bart to a fearful fate, for 
 the flames were closing in about the senseless boy with 
 terrible swiftness. 
 
 Walter dashed away into the gloom, never pausing 
 
A Night of Desperate Deeds. 161 
 
 Until he was quite a distance from the doomed road 
 bouse. Finally he turned to look back, and by the 
 light of the flames, which had now broken through the 
 window and were running up the outside of the build- 
 ing, he saw two persons who were acting in a very ex- 
 cited manner. He recognized them as Roger Van 
 Worth and the detective. 
 
 "They are looking for Bart Stone," muttered the 
 youth hoarsely, his features hard and set, while he was 
 shaking slightly with a feeling cf horror. "They 
 won't find him, for he is in that fire! That ends all 
 trouble with him; but I shall always feel like a mur- 
 derer. It is terrible ! Why didn't I pull him out? I 
 might have done so even after the fire ran down be- 
 tween us. Oh, what a terrible thing!" 
 
 For the time he was torn by anguish and remorse, 
 but then it was too late to retrace his steps. He had 
 abandoned the Western lad in a cowardly manner, 
 and now he would have given a year of his life to be 
 able to undo that one mad act. 
 
 For some moments he crouched there by the roadside, 
 trembling violently as he watched Mr. Van Worth and 
 the detective running wildly about the burning build- 
 ing. He heard them calling again and again to the 
 missing boy, but only the thunder answered them, 
 while jagged lightning blazed in mockery across the 
 storm-clouds of the western sky. 
 
 At length Walter tried to justify himself for his 
 cowardly act by saying : 
 
 "He would have done the same to me. He attacked 
 me, and I had to defend myself. I am not to blame. 
 It will be a good thing for father, as I know he feared 
 the boy, who held some terrible secret with which he 
 meant to work father's ruin. No one will ever know 
 the truth, for I can tell any kind of a story I choose." 
 
1 62 A Night of Desperate Deeds. 
 
 He did not hear the sound of wheels, and ho was 
 quite unaware the burning building plainly outlined 
 his figure to any one who might be passing in the road. 
 All at once, however, a voice called : 
 
 "Walt, is that you?" 
 
 He whirled quickly to discover bis father was near 
 at hand, seated in tbe carriage. 
 
 With a cry of joy Walter jumped the fence and 
 quickly sprang into the carriage, whereupon Stark 
 turned the team about and drove from the old road 
 house. 
 
 "I was looking for you," declared the man. "I got 
 away with the team the minute after I leaped through 
 the window, and I did not think I was leaving you 
 until I had driven a short distance; then I immediately 
 turned about and came back. What happened? How 
 did you get away?" 
 
 Walter decided to tell his father exactly what had 
 taken place, and he did so. Stark listened with in- 
 creasing excitement, and when Walter had finished, 
 the man uttered a fierce laugh of satisfaction, saying : 
 
 "This is the best night's work j^ou ever did, my son; 
 but you want to keep your mouth closed about it. 
 That boy came East to ruin me, and I believe he might 
 have accomplished his purpose with old Van Worth's 
 aid. Now I will no longer have a fear of either. My 
 son, you have earned all the pin money you can blow 
 in in the next thirty days." 
 
 The storm was now coming up with great rapidity, 
 and Stark drove at a furious pace until the feiry was 
 reached, where a man was waiting to take charge of 
 the team. 
 
 It began to be certain they could not reach home be- 
 fore the storm broke, for the lightning was now intense, 
 and the thunder bellowed almost overhead. 
 
A Night of Desperate Deeds. 163 
 
 The Twenty third Street ferry was taken, Stark 
 lighting a black cigar and his son a cigarette as the 
 boat ran out from the slip. There was a look of evil 
 satisfaction on the man's face as he stood looking down 
 at the swirling water, which was ever and anon lighted 
 by fierce flares of lightning; but the boy was still Dale. 
 
 Finally they turned to go forward. As they did so, 
 an exclamation broke from the lips of a man who had 
 been leaning on the rail, and he started away. A flash 
 of lightning showed Stark the man's face, and he 
 uttered something like a scream of joy. 
 
 "BuckPrindle!" 
 
 Prindle it really was, and he started to run from 
 Cyrus Stark, a look of fear on his face. 
 
 "I'll never go back to that place and stay with the 
 rats!"' he gasped, his nerve completely broken by what 
 he had passed through. "Don't you try to touch me — ■ 
 don't ye dare!" 
 
 Stark attempted to close in with him, but Prindle 
 leaped to the rail, a crazy light in his eyes, as revealed 
 by the lightning. 
 
 "Tell ye I won't go back!" he panted. 
 
 "Where are those certificates?" demanded Stark, 
 clutching at the desperate wretch. 
 
 "Find 'em!" was the shrill and defiant answer. 
 Then Buck Prindle straightened up, placed his hands 
 together, and plunged headlong from the rail to the 
 black water of the swirling river. 
 
 A moment later there was a terrible glare of light- 
 ning, by which a white face was seen upturned from 
 tho seething river, while two hands battled helplessly 
 with the water. Then, like the bursting of a hundred 
 cannon, came the fearful crash of thunder. The light- 
 ning died, the storm broke in all its fury, and the white 
 face was swallowed up in the blackness of the night. 
 
164 The Pangs of a Guilty Conscience. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 the pangs of a guilty conscience. 
 
 "Gone!" 
 
 Stark gasped forth the word, as he stared into the 
 darkness, unmindful of the drenching rain that was 
 now falling in torrents. 
 
 Again the lightning blazed, showing him the broad 
 sweep of madly rushing river, but the white face had 
 disappeared. 
 
 "Oh, what infernal luck!" groaned the man, as he 
 leaned over the rail of the boat and tried to pierce the 
 darkness and storm, still vainly hoping for one look at 
 the face of Buck Prindle — hoping against hope that the 
 man had not gone down forever. 
 
 He felt a hand grasp his arm, and Walter's voice 
 rang in his ear: 
 
 "Come, governor, let's get in out of the rain. We'll 
 be drenched to the bone if we stay here." 
 
 "You saw him jump?" panted the man. "Is there 
 a chance for him to escape being drowned, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "Not one chance in a million," was the reply. 
 "You'll never set eyes on that man again." 
 
 "And he is the only person who can tell where the 
 stock of the White Horse Mine is hidden." 
 
 "He'll never tell." 
 
 Stark was certainly hard hit, for he still remained 
 unmindful of the rain, hanging over the rail to wait 
 for another flare of lightning. It came in a few 
 
The Pangs of a Guilty Conscience. 165 
 
 seconds, but died out in an instant, giving them no 
 more than a glimpse of the river. 
 
 Then Walter forcibly dragged his father beneath the 
 sheltered space allotted to teams. 
 
 "What's the use of being a fool, pop?" cried the 
 boy. "He's gone, and gone for good." 
 
 "So is the stock of the mine." 
 
 "Can't you get around that some way?" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Heep ought to know a way." 
 
 The man gave a little exclamation of relief. 
 
 "You are right, Walt; that man can do almost any- 
 thing. He will know a sure way out of it. The only 
 danger will be that the original stock is found." 
 
 "But you said Prindle declared it was put where no 
 one but himself could ever find it." 
 
 "He did say that, but he may have lied." 
 
 "You will have to take your chances. Perhaps it 
 can be fixed so this stolen stock will be worthless, any- 
 how. I don't know much about law, but that seems 
 possible. Heep will soon settle that point." 
 
 "And, if that is right, this will be a great night for 
 me, as my bitter enemy and the only man whom I 
 really feared on earth have both perished." 
 
 He ended with a coarse laugh of triumph, his spirits 
 seeming to rise somewhat by the thought. 
 
 The boy shuddered, and it was well the darkness hid 
 his features, for otherwise Cyrus Stark would have seen 
 his son was looking at him with mingled repulsion and 
 disgust. Chip of the old block though he was, Walter 
 was not thoroughly hardened, and the laugh of his 
 parent had shocked him strangely. 
 
 "If Bart Stone were alive now, he could prove noth- 
 ing," muttered Stark, scarcely heeding the presence of 
 the lad. "Prindle was the only one who knew." 
 
1 66 The Pangs of a Guilty Conscience. 
 
 "You don't mean to say there was anything to know, 
 do you, pop?" questioned Walter. "You did not really 
 have anything to do with old Stone's death?" 
 
 "Of course not — no, of course not!" hastily assured 
 the other; but there was something in his manner that 
 plainly told he was lying, and the youth drew back. 
 
 Stark noted the move, and he half snarled : 
 
 "You did as much this night when you left the boy 
 to be roasted ! That " 
 
 "That was something I shall regret as long as I 
 live." 
 
 "Of course! of course!" nodded the man. "Your 
 feelings are very natural — and very noble. Still, you 
 were not to blame. You had to save yourself — the fire 
 was between you and the other boy — the loss of a mo- 
 ment might have cost you your life " 
 
 "Wish I could think so," muttered Walt. 
 
 "You must think so! I certainly did not have any- 
 thing to do with Prindle's jumping into the river; and 
 you had no more to do with the death of that young 
 Western upstart, who came here to ruin your father. 
 That is common sense." 
 
 "Prindle was scared to death — or nearly that — when 
 he jumped into the river. He was afraid of you." 
 
 "Still, I shall hold myself in no way responsible for 
 his death ; and I feel glad he was fool enough to make 
 the jump. He was nothing but a jail-bird anyway." 
 
 They were interrupted by the boat bumping into the 
 slip, and Stark took Walter's arm, starting forward. 
 There were two empty cabs lingering near the ferry ' 
 house, and the man engaged one of them to take him 
 home. 
 
 A spirit of silence had fallen over father and son, 
 and scarcely a word was spoken by either on their way 
 to Thirty-sixth Street. Walt lay back in a corner, 
 
The Pangs of a Guilty Conscience. 167 
 
 feeling horrified with himself and his villainous father, 
 but still thinking himself a very unfortunate boy, 
 whom fate had conspired against. 
 
 Although he felt that at last he was free of his re- 
 lentless boy enemy and the only man in the world who 
 could lay bare the blackest page of his crooked life, 
 Cyrus Stark was not destined to sleep very well that 
 night. Until a late hour he paced the floor of his 
 room, and when he finally flung himself on the bed, 
 without removing his clothes, it was to toss and twist 
 for a long time before slumber came to his eyes. 
 
 When he did fall asleep it was to dream the most 
 fear-inspiring things, causing him to still writhe and 
 groan. 
 
 This was the beginning of his punishment for the 
 sinful life he had led. 
 
 Walter looked but little better than his father when 
 they met at breakfast, and their eyes were restless and 
 evasive, as if they shared a guilty secret and were 
 ashamed to look each other in the face. 
 
 While they ate, Stark glanced over the morning 
 paper, as was his custom. Suddenly he started, 
 gasped, turned pale, and upset the coffee in his great 
 agitation. 
 
 "Merciful Heaven!" he hoarsely cried. "It can't 
 be true! I won't believe it!" 
 
 "What's the racket, old boy?" asked Walter, with 
 attempted lightness. "You look hard hit." 
 
 "Hard hit? Why, Taff, the diamond broker, has 
 failed 1" 
 
 "Well, what of that?" 
 
 "What of it?" almost screamed the man, crumpliug 
 the paper and dashing it to the floor. "Why, it was 
 not more than ten days ago that I indorsed his paper 
 for eighty thousand dollars ! What of it? I'll have to 
 
1 68 The Pangs of a Guilty Conscience. 
 
 make good that sum! Oh, everything has turned 
 against me now I" 
 
 In truth, it seemed that there was a remarkable and 
 mysterious fatality that had hurled all these misfor- 
 tunes on Cyrus Stark in a bunch, as if to crush him 
 without delay. 
 
 Stark no longer had any appetite for breakfast. He 
 lost no time in securing his hat and rushing from the 
 house. 
 
 At the Fifth Avenue Hotel he learned that the rumor 
 concerning Taff was true beyond the shadow of a doubt, 
 and then he proceeded down town to consult with Heep, 
 as it would be ten o'clock by the time he could reach 
 the lawyer's office. 
 
 There were two elevators running in the building, 
 and something caused him to watch for the other car 
 as he went up in one of them. As they passed about 
 halfway to the top, the man started and gave utterance 
 to a low cry of amazement, for he seemed to catch a 
 glimpse of a well-known face in the other car. 
 
 "It can't be possible!" he gasped, unmindful of the 
 fact that the elevator boy was staring at him with 
 wonder. "I must have been deceived by a resem- 
 blance." 
 
 When he stepped out at the top floor, he waited until 
 the other car came up, and then he eagerly asked : 
 
 "Did you just take down a boy about seventeen 
 years old?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," was the reply. 
 
 "Did you notice anything peculiar in his dress?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Didn't he wear high boots, a woolen shirt and 
 broad-brimmed hat?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
The Pangs of a Guilty Conscience. 169 
 
 "Dead sure." 
 
 "And he did not appear like a Western boy?" 
 
 "I did not notice anything that led me to think so." 
 
 Stark looked relieved; slipping a silver quarter into 
 
 the elevator boy's hand, and then muttering, as he 
 
 turned away : 
 
 "It was all imagination. My nerves are in a bad 
 
 condition. There can be no reason to doubt Walt. 
 
 Bart Stone is dead and out of my way forever. ' ' 
 
*70 Another Wagei 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ANOTHER WAGER. 
 
 Although Cyrus Stark had not see Bart Stone in 
 the elevator, the boy from the West was not dead. He 
 had been abandoned to his fate in the burning road 
 house, lying unconscious on the floor, with the fire 
 gathering about him swiftly, but he did not perish in 
 the flames. 
 
 Bart had a pretty hard head, and he had soon recov- 
 ered from the stunning shock received when he went 
 down. He opened his eyes to discover his peril, and 
 roll away from the fire before it fastened on his clothes. 
 
 Then he sat up and found escape was cut off, so far as 
 the back door or broken window were concerned. The 
 heat of the fire was intense, and the smoke threatened 
 to overcome him. 
 
 He knew better than to rise to his feet, for the smoke 
 was so dense above him he would not be able to catch 
 a breath, so, on his hands and knees, he started to 
 creep toward the open door that led into the hallway. 
 
 He was able to reach the door, and then he rose to a 
 crouching position, hurrying toward the front of the 
 house. From room to room he made his way, but all 
 the windows were closed with heavy shutters, and he 
 could not waste time in what might be a fruitless at- 
 tempt to break them. 
 
 The front door was tried, but that was firm as a rock; 
 and then, through choking smoke, he ran up the stairs 
 to the rooms above. 
 
Another Wager. 171 
 
 At the back of the house he found a window, from 
 which he quickly broke the glass, dashing out sash and 
 all with one strong kick of his booted foot. 
 
 The fresh air that poured in gave him new life, and 
 with a cry of relief and joy he saw a slanting roof just 
 below. 
 
 Already was the fire roaring up the stairs of the 
 doomed building, which was destined to become a 
 mass of smoldering ruins in a remarkably short space 
 of time. 
 
 Out through the window Bart made his way, lightly 
 dropping to the roof. His feet flew from beneath him, 
 and before he could grasp at anything secure, he slid 
 down the shingles and fell to the ground, striking in 
 an upright position, quite unharmed. 
 
 He was at the back of the house, and not a soul had 
 seen him escape, as Mr. Van Worth and the detective 
 were on the side where the window was broken, and 
 the back of the house could not be seen at all from the 
 road. 
 
 For this reason, Cyrus Stark drove away thinking 
 the boy he hated had perished in the flames. 
 
 As soon as he could collect himself, Bart went round 
 the house to look for Roger Van Worth and the detec- 
 tive. He found them mourning him as lost, and the 
 delight of Roger was something touchiag to witness. 
 He caught Bart in his arms, and his voice trembled as 
 he declared: 
 
 "You are like one from the dead ! I could not have 
 suffered more had you been my own boy ! But there 
 was no way to get in there through the fire and reach 
 you. How did you get out?" 
 
 Bart told him his entire experience, and the man was 
 consumed with anger when he heard how Walter Stark 
 had abandoned the unconscious lad to his horrible fate. 
 
172 Another Wager. 
 
 "I suppose it is all that could be expected from the 
 son of such a father; but it was a most dastardly trick! 
 It was scarcely less than murder!" 
 
 Stark had escaped his pursuers by darting round the 
 house the moment he sprang through the window, cut- 
 ting the halter that hitched the horses, and driving 
 away. When they returned to the broken window it 
 was too late to reach Bart, and it was not known but 
 both boys had perished in the fire. 
 
 There was now no reason why they should linger in 
 that vicinity, and it was expedient they should get 
 away immediately if they wished to escape question- 
 ing, as the light of the fire would certainly draw not a 
 few people to the locality; so they sought the team at 
 once, and were soon driving back toward Brooklyn, 
 which they reached barely in time to escape a drench- 
 ing. 
 
 After waiting until the shower was over, they pro- 
 ceeded to New York. 
 
 Mr. Van Worth and the detective held a long con- 
 sultation that night, and when Carrol left, it was to 
 start after Buck Prindle once more, as everything 
 seemed to depend on finding that man. 
 
 "Bart," said Mr. Van Worth, "I want you to keep 
 out of sight for the present." 
 
 The boy looked at him in surprise. 
 
 "Keep out of sight? What for?" 
 
 "I fancy Cyrus Stark and his precious son think you 
 were burned in the old road house, and I want them to 
 continue to deceive themselves in that manner." 
 
 "'Cause why?" 
 
 "I may get another opportunity to spring a surprise 
 on them." 
 
 Bart did not object, for he had a great deal of confi- 
 dence in the judgment of his father's old schoolmate, 
 
Another Wager. 173 
 
 and so he remained in the house for the next two 
 days. 
 
 Although this was something quite unusual for him, 
 the boy from the West did not find his confinement as 
 irksome and galling as he had expected it would be, 
 for he saw a great deal of Ferda, and she did her best 
 to make the long hours pass pleasantly. 
 
 It was on the second night after the fire that Roger 
 Van Worth strolled into the Trojan Club's headquarters 
 and found a fancy shooting exhibition was taking 
 place. An English expert was giving an exhibition, 
 having offered a standing challenge to any member of 
 the club. 
 
 Walter Stark was an expert with either rifle or re- 
 volver, and after watching the boastful Britisher for 
 some seconds, he accepted the challenge. 
 
 As it was to be an exhibition and test of trick shoot- 
 ing, three judges were chosen. 
 
 Cyrus Stark was on hand, and he succeeded in mak- 
 ing several comfortable wagers that his son would de- 
 feat the Englishman, whose name was Curran. 
 
 The exhibition was over in about thirty minutes, and 
 Walter was able to win with apparent ease, much to 
 the chagrin of Curran, and the delight of Cyrus Stark, 
 who gathered in his bets and flourished the money over 
 his head, laughing: 
 
 "My boy can't be beaten by any amateur in the 
 country! I've got ten thousand dollars that says sol" 
 
 Then, catching sight of Roger, he sneeringly called: 
 
 "Perhaps you have another Unknown you would like 
 to match against him, Van Worth?" 
 
 "Perhaps I have," was the quiet reply. "If so, you 
 should take warning by your previous experience." 
 
 The words cut Stark, and he flushed hotly. 
 
 "You won by a foul at the race!" he growled. 
 
1 74 Another Wager. 
 
 "That is true," confessed Mr. Van Worth, sweetly. 
 "Your boy should have known better than to make 
 it." 
 
 Stark was getting the worst of this bandying of 
 words, and he did not like it, for he could not fail to 
 see the half-concealed smiles of the listening club 
 members. 
 
 "Look here, Van Worth," he said, coming closer to 
 the qui9t man, "if you're a sport " 
 
 "I am not," was the prompt reply. "I make no 
 claim to that." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" sneered Stark. "Your blood is poor, 
 Van Worth. You want the game without the name. 
 I will confess your Unknown did win the sprint by an 
 accident, but I'll bet any sum you like you can't bring 
 an amateur who can whip my boy with either rifle or 
 revolver." 
 
 "Now you are getting excited," said Roger, looking 
 the man squarely in the eye. "You seem to be seek- 
 ing revenge." 
 
 Stark stepped still closer, saying, in a tone that was 
 only heard by the other man : 
 
 "I am seeking revenge ! I have not forgotten our 
 meeting at Jarley's! You threatened me with a pistol, 
 and I'll never rest till I humble you for that!" 
 
 Then he fell back, lifting his voice until all could 
 hear: 
 
 "I'll bet you twenty-five thousand dollars you can't 
 raring an amateur who can fairly beat my son at fancy 
 and trick shooting, Roger Van Worth." 
 
 Stark was scarcely prepared for what followed, as 
 the man challenged promptly returned: 
 
 "I'll take that bet. Put up your money in Gran- 
 tham Burke's hands. Here is mine. Cover it — if you 
 dare!" 
 
Walter Shows His Skill. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 WALTER SHOWS HIS SKILL. 
 
 Stark was taken aback by this instant acceptance cf 
 his loudly offered wager, and he looked not a little as- 
 tonished, falling away a step and staring hard at the 
 man, who was coolly counting out his money. 
 
 "Are you in earnest?" he finally asked. 
 
 Roger placed the money in Burke's hands, replying: 
 
 "This talks." 
 
 "What kind of a game are you running now?'* 
 harshly demanded Stark, as he nervously fingered the 
 bills in his hands. 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 Roger uttered the word in a most crushing manner, 
 a cynical and haughty smile curling his lips. It was 
 enough to bring the hot blood to Stark's face, but he 
 tossed his head with a nervous laugh. 
 
 "Oh, I'm on to you," he assured, with insolent in- 
 sinuation. "You are out to win every time." 
 ! Roger took one long step and advanced within reach 
 of the speaker, saying, icily : 
 
 "I would like to have you make your meaning a little 
 plainer, Mr. Stark. Come right out and say what you 
 mean, or else be good enough to make no hints." 
 
 For a moment it seemed that Stark would give vent 
 to his wrought up passsions, but he restrained himself, 
 observing : 
 
 "You are very touchy, Van Worth. Are you in 
 earnest about this wager?" 
 
176 Walter Shows His Skill. 
 
 "You asked me that once before. Would I put up 
 the cold cash if I were riot in earnest? Cover my 
 money — or take water." 
 
 "When is the match to come off?" 
 
 "Anytime you like." 
 
 "Then I set it for to-night within the next hour," in- 
 stantly returned Stark, as be placed bis money in 
 Burke's hands. "Do you come to time on that?" 
 
 "Most certainly. I'll have my man on hand in less 
 than thirty minutes." 
 
 Stark was astonished at this, but he did bis best to 
 appear unconcerned; while Mr. Van Worth hastily 
 scribbled something on a sheet of paper torn from his 
 notebook, sealed it in one of the club's envelopes, and 
 called up a messenger. 
 
 When the messenger had been dispatched, Roger em- 
 ployed his time in calmly chatting with several mem- 
 bers of the club. 
 
 Stark was talking earnestly with his son and Ned 
 Steinway, who was on hand, and the man plainly tried 
 to repress the excitement be felt. Steinway assured 
 him again and again that his time had come to par- 
 tially square accounts with Roger Van Worth, but he 
 was beginning to grow doubtful, the memory of his 
 former defeats rising vividly before him. 
 
 Who did Van Worth intend to produce? He had 
 made no particular stir about the old road -house affair, 
 although both Cyrus and his guilty son had expected 
 trouble. They could not understand why he had not 
 brought a charge of some kind against them, for it 
 could not be he intended to overlook the fact that the 
 boy whom he had befriended lost his life in the fire. 
 
 Stark remembered the face he had fancied he saw in 
 the elevator, and a sudden suspicion assailed him. As 
 soon as possible he drew Walter aside, asking: 
 
Walter Shows His Skill. 177 
 
 "Are you sure that infernal boy was cooked in that 
 fire?" 
 
 "Sure as I am that I live at this moment, gov." 
 
 "Then I cannot understand Van Worth. I declare I 
 half-believe you're mistaken, and he means to produce 
 the young w-help to shoot against you!" 
 
 "Oh, you're loony!" 
 
 "Then who can he bring forward?" 
 
 "Oh, he's got some fellow on the string, and he 
 thinks he can beat you at everything, simply because 
 he did so on the sprint. I'll open the old fool's eyes! 
 My nerve is as steady as a rock, and I can outshoot Dr. 
 Carver to-night." 
 
 "I hope you are right. I can't afford to lose an- 
 other dollar. No more than twenty-five thousand will 
 put me in hard sledding if it slips through my fingers." 
 
 "It won't slip. But if you did lose it, you have the 
 mine to fall back on, and you know the expert has 
 made a favorable report." 
 
 "Favorable? I should say so! Why, he says the 
 blast that boy put in has opened up a vein of amazing 
 richness; but I shall not feel right about that matter 
 until the lost certificates are recovered. They might 
 pop up any time." 
 
 "I don't think. You're a fool to worry about that." 
 Then this highly respectful son lighted a cigarette and 
 strolled into the smoking room with Steinway. 
 
 Before thirty minutes had elapsed after the departure 
 of the messenger, word was brought Roger Van Worth 
 that his man awaited him in the parlor. He disap- 
 peared at the heels of the person who had brought this 
 information, and every one waited anxiously the usher- 
 ing in of the mysterious marksman who had been 
 matched to shoot against the club champion for the 
 sum of twenty-five thousand dollars. 
 
178 Walter Shows His Skill. 
 
 The old sports of the club were astounded at Roger, 
 for he had suddenly shown an inclination to sportive- 
 ness that had always seemed quite foreign to his nature. 
 Never until he matched the Unknown to run against 
 Walter Stark had he wagered sums of any sort on con- 
 tests of skill or endurance, although he had ever stood 
 ready to subscribe liberally for the support of any ex- 
 hibition the club might see fit to give. ? 
 
 A few wagers were made on the outcome of the f 
 shoot, but the most of the sports preferred to wait and 
 see the man Van Worth backed before staking any 
 cash. 
 
 "Here they come!" 
 
 Somebody uttered the words as Van Worth was seen 
 advancing arm in arm with a compactly built, boyish 
 person. 
 
 An electric shock ran over Cyrus Stark the moment 
 his ej'es fell on that form, while Walter was literally 
 struck dumb with astonishment, turning very pale as 
 he gasped : 
 
 "It can't be possible!" 
 
 But it was possible. The person Roger had backed 
 against the younger Stark was the boy from the West, 
 alive and well as ever. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Mr. Van Worth quietly, "this is 
 my man, and you will find he can shoot as well as run. 
 This is Mr. Stone, who won the sprint for me." 
 
 "It's the chap who roped the panther!" cried one of 
 the spectators. "He's a holy terror, and I think he 
 will give Walt all he wants to do in this match." 
 
 The Kansas lad was received enthusiastically, a large 
 number of the club members crowding about to shake 
 his hand. 
 
 When he found an opportunity, he turned to Roger 
 to ask: 
 
Walter Shows His Skill. 179 
 
 "What is all this about, I'd like to know right well? 
 You said you wanted me at once, and I came hot foot." 
 
 "I believe j T ou said you could shoot?" 
 
 "Wa-al, I can — some." 
 
 "I have matched you against Mr. Walter Stark for 
 the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars." 
 
 Bart whistled. 
 
 "Never did any shooting for big money like that, " 
 he confessed, looking slightly alarmed. "How'd you 
 dare back me for that thar pile?" 
 
 A quiet smile crossed Roger's face, and he answered, 
 in an aside that was heard by no one except Bart : 
 
 "Stark attempted to bluff me, and I wouldn't have 
 it. I thought the sight cf you might shake Walt's 
 nerve so you would beat him; but it won't make much 
 difference if you lose, as I have not yet cashed Stark's 
 draft, and I don't want it said I did not give him a 
 show. All I ask is that you do your best." 
 
 "Wa-al, I'll do that, you bet." 
 
 Cyrus Stark did not immediately recover from the 
 shock of seeing the supposed-to-be-dead boy alive. 
 
 "Will nothing kill him?" he grated. "You must 
 beat him, Walt!" 
 
 The younger rascal had been no less astonished than 
 his father, but he replied : 
 
 "I'll do it, pop; depend on me. I'll give him the 
 worst job he ever ran up against!" 
 
 In the course of another thirty minutes all arrange- 
 ments were made for the match. It was decided the 
 start should be plain shooting at a bell target, to see 
 which of the lads could make the most out of a possible 
 seventy-five. A coin was flipped to decide who should 
 lead off, and it fell to Walter. 
 
 Young Stark was perfectly cool as he took his place 
 at the rail, a quiet smile on his face. He began shoot- 
 
180 Walter Shows His Skill. 
 
 ing deliberately, and for fifty-eight times in succession 
 he rang the bell. Then he missed once. 
 
 "Good boy!" laughed Ned Steinway. "You have 
 already made a score the cow-puncher can't tie." 
 
 Neither Bart nor Mr. Van Worth noticed this re- 
 mark, although it was spoken for their ears. 
 
 Walter waited a few seconds, and then quietly re- 
 sumed the shootirjg. Ring, ring, ring, steadily went 
 the target bell up to the seventy -fourth shot. 
 
 It was amazing marksmanship, as all who witnessed 
 it were obliged to confess. Roger Van Worth looked 
 very grave, for he had scarcely expected such a display 
 of skill. Stark said very little, but there was a 
 look of triumph on his face that told of the satisfac- 
 tion in his heart. 
 
 At the seventy-fifth shot the target bell failed to ring, 
 but Walter had made the amazing record of seventy- 
 three out of a possible seventy-five, and he retired amid 
 the applause of the spectators, a confident smile on his 
 face. 
 
 Then there were a great number of offers that the 
 score would not be beaten or tied by the boy from the 
 West, but no one seemed anxious to take them. 
 
 As Bart arose, Cyrus Stark laughed in a sneering 
 way, observing: 
 
 "I believe the fellow is really going to try it! Ten 
 chances to one he does not make fifty bull's-eyes." 
 
 The Kansas lad advanced to the rail, with Roger's 
 whispered words sounding in his ears: 
 
 "Do your level best." 
 
 He picked up a rifle, looked it over carefully, ex- 
 amined the sights, then suddenly flung it to his shoul- 
 der and fired. 
 
 The bell did not ring! 
 
 He had missed the first shot' 
 
Wonderful Marksmanship. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 wonderful marksmanship. 
 
 "Missed!" 
 
 A dozen persons uttered the word in disappointment, 
 for while they scarcely expected Bart to match Walter 
 Stark's wonderful record, they had hoped the Kansas 
 lad would press him close enough to make it interest- 
 ing. 
 
 Ned Steinway laughed aloud, but he made no obser- 
 vation, as that was against the rules after the stranger 
 boy began. 
 
 As for Bart, he did not seem in the least taken aback, 
 and something like a scornful smile flitted like a flash 
 across his face, leaving his features as stolid and un- 
 readable as ever. 
 
 It would not be true to say Roger "Van Worth did 
 not feel disappointed, for he had hoped the Western 
 lad would make a good showing, whether he defeated 
 Walter Stark or not. 
 
 Cyrus Stark was chuckling with satisfaction, feeling 
 sure the wagered money was as good as won, for if 
 Bart Stone could do no better than this at plain shoot- 
 ing he would surely make a spectacle of himself when 
 it came to fancy work. 
 
 Bart picked up the next rifle, weighed it in his hands, 
 cocked it carelessly, and apparently discharged it quite 
 as carelessly — without lifting it to his shoulder. 
 
 Ting! sounded the bell, to the apparent astonishment 
 of every one, Bart included. 
 
1 82 Wonderful Marksmanship. 
 
 "Rung her by accident, by Jupiter!" cried Ned 
 Steinway, following the words with another laugh. 
 
 The Kansas lad stared at the target a moment, as if 
 he did not quite comprehend what had happened, and 
 then he took the next rifle offered him by the attendant 
 who was loading. 
 
 The spectators saw him carefully scrutinize the 
 weapon, lift it to his shoulder and take deliberate aim, 
 then lower it, shaking his head. 
 
 "I don't reckon I'll use that thar thing," he said. 
 "The first two suit me better. Just stand this one out 
 of the way, so she'll not get mixed up with the others." 
 
 This caused more than one to smile, but the cowboy 
 was utterly unconscious of their ridicule. He had 
 chosen the first two rifles for use, and would accept no 
 others. 
 
 Although he was exasperatingly slow in his move- 
 ments, it seemed that he fired each time without taking 
 aim, for the muzzle of a rifle would barely reach a level 
 with the target when the weapon spoke. 
 
 One, two, three, four, five times he fired, and the 
 bell rang with each shot that followed the first one. 
 
 The smiles slowly faded from the faces of the specta- 
 tors, and they began to look interested. The boy from 
 the West could shoot a little, anyway, and that was all 
 he had claimed. 
 
 "He'll miss in a minute," whispered Steinway in 
 Walter Stark's ear. 
 
 Six, seven, eight, nine, ten — and still the bell rang 
 with each shot. 
 
 Cyrus Stark cleared his throat with a rasping sound, 
 his eyes — which were anything but pleasant features of 
 his face — beginning to snap. 
 
 "I am glad he can shoot some," he muttered to a 
 companion, speaking the words just loud enough for 
 
Wonderful Marksmanship. 183 
 
 Roger Van Worth to hear. "His backer will feel bad 
 enough to lose the twenty-five thousand, anyway." 
 
 A sudden change seemed to come over Van Worth, 
 as if a new confidence was born in his heart. He 
 turned squarely on Stark, and, in a tone that was loud 
 enough for all to hear, said : 
 
 "I will go 3 7 ou another twenty-five thousand dollars 
 my man beats or ties your boy on this first trial. Do 4 
 you take me?" ^ 
 
 Stark had scarcely expected this, and he was quite 
 confused. Then he pretended to grow indignant. 
 
 "You seem to have developed into a full-fledged 
 gambler all at once, Van Worth. I believe the Trojan 
 Club bars professional gamblers. There is a difference 
 between innocent sport and bare faced gambling." 
 
 Instead of arousing the man's anger, Stark caused 
 him to simply smile. 
 
 "Those words sound well from the lips of a man who 
 lost thirty thousand dollars in bets not many days ago," 
 he returned. 
 
 Stark was on his feet instantly, almost foaming at 
 the mouth, as he shouted : 
 
 "You are no gentleman, or you would not mention 
 that! I believe you are determined on a quarrel. If 
 so, you shall have it ! I am not a common tough, and 
 so my weapons may not suit you. Any time you wish 
 to meet me with " 
 
 At this point he was choked off by several of his 
 friends, who saw the affair was really becoming seri- 
 ous, and might end in bloodshed if Stark's passionate 
 tongue were not silenced immediately. 
 
 Roger paled a trifle, and his face grew very stern, 
 but it was not necessary for the cautioning words of 
 friends to hold him in check, as he had no idea of forc- 
 ing a quarrel then and there. 
 
184 Wonderful Marksmanship. 
 
 No further words passed between the men, who were 
 now known to be open enemies; and the attention of 
 the spectators was once more given solely to the 
 target shooting. 
 
 The Kansas boy steadily added to the score, never 
 missing once after that first shot. The excitement in- 
 creased, and by the time he had made fifty straight 
 there were a score of persons willing to bet he would 
 tie Walter, and there were no takers of the offers. 
 
 Stark's face was ashen in color as he watched the 
 progress of the match. Was it possible this raw West- 
 ern lad was destined to again defeat his son? He 
 actually began to fear such was the case. 
 
 Ned Steinway lost his head and made offensive re- 
 marks, hoping to "rattle" Bart in that manner, and he 
 was only silenced by the threat of expulsion from the 
 room. 
 
 Sixty shots were fired, and still Bart had missed but 
 once. If he could make fifteen more without a break, 
 he would fairly defeat Walter on the first trial. 
 
 "He'll never do it!" 
 
 "He is losing his nerve." 
 
 "Wait and see him miss in a minute." 
 
 These remarks were made with apparent caution, but 
 they were intended for Bart's ears. If he heard, how- 
 ever, he made no sign, keeping steadily at his work. 
 
 And he was making no more misses. 
 
 In a short time the score reached seventy, and there 
 was but one miss against the Kansas kid. The members 
 of the club looked at each other in amazement, for it 
 scarcely seemed possible an amateur outside of their 
 own ranks could be making such a score. 
 
 Seventy-one — two — three; the bell rang each time. 
 Only one miss! Another shot would tie Walter! 
 
 The excitement was at fever heat as Bart took an- 
 
Wonderful Marksmanship. 185 
 
 other rifle, turned his back to the target, stooped sud- 
 denly and fired between his legs. 
 
 Ting! 
 
 Walter was tied ! 
 
 The spectators could not repress a cheer, for, although 
 one of their associates had been equaled in skill, they 
 were honest in their admiration. 
 
 A more thoroughly desperate man than Cyrus Stark 
 it would have been impossible to find in all New York, 
 for he was now certain the hand of fate was literally 
 set against him. 
 
 Only one more shot! If the bell was rung with 
 that, Walter would be defeated. 
 
 Again taking a loaded rifle, Bart stood with his back 
 to the target, and when he was ready, spun round on 
 one foot, like a top. At the instant of the second revolu- 
 tion he fired. 
 
 The bell rang, causing a great shout to go up from 
 all who heard it, excepting the young marksman him- 
 self and the two Starks. 
 
 Walter was beaten. 
 
 Seventy-four out of a possible seventy-five was some- 
 thing amazing, as every one confessed. 
 
 But the contest was not finished, for the trick shoot- 
 ing was to follow. Walter, however, had no taste for 
 further effort, although he did not refuse to do what he 
 could. His nerve was broken by the first defeat, and 
 he failed on many simple tricks which he usually ac- 
 complished with ease. 
 
 On the other hand, Bart was cool and confident, and 
 he did some things, like cutting hairs and splitting bul- 
 lets on a knife, that further increased the admiration of 
 the crowd. His final trick was to stand on his head 
 with his feet against a wall and shoot through a tiny 
 paper covered ring held in Roger Van Worth's fingers. 
 
1 86 Wonderful Marksmanship. 
 
 The bullet, it was afterward found, would just pass 
 comfortably through the ring without grazing. 
 
 Bart was declared the winner by the committee, and 
 Grantham Burke delivered the amount of the wager to 
 Roger Van Worth, who then sought to hunt up Cyrus 
 Stark, only to find he had left the club, together with 
 his defeated and crestfallen son. 
 
The Favor of Fate. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE FAVOR OF FATE. 
 
 Again the boy from the West had become the hero 
 of the hour. Every one seemed to desire an introduc- 
 tion to him, and his arm would have ached before he 
 got through shaking hands if it had been made of 
 ordinary stuff. 
 
 "Where did you ever run across him, Van Worth?" 
 questioned one curious individual. "Was that panther 
 racket gotten up as an advertising scheme?" 
 
 "Well, hardiy," was the smiling reply. "There 
 was no fake about that." 
 
 "Van Worth is a sly dog," asserted another. "Here 
 he has been lying cold and quiet all these years, and 
 we didn't suppose he was at all sporty. All the time, 
 he was waiting his opportunity to catch us on just such 
 a snap as this." 
 
 "You will observe I 'caught' no one but Mr. Cyrus 
 Stark," said Roger, with sudden graveness. "I might 
 have secured wagers with a dozen of you, but I did 
 not." 
 
 They could not fail to understand him, for his real 
 raeamng was expressed by his manner as well as his 
 words. Cyrus Stark was the game he had chosen, and 
 he cared for no other man's money. 
 
 The club members tried to drag Mr. Van Worth and 
 Bart to the cafe, all of them eager to open wine, but 
 Roger knew the boy would not touch a drop, and so he 
 quietly and firmly declined all invitations. 
 
1 88 The Favor of Fate. 
 
 As soon as possible, the young marksman and hig 
 friend left the clubhouse, Grantham Burke having de- 
 livered the amount of the wager to Roger. 
 
 It was a pleasant night, and they walked along the 
 street together, Roger taking the boy's arm, as he 
 observed : 
 
 "Well, Bart, we struck your enemy another blow 
 to-night, and it seemed to hit him harder than any be- 
 fore delivered." 
 
 "I reckon that's right, Mr. Van Worth; but while 
 we are pulling that thar critter down, we don't seem to 
 be getting any nearer the recovery of the mine." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that. He will become 
 desperate pretty soon, and then I have a scheme for 
 bringing him to terms." 
 
 "Wa-al, I hope it will succeed; but above all else I 
 want to solve the mystery of my father's death." 
 
 "I believe we will finally succeed in that. When 
 we have found Prindle and recovered the stock, if for- 
 tune favors us to that extent, I will see what Carrol 
 can do at this other matter. Perhaps he will be able 
 to ferret out the truth in a short time." 
 
 "You an't heard anything from Carrol to-day?" 
 
 "Yes, I have." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "He says Prindle is in this city." 
 
 "How does he know that?" 
 
 "He did not explain." 
 
 At that point the street was poorly lighted and de- 
 serted, and three figures suddenly appeared before 
 them, springing out from a dark areaway. Bart was 
 the first to see them and realize there was danger, so 
 he cried : 
 
 "Look out thar! Them galoots mean crooked work!" 
 
 The warning came none, too soon, for, realizing their 
 
The Favor of Fate. 189 
 
 evil purpose was suspected, one of the three men 
 snarled : 
 
 "Down 'em lively! Don't let 'em raise a row!" 
 
 But the ruffians were astounded by a sudden onset 
 from the boy, who did not hesitate to leap at them like 
 a tiger, upsetting one fellow before he could strike a 
 blow. 
 
 Although this move on Bart's part had been quite 
 unexpected, the other two sprang to the assault, one of 
 them grating : 
 
 "Pound the faces off them! That's all we have ter 
 do! Knock 'em out!" 
 
 A second man made a pass at the Kansas lad, who 
 ducked and slipped under the fellow's arm, grasping 
 him about the waist. 
 
 Roger Van Worth was no fighter, but he saw it was 
 necessary to do his best m this case, and he met the 
 onset of the third man squarely, receiving a staggering 
 blow and delivering one in return. 
 
 In less time than it takes to tell it a fierce fight was 
 taking place there in the "street, with the odds against 
 Van Worth and Bart. However, the man and boy 
 were not easily overcome, as the ruffians soon discov- 
 ered. 
 
 The young cowboy possessed amazing strength for 
 his years, and he finally succeeded in throwing the man 
 with whom he had grappled. 
 
 But that did not end the battle, for the first man 
 was on his feet, and Van Worth had bean knocked 
 down. 
 
 At this juncture another individual appeared on the 
 scene and pitched into the thugs like a whirlwind, turn- 
 ing the tide of battle almost instantly, for a signal cry 
 sounded from one of the assailants, and the three im- 
 mediately took to their heels. 
 
190 The Favor of Fate. 
 
 Bart hurried to Mr. Van Worth's assistance, anxi- 
 iously asking: 
 
 "Are you harmed? Hav9 they injured you?" 
 
 "Not seriously, I think," was the reply, as the man 
 allowed the boy to aid him in arising. "I was struck 
 a glancing blow by some heavy instrument, but I think 
 I am all right." 
 
 "Wa-al, that's right lucky!" said Bart, with relief. 
 "I reckoned it might be worse when I saw you go 
 over. Them p'ison varmints were out for blood." 
 
 "And they would have got it if — Hey, stop 
 him!" 
 
 The unknown who had befriended them was slipping 
 away, but, at the cry, the boy darted forward and 
 caught him by the arm. 
 
 "Hold on!" he cried. "We want to know who did 
 us that good turn, for we'd got it bad if you hadn't 
 chipped in. You scared them — Great Scott! It 
 can't be! It is — Buck Prindle!" 
 
 "That's right," confessed the man who had bo- 
 friended them, finding he could not get away. "I 
 heard old Stark when he hired them blokes to do 
 ye " 
 
 "When he hired them? Do you mean to say Cyrus 
 Stark did that thar dirty trick?" 
 
 "That's what I mean. He paid them five apiece to 
 lay for you two here and pound the faces off ye when 
 ye came along. I was in Murphy's saloon an' heard it 
 all, though I didn't let 'em spot me, you bet." 
 
 "Wa-al, this is the dirtiest trick yet, by a good heap! 
 But he did us a mighty big favor, just the same, for ho 
 helped us find you." 
 
 "That is true," put in Roger Van Worth; "and if 
 you are Buck Prindle, we're looking for you." 
 
 The ex-convict looked alarmed, seeming on the point 
 
The Favor of Fate. 191 
 
 of breaking away and taking to flight; seeing which, 
 Mr. Van Worth hastened to reassure him by adding : 
 
 "We do not propose to do you any injury, man; and 
 you can do us a big favor. You have already done us 
 a great favor, for you saved us from those ruffians. I 
 have a fancy you do not love Cyrus Stark much?" 
 
 "Love him!" grated Prindle, in sudden passion. "I 
 hate him ! I will get square with him some time! He } 
 shut me up in that old cellar with the rats, and near 
 starved me to death! Oh, I'll even up, or my name 
 an't Buck Prindle!" 
 
 "You're the very man we want to assist us. We 
 will see you are well rewarded." 
 
 "All the reward I want is ter square accounts. 
 Stark thinks I am dead, and I'm waitin' the right time 
 to show him his mistake." 
 
 "Thiuks you are dead?" exclaimed both Roger and 
 Bart in astonishment. 
 
 "That's what he does. The very night I got out of 
 the old cellar, he cornered me on the Twenty-third 
 Street ferry, and I jumped into the river. I'd been 
 drowned, but I caught on a floatin' hen-coop that had 
 been dumped from some vessel up the river, and I hung 
 to it till I was pulled off by a tug." 
 
 Mr. Van Worth was delighted. 
 
 "This is great fortune!" he cried. "If Cyrus Stark 
 thinks this man is dead we will be able to spring a sur- 
 prise on him that will take away his breath. Every- 
 thing is coming our way now, Bart, my boy!" 
 
 It really seemed as if this were true, and Bart's heart 
 was filled with hope. At last the man who could re- 
 veal the secret of his father's death was found, and 
 could he be induced to tell the truth, it would not be 
 difficult to confront Cyrus Stark with an array of evi- 
 dence that would utterly confound him. 
 
192 The Favor of Fate. 
 
 "Will you stand by us, Mr. Prindle?" he eagerly 
 asked. "Will you help us in this yere matter if we'll 
 protect you from Stark?" 
 
 "That's what I will, kid," nodded the ex-convict. 
 
Shattered Hopes. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 SHATTERED HOPES. 
 
 The three now walked from the lonely street toward 
 a better-lighted thoroughfare, Prindle explaining how 
 he had lured Bob, the guard, into the cellar storeroom, 
 and then, as the fellow was half- drunk, easily knocked 
 him over and escaped. 
 
 The outwitted guard had not dared remain and face 
 Stark's anger when the chief rascal appeared, for which 
 reason the old road house had been deserted. 
 
 Roger soon hailed a passing cab, which proved to be 
 empty, and they were soon on their way toward the 
 gentleman's home. 
 
 Prindle was uneasy, despite the repeated assurances 
 that he had no cause for alarm. 
 
 "How about the swipin' of that stock?" he finally 
 asked. 
 
 "We will talk about that after we get into the 
 house," said Mr. Van Worth. 
 
 A short time after this they were in the library of 
 the millionaire's beautiful home on Madison Avenue. 
 Back looked with something of admiration at his splen- 
 did surroundings, and a strange smile crossed his face 
 as he observed : 
 
 "Once I thought I'd make crackin' cribs of this sort a 
 perfession, but it don't pay. A bloke is bound to get 
 pinched and sent up sooner or later." 
 
 "That is right," nodded Roger. " The only life to 
 live is a square one." 
 
194 Shattered Hopes. 
 
 "Do you think there's a show for a poor chap like 
 me?" 
 
 "A show?" 
 
 "Yes — a chance for him to do the square — to live 
 honest?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Well, you see I'm known as crooked, and it's hard 
 for a man to get honest work. People don't want 
 crooks around if they know it." 
 
 "Are you in earnest about wanting to live like an 
 honest man?" 
 
 "I swear I be!" 
 
 "Then, when I am satisfied you mean it, I will see 
 you have all the work you need." 
 
 Prindle looked at Roger Van Worth in doubt, shak- 
 ing his head, after a time, as he said : 
 
 "It can't be you mean that." 
 
 "But Ida" 
 
 "How can I prove I am in earnest?" 
 
 Mr. Van Worth smiled. 
 
 "Now you are getting right down to business, my 
 man. I want you to convince me beyond the shadow 
 of a doubt that you really want to lead an honest life, 
 and then I will give you all the opportunity you desire." 
 
 "Still, ye have not told me how I can convince ye." 
 
 "What is the first thing you would be liable to do if 
 3 T ou were really in earnest?" 
 
 The ex-convict thought a moment, and then slowly 
 answered : 
 
 "Give up that stock I swiped." 
 
 "Right!" cried Roger, with satisfaction. "That is 
 the first step. What would be the next?" 
 
 "I dunno." 
 
 "Then I will enlighten you. The next thing would 
 be to tell how Norman Stone came to his death." 
 
Shattered Hopes. 195 
 
 Prindle paled and fell back in his chair, staring hard 
 at the gentleman, whose eyes met his steadily. The 
 convict was shaken by sudden emotion, as both the 
 man and the boy could plainly see; his soul seemed 
 torn with dread and doubt. 
 
 Bart was an eager listener to all that passed, well 
 knowing the object at which Roger was aiming, and 
 trusting everything to him. 
 
 "In that way," the gentleman went on, noting the 
 look of fear in the ex-convict's eyes, "you can get even 
 with Stark and square yourself with the world." 
 
 "I've got enough • of prisons!" muttered Prindle 
 huskily. "Ye can't ask me ter blow anything that'll 
 take me back there!" 
 
 "So you were mixed in it?" quietly said Roger. 
 "This is certainly very serious, but I don't suppose you 
 directly brought about the man's death?" 
 
 "No! no! no!" 
 
 "Then I see no reason why you should not turn evi- 
 dence for justice and be treated with clemency. The 
 chances are you would get off without any punishment." 
 
 "Do ye really think so?" eagerly asked the miner. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 Prindle thought of the matter a long time, his face 
 working strangely, and he finally replied : 
 
 "I'll do it! To show ye I'm in earnest, I'll take ye 
 to that stock this night!" 
 
 Bart's heart gave a leap of satisfaction, for if he 
 could get the certificates in his hands and the former 
 miner would tell what he knew about the "accident" 
 that deprived Norman Stone of his life, it could not be 
 such a difficult thing to bring about the punishment of 
 Cyrus Stark and secure the mine at the same time. 
 
 "Now you have come to your senses," assured Roger 
 Van Worth. "We will start without delay." 
 
196 • Shattered Hopes. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later they were on the street, and 
 having decided to take a cab, they walked rapidly to 
 Broadway, where a night-hawker's service was secured. 
 
 The drive from thence to the Bowery seemed inter- 
 minable to Bart, who was athirst with eagerness to 
 gain possession of the certificates that actually belonged 
 to him by right of bargain. 
 
 At length they left the cab, which was dismissed, 
 and Prindle led the way from the Bowery down into a 
 dark alley in a very disreputable locality. 
 
 Finally Prindle boldly pushed open a door and en- 
 tered a dark passage, followed by Roger and Bart. At 
 the end of the passage another door was opened, and 
 they found themselves in a squalid room, with a hag- 
 gish-appearing old woman sleeping in a chair. 
 
 Prindle shook the old woman roughly, crj'ing: 
 
 "Wake up, Mother Muggs. I've brought ye cash." 
 
 "Hey!" cried the hag, starting to her feet and rub- 
 bing her bleary eyes. "What ye want?" 
 
 "The same room I had when I was here last," an- 
 swered the ex-convict. 
 
 "Well, it's a good thing that feller got out to-day, 
 else ye couldn't hev it," was the reply. "He was a 
 nice sort of gent, but down on his luck, he said. All 
 the same, he seemed to have plenty of money, and he 
 paid me well. He seemed glad ter git out, though he 
 paid me a dollar extry when he left. 
 
 ''Cash in advance is my motter," she went on, be- 
 ginning to gaze in wonder at Roger and Bart. "An' I 
 wants ter know why you brings these people here? 
 This ain't no place for such a grand gent as this man, 
 and " 
 
 She might have rambled on a good deal longer, but 
 Roger thrust a five-dollar bill into her hand, saying 
 sharply : 
 
Shattered Hopes. 197 
 
 "Take us to the room at once and this is yours." 
 
 For a moment Mother Muggs looked as if she would 
 fall in a faint, and then she grew disgustingly ob- 
 sequious. 
 
 A short time later the trio were alone in a wretched 
 and dirty room, located at the top of the miserable old 
 building. 
 
 Prindle lost no time. Placing the smoking lamp 
 with which they had been provided on the floor, he got 
 down on his knees in a corner, first having dragged 
 away the shaky bed. With trembling fingers he 
 loosened a board in the floor and finally lifted it. 
 
 Holding their breath, the man and boy saw him 
 thrust his hand into the cavity exposed. A sudden 
 look of consternation came over the ex-convict's face, 
 and he felt around wildly for a moment, finally falling 
 back to gasp : 
 
 "Blow me dead if it ain't gone I" 
 
198 Stark Triumphant. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 stark triumphant. 
 
 "Gone!" 
 
 The word broke from the lips of the man and boy 
 who heard Buck Prindle's declaration. 
 
 "Yes," returned the ex-convict huskily, "it an't 
 here!" 
 
 "Out of the way!" almost shouted Bart, thrusting 
 Prindle aside with a push that sent him sprawling on 
 the floor. "Let me see!" 
 
 Down on his knees he dropped, thrusting his hand 
 into the opening and feeling about wildly. He was 
 rewarded by discovering the man who brought him to 
 that room had spoken the truth, for the place where the 
 stock had been hidden was empty. He could touch the 
 bottom and the sides, but the certificates were not there. 
 
 Bart lifted a white, despairing face to Roger, who 
 looked scarcely less crestfallen than the boy. 
 
 For some moments not one of the three spoke. Prin- 
 dle was sitting in a kind of dumb stupor on the floor, 
 Bart was kneeling, and Mr. Van Worth stood like an 
 image of stone. 
 
 " What does it mean, pards?" the Kansas lad finally 
 asked, speaking with a great effort. 
 
 "Are you sure this is the room, Prindle?" demanded 
 the gentleman. "Have you made no mistake? 
 
 "Nary mistake," was the positive assertion. "This 
 is the room, an' them certificates ought to be right 
 there." 
 
Stark Triumphant. 199 
 
 "Then somebody has got ahead of us!" 
 
 "The galoot Mother Muggs let the room to — the crit- 
 ter as was down on his luck!" cried Bart. "That's 
 the p'ison rascal!" 
 
 "Right you are," assented Roger. "That man was 
 here after the stock — he took this room for the purpose 
 of finding it! He was a detective !" 
 
 "A detective?" 
 
 "Yes; hired by Cyrus Stark! I'll wager I am 
 right." 
 
 Bart uttered a groan of dismay, his heart feeling like 
 lead in his breast. 
 
 "We're beat!" he said huskily. "Stark is plumb 
 on top the heap this yere time, and I reckon he's likely 
 to stay thar. " 
 
 Roger saw how hard the boy was hit, and he tried to 
 cheer him up by saying, reassuringly: 
 
 "Don't you think so, my lad. Trust to me. I have 
 one last resort of which you do not know, to say noth- 
 ing of the evidence Prindle can give against the man. 
 Come, let's get out of this wretched place. I can't 
 breathe here." 
 
 They descended the stairs and were received by 
 Mother Muggs below, the old woman appearing very 
 much astonished by their appearance. However, she 
 was given no time to make inquiries, for Roger imme- 
 diately questioned her closely about the last lodger to 
 whom the room was let. 
 
 When they left the wretched lodging house there was 
 no longer any doubt but Stark had overreached them 
 and secured the stock; or, if he had not already se- 
 cured it, it was in the possession of his agent, the de- 
 tective who had traced the ex-convict's moves up to the 
 time Prindle was captured. 
 
 It was impossible to do anything further that night, 
 
200 Stark Triumphant, 
 
 and soon they were once more on their way toward 
 Madison Avenue. 
 
 Prindle was given a better bed to sleep in than it had 
 ever been his fortune to occupy before, Roger taking 
 care he could not escape from the room and leave the 
 house unseen. 
 
 Then the millionaire and his young protege met in 
 the library once more, and Mr. Van Worth laid before 
 Bart the plan of the last assault on the enemy's strong- 
 hold. 
 
 The Kansas lad listened attentively, and there was a 
 look of hope in his eyes as the gentleman progressed. 
 
 " I have every reason to believe," said Roger, "that 
 fortune has so gone against Stark that the only stocks he 
 now holds are those of the White Horse Mine and the 
 S. P. and N. M. Railroad. The mining stock will not 
 sell for three cents on the dollar until the mine is prop- 
 erly opened up again. Without Stark's knowledge, I 
 have gathered in all the S. P. and N. M. shares I could 
 get hold of, and I now hold a controlling interest in it. 
 It is a rather sickly concern at best, and if I choose to 
 throw my stock on the market in a lump, I can send 
 the price down to a point that will ruin him beyond the 
 shadow of a doubt. Do you see the grip that gives me? 
 To-morrow I will manipulate the market so S. P. and 
 N. M. gets the worst hammering it ever received. 
 That will put our man in hard sledding, and when I 
 come forward with a threat to cast my load bodily on 
 the market, I fancy we will bring Mr. Cyrus Stark to 
 time with a round turn." 
 
 Bart knew nothing of such schemes and tricks, but 
 he trusted everythin'. to the generalship of his kind 
 friend, and told him so. They talked until a very late 
 hour, and Bart was unable to sleep after he retired, for 
 he was overpowered by the feeling that the crisis in his 
 
Stark Triumphant. 201 
 
 battle for justice would come with another day. By 
 another night he would be either entirely victorious or 
 utterly defeated. 
 
 Cyrus Stark and 'his boy were together in the man's 
 office at ten o'clock the following morning, when the 
 door opened and the Western lad walked boldly in, 
 much to the astonishment of the father and son. 
 
 "Mr. Stark," said Bart, quietly, "I have called for 
 that yar stock." 
 
 Stark gasped for breath. 
 
 "Well, of all the nerve I ever saw! So you have 
 called for the stock?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. I believe you received it last night?" 
 
 "That I did, though it gets me how you know so 
 much about it. I put up a little bluff about having 
 it before, but my detective discovered it yesterday and 
 turned it over to me last night. Here it is." 
 
 He opened a drawer and took out a rubber-strapped 
 package, which was triumphantly flourished before the 
 eyes of the young cowboy. 
 
 "If you are a man of honor," came calmly from 
 Bart's lips, "you will deliver them thar certificates to 
 me and accept this yere money. You know I pur- 
 chased them fairly." 
 
 The man laughed sneeringly. 
 
 "If I were a fool, I would do so. No, my boy, you 
 can't have them, and you may as well give up the' 
 struggle, for you are fairly defeated." 
 
 "Not fairly defeated, sir; and I do not propose to 
 give up, as you will soon discover. If you do not de- 
 liver that stock, you will be a ruined man this coming 
 night. You hear me shout!" 
 
 "Well, of all the insolent brats I ever saw! Get out 
 — get out of this office!" 
 
 "You refuse to deliver?" 
 
202 Stark Triumphant. 
 
 "Yes! Get out!" 
 
 "All right. I'm going. You'll remember what I 
 just said before this yere day is over. That's all." 
 
 Without another word, the Kansas lad turned and 
 walked out of the office as calmly as he had entered it. 
 
Coals of Fire. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 COALS OF FIRE. 
 
 Walter Stark had remained a silent witness of the 
 iaterview between the boy from the West and the 
 triumphant speculator and schemer. There was a 
 strange look on Walter's face, and he seemed strug- 
 gling to overcome certain feelings that sought to rise 
 Within him. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Cyrus, when Bart was gone. 
 ''That young whelp has nerve to tell me I will be a 
 ruined man by night!" 
 
 Walter said not a word, but taking his hat, hurriedly 
 left the office. 
 
 Down the single flight of stairs he bounded, quickly 
 reaching the street. He was in time to see Bart walk- 
 ing away with a swinging stride, and he immediately 
 started after the Kansas lad. 
 
 At first it seemed as if Walter would overtake Bart 
 in a few minutes, but the young cowboy was soon 
 joined by Roger Van Worth, and the pursuer fell back. 
 
 Still he followed along, although he scarcely knew 
 why he was doing so. He saw the man and boy talk- 
 ing together earnestly as they walked through a side 
 street toward the elevated railroad. 
 
 All at once Walter was startled by a sudden shout of 
 alarm, and he saw people running swiftly from the 
 locality, some of them waving their hands wildly to 
 him. 
 
 "Lookout! Run! run!" 
 
204 Coals of Fire. 
 
 Realizing there must be some great danger, he 
 started to get away, but something came swirling 
 through the air with a rattling sound, and he was 
 hurled to the ground. A crash followed, and he found 
 himself held fast by a staging that had fallen from a 
 new building which was being erected. 
 
 Walter was about to thank his lucky stars he had 
 not been killed, when, glancing upward, he saw a spec- 
 tacle that filled him with unutterable horror. 
 
 The building was a poor affair, and the fall of the 
 staging was simply a sort of forewarning of what was 
 to follow, for the whole front wall of the structure was 
 slowly bulging outward. 
 
 In less than a minute it must fall crashing into the 
 street, and the unlucky boy, held helpless by the stag- 
 ing, would be instantly crushed to death. 
 
 It was remarkable the agony of that terrible moment 
 did not turn Walter's hair white as snow. He seemed 
 to see the heavy bricks and stones bulging outward 
 inch by inch, and he expected the whole wall to come 
 thundering down at any second. 
 
 Through his brain flashed one thought: 
 
 "This is my just punishment!" 
 
 Then he realized how desperately wicked he had 
 been, and he shuddered at the black stain he seemed to 
 behold on his own soul. He remembered how the boy 
 from the West had saved him from destruction beneath 
 the express train, and how he had rewarded him by 
 leaving him to the mercy of the fire that was consum- 
 ing the old road house. 
 
 It seemed he suffered all the agony of eternal punish- 
 ment in the awful moment when this passed through 
 his mind. Then came the thought that he would give 
 anything to live to square himself — to wipe away the 
 black stain. 
 
Coals of Fire. 20$ 
 
 Another great shout went up from the crowd, for a 
 figure suddenly dashed forward beneath the shaking 
 wall, unmindful of the appalling danger. 
 
 Walter saw a person come springing to his side, and 
 then, to his infinite amazement, he recognized Bart 
 Stone. "You'll be killed!" he gasped. 
 
 If Bart heard the words, he did not heed them, for, 
 with a remarkable display of strength, he grasped the 
 fallen staging and wrenched it from the prostrate lad. 
 Then, without the loss of a second, he caught Walter 
 up, flung him over his shoulder, and ran from the spot, 
 hearing a wild burst of cheers from the spectators. 
 
 Down came the wall with a crashing roar, literally 
 shaking the ground, and filling the air with dust and 
 debris, in the midst of which the two boys were swal- 
 lowed up from view ! 
 
 The cheers from the crowd were silenced in an in- 
 stant — changed to groans of horror. 
 
 "They have been killed!" cried scores of voices. 
 
 And then out of the blinding, swirling cloud of dust 
 staggered the boy from the West, still bearing Walter 
 Stark on his shoulder; reeled forward, stumbled, re- 
 covered himself — reached a place of safety ! Then 
 Walter, saved from instant annihilation by the boy he 
 had so shamefully treated, was placed on his feet, 
 stunned and confused, but practically almost unharmed. 
 
 Again the spectators cheered, but some of the poor 
 laborers had been crushed in the collapsed building, and 
 the attention of the crowd was soon turned from the 
 two boys. 
 
 "Thar!" panted Bart, as he brushed the dust from 
 his eyes and looked at Walter; "I kind of judge I 
 didn't yank ye out of that too sudden — none whatever." 
 
 The face of the other boy was ghastly pale, but he 
 managed to gasp: 
 
206 Coals of Fire. 
 
 "Did you know whom you were saving — for whom 
 you were imperiling your life?" 
 
 "Wa-al, I knew when I got to yer, if I didn't know 
 before." 
 
 "Then why didn't you leave me there?" 
 
 "That yere an't my way of doing business, pard," 
 was the reply. 
 
 "But I left you for the fire. Didn't you think of 
 that?" I 
 
 "Yes, I thought of it." 
 
 "And still you pulled me out! I don't understand." 
 
 At this juncture, Roger Van Worth came hurrying 
 toward them, crying: 
 
 "My dear boy, I feared you were crushed! That 
 was a brave act — a noble act." 
 
 "Oh, that thar wasn't much," protested Bart, who 
 feared he was to be overwhelmed with praise. "It 
 wasn't nothing like riding across the front of a stam- 
 peded herd and picking up a baby that would have been 
 run down by the critters — and I done that once." 
 
 "Who did you save? Where is he?" I 
 
 "Right hyar " 
 
 But Walter had disappeared into the crowd that was 
 surging around the spot. 
 
 "He's gone!" exclaimed Bart, in astonishment. "It 
 was Walter Stark." 
 
 "That worthless young rascal!" cried Roger. "You 
 took your life in your hands to save him, and he did 
 not even thank you ! He will simply await his time to 
 do you an injury as reward !" 
 
 In the meantime Walter was moving swiftly from 
 the spot, his mind filled with a turbulent vortex of 
 emotions. He was overwhelmed with shame and dis- 
 gust for himself, for which reason he had slipped away 
 from his rescuer, whom he could not face. 
 
Coals of Fire. 207 
 
 Straight to his father's office he hurried, staggering 
 in at the door and dropping limply into a chair. 
 
 "Goodness, Walt!" cried the elder Stark, in alarm. 
 "What has happened? You are white and trembling, 
 besides being covered with dirt. You followed that 
 Stone brat from the office. Has he " 
 
 "That Stone brat, as you call him, just saved my 
 life," returned the boy, in a shaking voice. "But for 
 him I would have been crushed beneath the walls of 
 the new Douglas Building, which has just collapsed." 
 
 Then he told the whole story from beginning to end, 
 while the man listened with horror and dismay. 
 
 "That is just our infernal luck!" stormed Stark at 
 the conclusion. " Why couldn't it have been somebody 
 else who saved you?" 
 
 "Because it was the will of fate that coals of fire 
 should be heaped on us by the boy whom we have both 
 treated shamefully," exclaimed Walter. "Look here, 
 governor, are you going to do the square thing by 
 him?" 
 
 "The square thing?" gasped Stark, in astonishment. 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "Are you going to give him the stock that really be- 
 longs to him? Are you " 
 
 "What?" screamed the man, rushing madly about 
 the office. "You are crazy! You have turned against 
 your own father ! Get out of my sight instantly — get 
 out, I say!" 
 
 And the enraged man actually drove his son from 
 the office. 
 
 JV 
 
2o8 Stark's Defiance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 STARK'S DEFIANCB. 
 
 At twenty minutes past three on the afternoon of 
 that same day Cyrus Stark, his face pale and drawn, 
 was pacing wildly up and down his office, while Jubal 
 Heep vainly tried to quiet him. 
 
 "What's the use, Stark!" exclaimed the lawyer, 
 rubbing his hawk-like nose with his forefinger. "It's 
 all over for to-day, and " 
 
 "To-morrow is coming, and I may be a ruined man 
 fifteen minutes after the Exchange opens 1" 
 
 "The tide may turn in your favor." 
 
 "It will not! I am sure of it!" 
 
 "Oh, you can never tell anything about luck." 
 
 Stark paused and faced Heep squarely, crying : 
 
 "Luck? Do you imagine for a moment this is luck, 
 man? If you do, you are a fool !" 
 
 The lawyer's face flushed, but he could not afford to 
 resent the plain words of this man who had put thou- 
 sands of dollars into his pocket, so he spoke as quietly 
 as possible : 
 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 "I do not think anything about it; I know somebody 
 has engineered this deal against me. S. P. and N. M. 
 was unmercifully hammered. Somebody unloaded on 
 the market, and nobody dared buy, so the stuff took a 
 fearful slump. See just when this thing happened 1 
 Why, if it had been at any other time, I could have 
 gathered in everything in sight, and that would have 
 
Stark's Defiance. 209 
 
 kept quotations up and stopped every petty stockholder 
 from getting in a panic and flinging all they held of 
 the stuff on the market. As it was, I drew to my last 
 dollar. I tell j t ou fate is against me, and there is no 
 hope! To-morrow will finish the job!" 
 
 "Be calm, Stark! You are working yourself into a 
 fearful condition." 
 
 "Calm? How can a man be calm with ruin staring 
 him in the face? You talk like an idiot, HeepI" 
 
 At this moment the door opened and Walter Stark 
 entered. His face was very grave, and he seemed 
 about to say something, but at sight of him, Stark be- 
 gan to rave still more furiously. 
 
 "Here is a son to be proud of! Look at him ! Even 
 he has turned against his father!" 
 
 "Walter did not resent this, but he asked, his voice 
 hoarse and unnatural : 
 
 "Is this report in circulation about you true, father?" 
 
 " What report?" 
 
 "It is common talk that you are on the brink of 
 ruin." 
 
 That was enough to put Stark in a perfect frenzy of 
 passion, and he certainly seemed like a maniac for the 
 next few minutes. 
 
 "It is the work of my enemies!" he snarled, literally 
 gnashing his teeth. "That infernal Kansas brat hoo- 
 dooed me ! I have had nothing but the worst kind of 
 luck since he appeared !" 
 
 "Perhaps it is a case of retribution," said Walter, 
 coldly. "Did you ever injure his father or mother 
 in——" 
 
 With a terrible scream, Stark rushed at the boy and 
 struck him in the face with his clinched fist. 
 
 "Shut up! Do you dare talk to me like this?" 
 
 Walter staggered, and then he calmly took out a 
 
210 Stark's Defiance. 
 
 handkerchief and held it to the place where his father's 
 fist had left its mark. There was a strange look in the 
 boy's eyes — a look that did a great deal to quiet Cyrus 
 Stark. 
 "I will not forget this, sirl" said the younger Stark. 
 
 •♦You " 
 
 He said no more, for the door opened again, and 
 Bart Stone strode into .the office, walking straight 
 toward the man against whom he had waged a relent- 
 less battle. Stark suddenly cowered and fell back be- 
 fore the Kansas lad, huskily asking: 
 
 "Well, what do you want now?" 
 
 "I have your draft for one hundred thousand dollars, 
 made payable to bearer. At five minutes before three 
 this yere afternoon I presented it at the bank, and they 
 'lowed you didn't have any funds corraled thar. I 
 have come to you for the cash, and I reckon you'll find 
 it healthy to pan out right lively." 
 
 Stark sat down on a chair, a sneering look settling 
 on his face, as he returned : 
 
 "I suppose you have that check I gave Van Worth?" 
 
 " Wa-al, you're right." 
 
 "I decline to pay it." 
 
 "'Cause why? It is made payable'to bearer." 
 
 "I know it, but I think I'll just let you whistle for 
 it." 
 
 "Then I reckon I'll bring suit against you to- 
 morrow, Mr. Cyrus Stark. Maybe that'll bring ye to 
 your senses." 
 
 "Go ahead, you young whelp! That was in pay- 
 ment of a gambling debt, and no man can be forced to 
 pay such debts by law." 
 
 "That thar's all right, but you have paid it with a 
 worthless check, and I reckon it puts you in a bad 
 hole." 
 
Stark's Defiance. 211 
 
 "Go ahead and do your worst!" 
 
 "Give me the stock of the White Hawse Mine, and 
 this yere draft is yours." 
 
 "Never! Do your worst!" 
 
 Bart walked quietly to the door and opened it, call- 
 ing: 
 
 "Mr. Van Worth." 
 
 Roger sauntered into the office, nodding shortly to 
 Heep and speaking to Stark : 
 
 "How do you do, sir. I was waiting outside to see 
 if the boy could make a deal with you. I infer he has 
 failed, but I may be able to bring you to your senses." 
 
 "Bah!" sneered the speculator. "You'll find me 
 the hardest man you ever tackled !" 
 
 "Possibly I can bring you to time. To begin with, 
 I will tell you just what we want : You must deliver up 
 the certificates of the White Horse Mine stock, and you 
 must also make a complete confession of the truth re- 
 lating to the death of Norman Stone." 
 
 Stark arose to his feet, his face purple with fury. 
 
 "Get out of my office !" he grated, grinding his teeth. 
 "Get out before I do you injury!" 
 
 Roger looked him steadily in the eyes, returning 
 with the greatest deliberation : 
 
 "When we leave this office, we will have all we de- 
 mand. This is the end of the game, Mr. Cyrus Stark, 
 and you are beaten. You will soon realize that. Lis- 
 ten : To-day you were nearly swamped by the slump of 
 the S. P. and N. M. I was at the bottom of that, and 
 I accomplished my purpose — I brought you to the very 
 door of ruin. I could have snowed you under if I had 
 desired, for I hold a controlling interest in the S. P. 
 and N. M. I chose to show you my power, and then 
 give you a chance to save yourself. That is why I am 
 here." 
 
2i2 Stark's Defiance. 
 
 "How kind!" sneered the cornered rascal, with a 
 desperate attempt at bravado. 
 
 "If S. P. and N. M. drops five points to-morrow 
 morning, you are a ruined man," Roger went on, de- 
 liberately. "Unless you come to terms without delay, 
 I shall instruct my brokers to unload as soon as the 
 Exchange is opened in the morning. All I have will 
 be dumped on the market in a lump, and you can 
 imagine the result." 
 
 Stark's face was very pale, and he made one or two 
 unsuccessful efforts to speak. Finally, he managed to 
 huskily ask: 
 
 "If I give up the White Horse Mine will you agree 
 r,o hold the S. P. and N. M. shares now in your posses- 
 sion and deliver that draft to me?" 
 
 "I will agree to hold what I have and gather in all 
 afloat if you deliver the White Horse certificates and 
 sign this confession." 
 
 Roger produced a typewritten paper and handed it 
 to Stark, who hastily read it through, the look of min- 
 gled rage and terror deepening on his face. 
 
 "What is your answer?" demanded Mr. Van Worth. 
 
 "This!" 
 
 Stark tore the paper in two and flung it, a crumpled 
 mass, into Roger's face, almost shrieking : 
 
 "Idefyyoui" 
 
Victory at Last. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 VICTORY AT LAST. 
 
 That Cyrns Stark was in earnest in his defiance 
 there could not be a doubt, and still Roger Van Worth 
 did not give up dofeated. 
 
 "Sir," he said quietly, "that is the confession of 
 Buck Prindle. He was in the White Horse Mine and 
 saw Norman Stone walk to his death. You were there 
 and saw it also. Prindle had fired the blast, and you 
 were at his side when you saw Mr. Stone about to enter 
 the passage. A word of warniDg would have kept him 
 from goiDg to his death. Prindle would have cried out 
 to him, but you put your hand over the miner's mouth, 
 whispering in his ear for him to be silent. And so you 
 let Norman Stone go to his death." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" sneered Stark, forcing a laugh. "That 
 is a very fine tale to tell, but it is all rot, rot! It is 
 something you have concocted to injure me." 
 
 "Prindle was supported by you for a time after this," 
 Roger contiuued. "He had a hold on you, and you 
 feared him. When he got in trouble in Chicago, you 
 took pains to have him sent up for a good long period, 
 all the while pretending you were his friend and were 
 trying to save him. Now he has been pardoned, he 
 has made this confession." 
 
 "You tell it very nicely," said Stark, puttingona 
 bold front. "But let me tell you, Mr. Roger Van 
 "Worth, I propose to bring suit against you for defama- 
 
214 Victory at Last. 
 
 tion of character. Perhaps that will silence your slan- 
 derous tongue." 
 
 "When I am done with 3-ou, you will bring no suit," 
 came sternly from Roger's lips. "You will find I can 
 prove all I have to say." 
 
 Stark had already been badly shaken, but he stiffened 
 up once more, crying, derisively: 
 
 "Prove it! How can you prove it?" 
 
 "By Prindle's confession." 
 
 "That won't go, man. I do not believe Prindle ever 
 made such a confession — and he lied if he did." 
 
 " What if I show you his confession, properly made 
 out, sigued, and witnessed." 
 
 "You can't." 
 
 "That is where you fool yourself. Here it is. Ex- 
 amine it, and see if it is genuine." 
 
 Roger took another document from his pocket and 
 placed it in Stark's shaking fingers. The man's eyes 
 ran over the written words and rested on the signature 
 at the end. The gaze of all within the office was fixed 
 on him, and they saw him suddenly rend the paper 
 into fragments, while he shouted : 
 
 "How much good will your confession do you now, 
 you fool! You were not very sharp when you allowed 
 me to take it in my hands ! Where is your proof now?" 
 
 "I will have to produce Prindle himself," was the 
 quiet retort. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! That bluff does not go. Prindle 
 cannot be produced, my dear man." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "He is dead." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "No, I do not think so — I k?ioiv it." 
 
 Bart Stone had quietly walked to the office door, and 
 he now stood with his hand on the knob, listening to 
 
Victory at Last. 215 
 
 all that passed, and watching Roger Van Worth. He 
 seemed to be awaiting a signal. 
 
 "Buck Prindle is within sound of my voice," de- 
 clared Roger, with great impressiveness. "He lives, 
 
 I and he is " 
 
 ! "Here!" 
 
 The boy from the West suddenly flung open the 
 door, and into the room walked the ex-convict, followed 
 by a uniformed officer. 
 
 Cyrus Stark stood like one turned to stone, his eyes 
 staring, his face ghastly in hue. Not a sound came 
 from his parted lips, but the look of horror he wore told 
 that he imagined himself confronted by one returned 
 from the dead. 
 
 Prindle faced the chief scoundrel squarely, and a 
 breathless silence reigned in that room. 
 
 The silence was broken by a horrible sound — a gur- 
 gling groan that was like a death rattle. Then Cyrus 
 Stark pitched forward on his face, striking the floor 
 with a heavy thud, and making no further move. 
 
 Roger Van Worth dropped on his knees beside the 
 man, turning him over and ripping open his coat and 
 vest to feel beneath them. 
 
 Jubal Heep aroused himself from a sort of stupor, 
 caught his breath with a rasping sound, and then cried : 
 
 "Somebody go for a physician — quick! Stark is 
 : dying!" 
 
 "It is too late to save him," declared Roger Van 
 Worth solemnly. "He is already dead !" 
 
 The day following Cyrus Stark's funeral Bart Stone 
 received a message inviting him to call at Jubal Heep's 
 office at two o'clock in the afternoon and bring Roger 
 Van Worth with him. 
 
 Promptly at the appointed hour the man and boy en- 
 
216 Victory at Last. 
 
 tered the lawyer's office, to be received with a great 
 show of cordiality by the obsequious Heep. 
 
 "lam pleased to meet you again, Mr. Stone — how 
 do you do, Mr. Van Worth? Have seats, gentlemen. 
 Mr. Walter Stark should be on hand now. I am sure 
 he will arrive in a few moments." 
 
 "Our time is valuable," asserted Roger. "The ap- 
 pointment was made for two o'clock." 
 
 "I am aware of it, gentlemen, and I regret any de- 
 lay, I assure you. Still, I think it will pay you to 
 wait a short time. I am sur — Ah! here is Mr. 
 Stark." 
 
 Walter came in slowly. His face was haggard and 
 his eyes blood-shot. His appearance seemed to indi- 
 cate he had scarcely known sleep for days. 
 
 He half hesitated, looked at the man and boy, then 
 removed his hat, and made a bow. His lips moved as 
 if he would speak, but he seemed to change his mind, 
 for he said nothing. 
 
 Walter walked to Heep's desk and made a movement 
 the lawyer seemed to understand, for he opened a small 
 safe at his back and took out a package. This package 
 was placed on the desk, and then Walter faced Roger 
 and Bart again, speaking huskily 
 
 "My father is dead, and the fight is ended. Still, 
 Mr. Stone has not obtained his just and lawful rights, 
 for I am satisfied the White Horse Mine belongs to 
 him. The entire certificates of the old stock are in 
 this bundle. As soon as the mine is properly opened 
 up again this stock will be gilt-edged. Mr. Heep tells 
 me I can hold it for all of anything you can do, but I 
 have decided that that would be unjust, not to say 
 criminal. I now deliver this stock to Mr. Stone, and 
 trust it may bring him more happiness than it ever 
 brought to my poor father." 
 
Victory at Last. 2 1 7 
 
 He walked up to Bart and placed the bundle in the 
 hands of the Kansas lad. Then Walter returned to 
 the desk, speaking once more : 
 
 "I wish to apologize to Mr. Stone for my treatment 
 of him. I am aware my acts were reprehensible and I 
 realize his nobleness. Twice he placed his own life in 
 peril to save mine, the second time after I had aban- 
 doned him to the flames in the old roadhouse. I think 
 it was that last act which opened my eyes to my own 
 meanness of soul and his nobility. I have been 
 ashamed of myself ever since, and I now humbly ask 
 his pardon." 
 
 " Wa-al, I'd be meaner than a mule if I didn't grant 
 it after this yere!" cried Bart promptly. "I don't 
 hold any hardness, pard, and thar's my paw to prove 
 I's squar' in saying so!" 
 
 He strode forward and held out his hand. Walter 
 hesitated a moment, and then grasped it, his chin quiv- 
 ering and a suspicious moisture dimming his eyes. 
 
 "You are white!" he huskily exclaimed — "white to 
 the bone!" 
 
 Last year the White Horse Mine was opened once 
 more by a stock company of which Roger Van Worth 
 was the president, although Bartley Stone held the 
 bulk of the stock. The rediscovered lead proved re- 
 markably rich, and the stock of the concern was soon 
 quoted at a premium. The quotations have risen grad- 
 ually since then, but there is at the present time not a 
 share to be purchased. It is not on the market at any 
 price. 
 
 Buck Prindle is employed in the mine, and he seems 
 in earnest about wishing to live an honest life. 
 
 After the loss of Cyrus Stark's patronage, which was 
 ended by death, Jubal Heep was soon forced to give up 
 
218 Victory at Last. 
 
 his office in the expensive building and retire to cheaper 
 quarters. In less than a year he was located on the 
 Bowery, and scornfully termed a "shyster" by all who 
 knew him. Wilson disappeared altogether. 
 
 Ned Steinway is the same worthless young dandy, 
 his great object in life being to become known as "a 
 dead game sport" and man-about- town. 
 
 Walter Stark learned his lesson, and he cut clear of 
 Steinway and his ilk, greatly to his advantage. He 
 made a resolution to become a man among men, square 
 and upright, and the prospect looks encouraging at the 
 present time, for, finding his father had left nothing 
 behind, he obtained a position in a wholesale commer- 
 cial house, and has been advanced until he is now ship- 
 ping clerk in one of their largest departments. 
 
 Ferda Van Worth is just as pretty and vivacious as 
 ever, and she firmly believes her father the grandest 
 man in the world, and Bartley Stone the noblest boy 
 that ever lived. 
 
 As for Bart, he is proud of Ferda's esteem, and in 
 his heart there is an undying friendship for her that 
 may ripen into a stronger attachment in the years to 
 come. 
 
 Bart's mother, a sweet-faced, white-haired lady, is 
 now enjoying the comforts of life, of which she was 
 temporarily deprived by the perfidy of Cyrus Stark. 
 Her heart kindles with joy and her eyes glow with 
 pride whenever she thinks of her only son, and the 
 noble record he has already made. 
 
 "God has been very good to give me such a boy!" 
 she murmurs day after day. 
 
 For all of past shadows, the world looks bright to 
 her, as it also does for the Boy from the West. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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