Wide Awake Magazine, Volume 4, Number 3, January 10, 1916

by Various

SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS

CHIP MERRIWELL and his friends fall out with Kadir Dhin, a Hindu student at Fardale, whom Colonel Gunn brought from abroad. Chip trails him as he sneaks out of the barracks at night, and thwarts an attempt to abduct Rose Maitland, whose father, an English officer from India, was murdered in France, from the home of Colonel Gunn. The colonel tells Chip, in a veiled way, that the man who murdered Rose’s father did it because he and his daughter violated a religious sanctuary, and that her father’s fate is planned for Rose. Chip and his friends shadow Kadir Dhin, and look for mysterious strangers, at Gunn’s request. On Christmas Eve Rose is missing, and Clancy and Kess, unable to find Chip, go to the railroad station, and see Bully Carson tip the baggageman as a curious-looking trunk is put on the train. Clan and Kess board the train, and the trunk is put off at Carsonville, where they discover that it has been occupied by the unconscious form of Chip.

CHAPTER VIII.
Bully Carson Explains.

THE shrewd eyes of Colonel Carson sparkled with a sly twinkle. He sat before his deep-throated fireplace, in his home in Carsonville. Into the room he had called his son Bully, to receive from him a full account of the recent startling happenings, and the result of the investigation which had followed.

Bully had come in prepared to put his part in the affair in the best light possible. Yet he would speak to his father with more openness than he would to any one else, for it was known that the elder Carson had sown, in his youth, a pretty big crop of wild oats himself.

With that sly, humorous twinkle, Carson turned on his hopeful son. In a way he was proud of Bully, though he raged at him daily.

“I hear ye got out of it, Bully, but it took some hard work and tall lyin’. I’ve jest got home, but I’ve been hearin’ about it; I’d been down to that investigation myself if I’d been here. Prob’ly some o’ the things I’ve heard ain’t so. So ye can jest straighten me out about it.”

This was so much better than Bully had anticipated that the sour expression passed from his coarse red face. Feeling more comfortable, he stood up, with his broad back to the fire, and, taking out a cigar, bit off the end of it and scratched a match.

“Well, ’twas the funniest and sing’larest thing that ever came down the pike, dad, and for a while it looked ’s if they had me in bad. It was Clancy and Kess that went gunnin’ for me, and come nigh bringin’ me down. But I’ll git even with ’em for that, see!”

He lighted his cigar, and stood smoking.

“And me and Chip Merriwell are due to have some interestin’ times, too. They’re all in together, and he has hit at me more than once.”

“Young Merriwell was in a box or trunk in the baggage car, unconscious and about dead, when they put it off here, and you was charged with havin’ that trunk or box put on the car. Of course you didn’t, and know nothin’ about it. You’re a mighty big fool at times, Bully, but you’re not so big a one as that; and there’d have been no sense in it.”

Bully’s face glowed to a dull and angry crimson, as he recalled the grilling he had been put through by the police officers because of that accusation.

“Me and that young Hindu, Kadir Dhin, was charged with doin’ it; and they’d have fastened it on him sure if Colonel Gunn hadn’t come to his help; for, you see, it was Kadir Dhin’s Hindu trunk that they found Merriwell in. It looked mighty bad for him a while, and looked bad for me, too, jest because I had been with him not long before, and had given the baggage man a quarter at the station for bringin’ down for me a box of stuff from Dickey’s that it would have cost me a dollar to send in the reg’lar way.

“There’s a whole big story back of it, dad,” Bully explained, “and there were some things I didn’t know myself until Gunn made that statement to the officers. Kadir Dhin had been treating me fine as silk, and I was going around with him a lot. He had spendin’ money, and he wasn’t afraid to blow it. It wasn’t my bizness to ask him how he got it. Yet he came to Fardale, as you recklect, as a sort of charity student. I thought he had mebby been gamblin’, and had been lucky.

“He was talkin’ ag’inst Merriwell, and plannin’ ways to do him, and I liked that. And we did ‘do’ him, in the end, as I’ll tell you.

“It started when that girl was missin’ out of Gunn’s house, where she has been stayin’. Old Gunn sent out an alarm about it, and telephoned the constable. In a little while it seemed as if half the town was searchin’ for her. Kadir Dhin and me had been trying to annoy Merriwell that forenoon, when he was out sleighin’ with her, by follerin’ him round in another sleigh.”

“You did that?” growled the elder Carson, with a sniff of displeasure, as he pulled at his yellow-gray goatee. “’Twasn’t the act of a gentleman, son.”

But Bully answered, with a careless laugh:

“Anyhow, ’twas fun. We was hopin’ to make him so mad that afterward he would want to climb us, and so give us a chance to double on him together and trim him good. Kadir Dhin had it in for him for a knock-out blow Merry had given him, and I’ve got some things to remember.

“Well, when she was missin’ that afternoon, and we saw Merriwell goin’ toward the lake lookin’ for her, we follered him again. When we got down there, I turned back, because it was so cold; so I didn’t see what happened, and there’s two stories about it.

“Kadir Dhin says he found the girl bewildered and wanderin’ about in that timbered cove beyond the Pavilion, and was tryin’ to lead her home, when Merriwell came on him and attacked him; the attack comin’ so sudden, Kadir Dhin says, that he had no time to defend himself before he was knocked stiff in the snow.

“I think that’s right, too,” said Bully. “For that’s the way he told it to me, when he met me again, close by the corner, at Gunn’s. Merriwell had brought the girl home, and was then in the house. Kadir Dhin had follered. And, say, he was lookin’ wicked; a man lookin’ as he did then would sure put a knife in a feller in the dark!

“As he begun to tell me about it, we walked on, over toward the barracks. He was ravin’. There’s nobody much at the barracks now, because nearly all the fellers have gone home for the holidays. And we stood there, talkin’ it over, Kadir Dhin sayin’ he wished Merriwell would come along, on his way to his room in the barracks; that he wanted to meet him there, and settle with him.

“And just then we saw him comin’ from Gunn’s. Kadir Dhin put his hand in his coat pocket, and I thought he was divin’ for a knife.

“‘None o’ that,’ I says to him; ‘there’s two of us’; and, if he had a knife, he didn’t draw it. But he turned a funny yellow kind o’ white, and I knew that something was coming. ‘Go at him fair,’ I says, ‘and I’ll back you.’”

“Right out in public, too!” commented Colonel Carson; “shows how many different kinds of idiot y’ aire, Bully!”

“It seemed quiet enough; nobody on the parade ground, and didn’t seem to be anybody in the barracks. Anyhow, then was the time, if it was to be done; and you’re to recklect that it wasn’t me, but the Hindu, that planned it.

“‘I want to speak with you,’ said Kadir Dhin, when Merriwell came up; ‘I’m goin’ to settle with you right now!’ He didn’t strike out at him, but slid his hand along, as if he was tryin’ to get Merriwell by the throat. At that, Merriwell hit him and knocked him back against the barracks wall. And then I came in.”

He stopped and drew in his breath heavily.

“When you fight your own battles, Bully, I don’t object; but when you fight those of other people, and no coin coming in for it——”

“That’s all right, dad; but I’d owed Merriwell a licking a long time.”

“And you took that chance to pay it?”

“I guess he thinks I paid him; but for a while he prob’bly wasn’t in a condition to appreciate it. We left him layin’ there in the snow. When we had started off, we saw him crawl to his feet and stagger int’ the buildin’.” Bully laughed gleefully. “He sure was lookin’ sick!”

“And this young Hindu went away with ye?”

“He went as far as the street corner beyond the parade ground. And I didn’t see him again until we was both of us hauled up before the officers, here, charged with puttin’ Merriwell in that trunk and tryin’ to kill him.”

“How did he git into that trunk?” the elder Carson demanded. “You said it was Kadir Dhin’s!”

“Blessed if I know how he did git into it!” Bully declared. “Jest between you and me, dad, it looks like Kadir Dhin went back there to the barracks and mebby found him in a faint from that lickin’, and put him in. But Kadir Dhin says he didn’t. Merriwell told the officers that after he got to his room he fainted, and that when he came to he was here in Carsonville, and he didn’t know, himself, how ’twas done. Kadir Dhin told the officers that he didn’t go back to the barracks at all, after leaving me at the corner; but that after a while he went down to the station, and when he saw the trunk there he looked at it, wonderin’ whose it was, as it looked so much like his, and had no marks on it.

“And it was right there,” said Bully, “when he wasn’t being believed, and the thing would have been cinched on him, that Colonel Gunn came popping in to his rescue, with the most amazing yarn ye ever listened to.”

“I think I heard some o’ that; but you go over it, for mebby I didn’t git it straight. Seems to me, Bully, you was mighty reckless all along, and it’s a wonder to me y’ ain’t in the jail.”

He was looking at Bully closely; his brows were furrowed, and the half-humorous light had faded out of his eyes. He was again pulling at his yellow-gray goatee, this time nervously.

“Colonel Gunn said,” Bully explained, “that a Hindu soldier who had killed the girl’s father in France was known to be somewhere around here, and once before had tried to carry her off; and ’twas his belief that this Hindu had got into the barracks.

“And then,” added Bully, “to bolster this, they brought on again the hackman who had taken the trunk to the station. He had said that a dark-faced feller, who was dressed in the Fardale cadet uniform, had hired him to take the trunk to the station; and he had identified Kadir Dhin as bein’ that feller. But now, when he heard what Gunn said about it, he backed water, and admitted that though the dark-faced feller looked like Kadir Dhin, it might not have been him; he couldn’t identify Kadir Dhin as being the one, he said. Now, what d’ye think of that?”

“Lied!” snorted Carson.

“But Kadir Dhin has told me himself that he knows nothin’ about it.”

“He lied, too!”

“Anyway, they let Kadir Dhin off, on account of what Colonel Gunn told ’em; and now officers are out lookin’ for the other Hindu.”

“They won’t find him,” said Carson.

He glared at his son.

“Bully, I’ve tried to give ye some instructions, ye know. I’ve said to you that a man is ginrally justified in takin’ a sportin’ chance on ‘most anything that promises good money, but that to be safe he’s allus got to keep on the right side o’ the law.”

“Wasn’t I?” Bully roared. “I might ’a’ been fined for fightin’, but what else? I didn’t have anything to do with that trunk bizness.”

“Who checked that trunk?”

“Nobody. That’s the funny part of it. The men at the station shoved it into the car without noticin’, seein’ it there with other trunks, and the baggageman didn’t notice; or, he says he didn’t, until Clancy called it to his attention.

“Clancy and Kess thought they had heard some one groaning in the trunk, and when it went into the car they went in, too; and then when they heard the sound again, in the car, they raised a row, and the trunk was put off here and opened.

“Now, there’s the case,” said Bully, breathing heavily. “Only, the baggageman will get fired; for he was held here and questioned by the officers, and when they drove him into a corner he had to admit that he had received a quarter from me for carryin’ the box I brought down from Dickey’s. I had told that, to save my own bacon, when it seemed they was goin’ to prove that I had given him the money for transportin’ the trunk; and he had to say that it was so, that it was only the box I had paid for.”

“I reckon that baggageman lied about knowin’ no more than he said about the trunk,” Carson observed. “Don’t you think he did, Bully?”

“I don’t know, dad.”

“Well, it’s mixin’. Where’s Merriwell?”

“He’s been sent home; he was all in, hardly able to tell his story. I may git fined yet,” he added uneasily, “for toyin’ with him too rough there at the barracks. But Clancy and Kess are still here and——”

“Keep away from ’em.”

“Dad, I won’t,” Bully declared; “not until I’ve finished with ’em. And there’ll be some good money, as well as satisfaction, in linin’ up ag’inst ’em. It will be Kadir Dhin and the Duke and me and a lot more, inside the barracks and out, that will be havin’ some interesting sessions with Clancy, Merriwell, and company. Dad, you can count on that. And the Duke—well, you know he has got money to burn, and I’ll never refuse to help him burn it. He’s been talkin’ to me since this examination, and he says that this whole thing can be used to put Chip Merriwell on the run, and we can now down him.”

The twinkle came again into the eyes of the elder Carson. He admired pluck, and had been a rough-and-tumble fighter in his youth.

“I can’t jest approve of the way two of you jumped onto Merriwell,” he observed; “things like that tend to accumulate a reppytation for cowardice, Bully. Reppytation is a thing to be considered. Basil, or the Duke, as you call him, is a fool with money, and I can’t blame ye much for wantin’ to git next. But be careful, Bully. A sportin’ proposition is one thing, but takin’ criminal chances is another. Allus keep on the right side o’ the law, Bully; in the long run it pays better.”

He tugged at his goatee again.

“But that cur’us trunk case is shore mixin’. Bully, I think more’n one feller done some tall lyin’!”

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CHAPTER IX.
Some Investigations.

WHEN Chip Merriwell returned to Fardale, he found himself against the line-up of which Bully Carson had spoken to his father.

But he had received word of it before, Clancy had written to him about it. And it was the first subject that Clan took up, when he met Chip at the station on the latter’s return.

“I suppose Kess and I are to blame,” said Clan remorsefully, “just because we weren’t satisfied with getting you out of that trunk, but tried to unload on Kadir Dhin the crime of putting you there. But they oughtn’t to hold that against you. Colonel Gunn oughtn’t, anyway.”

“Sure nodt,” agreed Kess, who was with him. “Vodt dhey ar-re saying apoudt me ton’dt hurdt nopoty, but dhey ar-re making you oudt a willain yoost like us.”

Chip laughed; Kess amused him. And he was feeling physically fit again, which, of itself, makes for light-heartedness. He had been sent home “all in”; now he was back, at the end of the Christmas holidays, ready again to enter the old Fardale school and reassume the leadership of the loyal fellows who were always his friends.

“We are all villains together, eh?” he commented.

“The sympathy stunt is being worked hard for Kadir Dhin,” Clan reported. “You accused him of trying to kidnap Rose Maitland, and flattened him out on the ice, and you repeated the accusation to Colonel Gunn when you got her to Gunn’s house. On top of that, Kess and I tried to make the officers down at Carsonville believe that Kadir Dhin had found you in a faint in your room in the barracks, and had put you in that trunk. I guess we went too fast in that, and there’s where the trouble begins; we couldn’t make the officers believe Kadir Dhin would put you in a trunk that could be so easily identified as his. So when Gunn came down and strung his talk about the soldier Hindu, our idea was canned, and Kadir Dhin was released, with an apology.

“And now Gunn is looking black at us, Rose Maitland is looking blacker, and every enemy you ever had seems to have come to life, and is working against you. Their leader seems to be Duke Basil, and I guess you know what that means.”

Chip knew well enough.

The previous year, Anselm Basil, familiarly known as the Duke, had come over with a number of fellows from Brightwood and entered Fardale, having discovered that it was the better school. The Duke had been the athletic leader at Brightwood, and had no notion of playing second fiddle to any one even at Fardale.

Duke Basil was an original genius. Not because he was rich, and a spendthrift, for many boys and young men are that; but because, with all his assumptions and airs and extravagances, he had athletic ability and brains of a high order, and had so many good qualities with the bad ones.

That Chip and Basil should clash, was a thing not to be avoided. Basil had declared to his friends that he intended to be the leader at Fardale, and that there could be but one. He had not made his boasts good. So the clash was renewed at the beginning of the present school year, yet so far with no very creditable results or decided victories to his account.

Now he believed he had found new leverage. In the first place, it seemed that Colonel Gunn’s good opinion of Chip and his friends had been alienated; which meant that the iron rules of the academy would be made to bear hard on them; and could be worked to their disadvantage. Kadir Dhin, the colonel’s protégé, had been made the implacable enemy of Chip and his crowd. And Bully Carson, a foe not to be despised, even though he was not in the academy, had all his old animosities re-aroused.

Clancy and Kess tried to set these things forth, as they made their way with Chip over the snowy roads from the station to the academy grounds, having preferred walking to riding in the usual “hack,” that they might talk matters over.

Chip Merriwell was thinking of how these things would influence his relations with Rose Maitland, rather than viewing them from the standpoint of his friends. He was hoping that Colonel Gunn’s adverse opinions were not affecting her, even though she were a member of his household, and Kadir Dhin had been her father’s friend and secretary.

There was always an unpleasant memory tucked in the back of Chip’s mind, which he seldom cared to take out of its pigeonhole there and consider. His first meeting with Rose Maitland could not have been more inauspicious than it was. He had knocked Kadir Dhin down in the snowy path on account of his treatment of Kess; and Rose Maitland, rushing frantically to the side of the young Hindu, had called Chip a coward, with such a sting in the word that Chip could still feel the burn of it whenever he permitted himself to let it enter his mind.

As Chip and his friends turned into the path, beyond Mrs. Winfield’s boarding house, that led to and through the parade ground, Kadir Dhin was seen standing there, much as he had been on that previous occasion, only that this time he was in conversation with Duke Basil.

“They are regular Siamese twins lately,” said Clancy, with a grin. “They knew you were to arrive to-day, and have been wondering why you didn’t ride up in the hack.”

“Uff he standts in my roadt, like vot he dit pefore——”

But Kadir Dhin was moving on toward the barracks before Kess finished his sentence. The Duke had turned toward the village, moving to meet them.

“Ah, there!” he cried, putting out his hand as Chip came up. “You’re looking fine as silk again, old top. I didn’t expect it. That little rest at home has done you a lot of good.”

For an instant Chip hesitated, then held out his hand; he would be as gentlemanly as the Duke. Indeed, it was hard not to be friendly with Duke Basil on all ordinary occasions. He had a smile and a bright way with him. It was this that made him so formidable when he pitted his strength against Chip; for this, quite as much as his money, enabled him to gather and hold friends.

“I’m all right again,” said Chip, taking the measure of the fellow with his eye. “You went home yourself, I think?”

“Sure. Had a fine time, too.”

He did not offer to shake hands with Kess and Clancy, whom he had seen before that day; but he swung on along the path, after greeting Chip.

“He iss smile like a raddlesnake pefore idt pites der handt vot feedts idt,” Kess observed. “Idt iss too badt apoudt dot veller. Aber a man iss my enemy I vandt him to look like idt.”

They found that Kadir Dhin had gone on to his room.

Chip went to his, which he occupied with Clancy. But they were soon drawn out of it by hearing Kess in a clatter of noisy words with the young Hindu.

Villum’s capacity for blundering was notorious. He had seen that Kadir Dhin’s door stood open, and had entered without apology, apparently to notify the young Hindu that Chip Merriwell had returned, and to ask:

“Undt vot vill you do apoudt idt?”

Chip was not at all averse to invading the Hindu’s room, for he wanted to get a look at the trunk in which he, unconscious, had been immured on that journey which might readily have ended in his death. The noisy words ceased when Chip and Clan came to the door.

“He iss say dot I am anodher,” Kess protested.

Chip and Clan stepped into the room, Chip with a smile which he hoped would temporarily disarm Kadir Dhin’s enmity. He glanced over at the queer, Hindu trunk or traveling chest, of itself an interesting specimen of Oriental workmanship.

“So that was the thing I was in?” he commented, ignoring Kess’ complaint. “It seems that I ought to remember it, but I don’t.”

“You remember as much about it as I do, in spite of the charges of your friends,” Kadir Dhin asserted.

There was a malevolent glare in his shiny black eyes.

Chip sat down in the nearest chair; he did not intend to be ruffled. He had long since discovered that no one gains anything by turning his quills out like a porcupine.

“I was in no position to make any claims about it; but I’ve wondered about it hundreds of times. As I was found in that thing, somebody put me there.”

“Perhaps you did it yourself,” said the young Hindu, with a sneer, though his manner was guarded; “it’s as credible as that I did it.”

Chip looked at him, when his attention was not directed toward the queer trunk. He was hoping that if Kadir Dhin really knew anything about that odd happening, by some slip, or by the expression of his face, he might reveal it.

“What is it about that Hindu soldier?” he asked. “That is, what do you know? I heard what Colonel Gunn said at that investigation, but I wasn’t in a mental condition to take it all in. Did you know the man?”

Kadir Dhin stared at him, hesitated, and then answered:

“He was my uncle.”

“Do you think he is here?”

“I know nothing about that,” said Kadir Dhin. “Ask Colonel Gunn.”

“He says the man is here, and did that.”

“Then you know as much about it as I do,” asserted Kadir Dhin, with an impatient wave of his hand.

“But do you believe it?”

“That is my business. If I say I don’t, you will then declare that I must have put you in the trunk. You’d better talk to Colonel Gunn about it. I don’t know anything.”

“You’re a Hindu?” said Clancy, butting in.

A flush of anger put color into the dark cheeks of Kadir Dhin.

“I have that honor,” he declared.

“Yet you speak English better than most Americans!”

“I was educated at the English school in Madras. If I was ignorant of the language, could I have taken a place in this school? You talk like a fool. Remember that I was Lieutenant Maitland’s secretary, translating all his written orders to his Hindu soldiers into their native dialects. I am doubtless a fool—for talking with you, but I am not an ignoramus.”

He turned to Chip:

“If you have looked at that trunk long enough, and have asked all your questions——”

“Fired!” cried Clancy. “Come on, Chip!”

“This German beer keg came in to insult me, and you followed to back him up,” said the young Hindu.

“Not at all.” Chip insisted. “But we’re going. We’ll have no words. I had a natural curiosity to see that trunk, that’s all. Thank you for the permission. Good day!”

“Oh, we’ll meet again,” said Kadir Dhin. “There’s a settlement coming, for the accusations you made against me, when you brought Miss Maitland to Gunn’s. I’ve a good memory.”

“Mine is quite as good,” Chip retorted, with a sudden scowl. “I couldn’t have been tossed into that trunk like a bag of meal if you and Bully Carson hadn’t doubled on me and pounded me senseless. Recollect that there will be other debts to pay, when you begin to pay off yours.”

Clan and Kess followed him, grumbling.

“Why didn’t you punch his head for that?” Clan demanded.

“You forget, Clan. I didn’t go there to quarrel, in the first place. Then, we’re in the barracks. And, you’ve said yourself, that Colonel Gunn would be pleased to get me in chancery. I’ve got to be careful.”

However, though he knew that Colonel Gunn was explosive and crotchety, Chip was not ready to accept the notion that the colonel would not treat him fairly in any situation.

So it was not because he wanted to test the colonel’s feelings that Chip went over to Gunn’s house that afternoon; he wanted to see Rose Maitland. The last time he had seen her she was bewildered and hysterical.

That had passed off entirely; she came in to meet him bright-eyed and smiling. Yet Chip thought she looked pale, and that her smile hid a feeling of anxiety. She soon admitted that she stood in deathly fear of the Hindu, who was still the man of mystery to Chip.

“I was feeling so safe, you know,” she said in her frank way; “the constable had given Colonel Gunn such assurances. I had been going about with confidence. So I thought I needed no one to guard me while I went out on the ice a little while. And down there everything was so quiet and peaceful that I really went farther than I meant to go; I skated on and on until I was down by the boathouse. I supposed the place was unoccupied.”

“We’ve stored our ice yacht and snowshoes and skis and things like that in it,” said Chip.

“But no one has been staying there regularly?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought. Yet the Fardale students go in and out of there, as I knew. So when I heard some one call to me from the boathouse I thought at first it was you, and then thought it must be Kadir Dhin; and, as I didn’t understand just what was said, but got the impression that you—I mean Kadir Dhin—was hurt and needed help, I ran up to the door on my skates.

“I knew that it wasn’t you—I mean Kadir Dhin—when it was too late; I was blinded by a cloth that struck me in the face as I opened the door; it fell over my head as if it would smother me; and it was filled with the odor of a powerful drug. While I fought to get my head out of the cloth, the drug overcame me.”

She was trembling; the color had left her cheeks.

“Before I became so dizzy and bewildered,” she added. “I heard the man speak, and I recognized his voice as that of Gunga Singh, the Hindu soldier who murdered my father. The odor of the drug I had encountered before, in India. A man was once murdered there, and that drug was used; I was with father when he made an investigation of the murder.”

“You didn’t see the man at all, then?” said Chip.

“No.”

“You couldn’t have been mistaken about him?”

“I know what you mean,” she said; “but I recognized his voice.”

“I found you wandering around in that cove beyond the pavilion.”

“I don’t know how I got there; by which I mean I have no remembrance of it. Of course, Gunga Singh took me there. Kadir Dhin frightened him, and he fled through the trees. Kadir Dhin was trying to guide me home. They say you accused him, and attacked him. I’m sorry. Kadir Dhin was my father’s friend, and is mine. Colonel Gunn knows that.”

Chip did not know what to say: he did not like to declare he was unconvinced.

“Kadir Dhin had come down to the lake and had gone in that direction; I thought he was not trying to lead you home. I didn’t see the other man.”

“You do think that of Kadir Dhin now?” she urged.

“I have no right to, if you are sure I am wrong.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I was excited when I brought you home. When I rushed on him, Kadir Dhin tried to shoot me; or I thought he meant to. So when Colonel Gunn came, asking questions, I said that, and accused Kadir Dhin. I saw that what I said offended Colonel Gunn.”

“Then, you had trouble with Kadir Dhin at the barracks. I’m sorry you were so quick, and did him a serious wrong. It’s too bad. I wish you could be friends. Don’t you think you were too quick?”

Chip saw that Kadir Dhin had been telling lies here.

“At the barracks I did no more than defend myself; that is, I tried. I didn’t succeed very well.”

“You again attacked Kadir Dhin there?”

“No, he attacked me. And he had Bully Carson with him. You don’t know Carson, but he’s a big fellow, and a bruiser.”

“Kadir Dhin says you attacked him there, and then that Carson rushed in and knocked you down. Oh, dear, I dislike to talk about it; it’s horrible! You were too quick.”

“In one thing I was too quick,” said Chip. “I was too quick in going on to the barracks. I ought to have gone back to the lake. I didn’t see this Hindu, Gunga Singh. But then was my chance to follow his tracks into and through the woods there, and see what became of him. I’d like to get on the track of him now, and will watch out for him. How was he dressed?”

“Kadir Dhin says he wore a Fardale uniform.”

“So? That’s odd. A Fardale uniform. But I recall that it was reported that some one, thought to have been a burglar, had stolen clothing out of the barracks.”

“Kadir Dhin fears Gunga Singh as much as I do; he is watching for him, and will have him apprehended if he can. He and Colonel Gunn have been laying some plans about it. I wish you would apologize to Kadir Dhin. He is sensitive, and is very much hurt.”

Having pieced into the story of the affair the scraps with which he had not been familiar, Chip soon took his leave.

His meeting with Rose Maitland had not made him as happy as he had anticipated.

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CHAPTER X.
Reckless Villum.

“WHILE you were away,” Clan was saying to Chip, later, “I was tempted to put over a dictograph scheme that would have been great. I met a fellow down at the station who was agent for the things. If I could have put one in the Duke’s room, with concealed wires running from it to this, we could have got at the bottom of the rascal’s planning. But I’d have had to bribe more than one person, and then the problem of getting the wires across bothered me. So I passed it up.”

Chip laughed.

“So it was the bother of the wires, and not any feeling that the thing wouldn’t be quite a square play; but I thought the great mechanical head you developed while running that garage down in Phoenix was equal to anything.”

Kess was twisting in his chair, and his blue eyes were glistening.

“Dot ticktograft hears vot you say dhere, unt rebeadts idt here?”

“Something like that, Villum; it’s a sort of secret telephone.”

“Uh-huh! I standt under idt; unt idt vouldt haf been greadt.”

No conscientious scruples, nor even the fear of discovery, would have kept Villum from putting the scheme over, if he could have done it. He would have had wires running not only to the Duke’s room, but to Kadir Dhin’s, and to the room of every other fellow he suspected at present of being engaged in scheming against them.

“Vale, idt iss inderesdting,” he said, as he got lazily out of his chair; “but I can’t t’ink apowet idt now. I haf got to gedt me some more ackvainted mit Chulius Cæsar.”

Yet he was still thinking about it as he went to his room to tackle his Latin and follow the wanderings and battles of Cæsar.

That night, having been out in the village, as he was passing Dickey’s place, on his way to the barracks, the hour for closing the barracks being at hand, Kess ran into a dog fight. A pair of Airedales, one of them being Dickey’s, opened a furious combat right in front of him.

Villum jumped back out of the way.

“Yiminy!” he said. “Almosdt I hadt a toe bit off.”

Out of Dickey’s poured a miscellaneous crowd, Dickey in the midst with a pail of water, which he threw over the fighting dogs in the hope that it would separate them.

When maddened Airedales come together, such gentle measures are pretty sure to fail. Dickey was soon convinced that his dog was being murdered. So he got the other dog by the hind legs and the tail and began to yell to the squirming and clamoring mob of spectators to help him separate the animals by pulling them apart.

In the background to which Kess had retreated he was unobserved, but not unobservant. He saw in the crowd Bully Carson, Duke Basil, Kadir Dhin, and—to his great surprise—Robert Realf. Some other young fellows, wearing the Fardale uniform, were cadets whose homes were in the village, and who, by living at home, gained greater freedom for their evenings.

Bully Carson could be expected to be at Dickey’s, if in the village. Birds of his plumage congregated there naturally. But that Kadir Dhin should be there was most unexpected.

Dickey’s was a place that Colonel Gunn cordially hated, and Zenas Gale watched with zealous and suspicious eyes. Ostensibly it was a cigar and periodical store, dealing also in a small way in students’ supplies, such as writing material, and even secondhand books. This was a cover to sales of liquor and unlimited poker playing. Students liked to gather there, even those who had no relish for liquor or gaming, on account of the freedom of the atmosphere. Yet visits to the place put one under suspicion and threatened the displeasure of Gunn and the Fardale faculty.

Gunn had often spoken to the Fardale boys on the subject, and he had been heard to say that whenever the opportunity came he would “put Dickey through.” Gale, the constable, was of the same mind. But the opportunity never came. For Dickey was the slickest cake of soap in Fardale.

So Villum Kess was amazed to see Gunn’s protégé, Kadir Dhin, in the crowd that swarmed out of Dickey’s when the dog fight began.

“Budt idt iss der ticktograft obbordunity vot I am nodt oxbecting,” thought Villum.

Not a soul remained in Dickey’s; it had emptied into the street, and every person there was too busy trying to separate the dogs, or in telling others how it could be done, to observe or to think of anything else. Dickey was himself yelling orders like a village fire chief.

So Villum edged along the wall, and, reaching the steps, he passed within, then looked back to see if he had been observed. Sure that he had not, he made his way hurriedly to a door at the rear, which he found unlocked, and entered the back room famous in Fardale annals as the scene of strenuous poker games, smokefests, and drinking bouts.

There was a back door, but it was locked, and some rooms above, to be reached by a stairway. Also, there were heavily blinded windows. In the middle of the room stood a table with a green cloth top, with chairs about it, and above it a swinging electric light that had a turndown attachment. Along the walls were more chairs, with plush lounges, and at the farther end a couple of low cots, whereon, it was said, Dickey stowed students and others who had swallowed too much of his strong liquor and were not able to go on to the barracks or to their homes. The strong drink Dickey was reported to furnish was not kept here—there was always danger of a raid; Kess had heard it was kept buried in the cellar, but this may not have been so.

As his blue eyes roved round on the interior of the room, Villum moved toward the cots at the farther end.

“I vouldt yoost as lief been hung for sdealing a big sheeb as a liddle lamb; so I go me der whole hog,” he was muttering. “Uff I am foundt, der ticktograft vill be proke, unt no more can be saidt.”

With a last look around, Villum dropped to the floor, and, with squirming jerks, stowed his rotund body under one of the cots.

Something else under there squirmed. Villum’s hands were thrust into the face of a man.

“Awk!” Villum exploded, unable, in his surprise, to suppress the sound; and he clawed backward like a turtle, trying to get out.

But the dog fight had been ended, and Dickey and his friends were streaming into the front room. Villum did not realize that he might have joined them there in that time of confusion without attracting undue attention, until it was too late to try it. He was temporarily paralyzed by his discovery of the man under the cot. Before he recovered, some of the fellows were entering the back room, and were sitting down in the chairs by the table.

“I am sure in a fixings,” thought Villum, perspiring with the terror of the thought.

The man under the cot had moved over as close to the wall as he could get, but Villum still felt the touch of him; his imagination supplying details, he pictured a knife in the man’s hands; and, coming on top of that, like a flash, was the thought:

“Idt iss der Hindu murterer, I pet you!”

That made Villum’s flesh creep, and nearly popped him from under the cot. He moved over, shivering. But he did not leave his shelter. He would have fared badly if he had; so in the end he preferred to stick to the frying pan rather than to flop out into the fire.

Besides, Villum had slipped into the room and shoved under that cot for the purpose of playing dictograph, and he was stubborn enough to want to stick to his purpose.

A number of guesses as to who the man was, and why he was there, followed Villum’s surmise that he was the Hindu murderer; any one of them was bad enough, if true.

The man might be a common burglar, who had found a chance to hide there, and later meant to connect with Dickey’s safe; if so, he was no doubt armed with an automatic, which he would use, if cornered. This seemed a very reasonable solution.

But Villum never hunted for reasonable solutions, when others could be had; so the one which appealed to his mind most was that the man under the cot with him was not only the Hindu murderer, but that this cot and room were his usual and customary hiding places; which indicated that Dickey knew he was there, and received pay for sheltering him.

Kess and his friends had wondered where the Hindu could keep himself so that he would be safe and out of sight while he matured his plans. Kess’ one wild guess, and until now he could make no other, was that the Hindu hid in Kadir Dhin’s Oriental trunk. He thought he saw now that this guess was wrong.

“Aber I hear all vot iss saidt, unt am kilt as I am getting oudt uff here mit idt—ach, dot vill be awvul!” Villum said to himself, as if groaning mentally. “Yedt anodder fighdt mighdt come petween dhis Hindu unt der vellers in der room, unt vunce again I couldt gedt me by. So I vill vaidt, pecause I musdt, unt vill seen vot I hear.”

It was a long and trying wait that followed, and it seemed much longer than it was. Soon all chance of gaining the barracks before they were closed for the night had passed; but, then, Villum had counted on not being able to return to the barracks.

Under the cot, pressed close against the wall, the man waited as silently as Villum. And, however much or little he understood of the meaning of Villum’s action, he must have considered that he found himself in a most singular position.

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CHAPTER XI.
Kess as a “Dictograph.”

THE pasty-faced youth who took a seat on the table and sat swinging his legs while he fished out of his pocket a gold-mounted cigarette case, angrily resented the imputation of Bully Carson.

“Aw, cut it out!” he snarled nastily. “My sister is too nice a girl to have comments made about her by a low bruiser like you!”

Bully Carson’s face flamed as red as his necktie; the veins on his forehead started, his hands closed into maullike fists, and he stepped forward; yet instantly he checked himself, and rattled out a wheezing laugh. He could not afford to offend this young fellow.

“Forget it!” he said in a tone of hoarse apology. “I didn’t mean nothin’, and, of course, I knew it wasn’t so even when I said it; I was only in a manner suggestin’ what others may think.”

Robert Realf stared at him repellently.

“Since you forgot yourself, and said that, I’ll simply explain that my sister is visiting with Nellie Stanley, at Mrs. Winfield’s, just as she did last winter. You know that Bob Stanley is a student in the academy here, and is her brother, and both Nellie and my sister are friends of Mrs. Winfield. Besides, I’m down here with her. We’ve got money to travel ’round with, and go where we like, when we want to; more money than you will ever see, Carson, though you cheat and steal for a hundred years.”

“Forget it!” said Carson, though the blood was in his face. “I didn’t mean anything at all, as I told you. Of course, I was too fresh.”

Then he mumbled something about having had a drink too much, which was the cause of it.

Kess was so interested that he almost forgot the sinister touch of the man behind him; for Carson’s intimation had been that Rhoda Realf was at Fardale in the hope that she was here to get to see Chip Merriwell.

Kess knew all about the rather furious love affair between Chip and Rhoda, which had begun down in Santa Fe, when her wealthy father was down there looking at mining claims, and Chip was assisting his Uncle Dick, who was the mine investigator. It had been transferred to Fardale, when Chip was there for a Christmas vacation and Rhoda was at Mrs. Winfield’s with Nellie Stanley over the Christmas holidays.

The Realfs lived in Cambridge, and Kess recalled that once, at least, Chip had gone there, presumably to see Rhoda. And now apparently just because another girl had come on the scene, that pleasant affair was ended. Or was it ended? Kess did not know.

“Nodt for me idt vouldt nodt,” he thought; “I haf more stay-bility. Budt uff gourse, vhen I fall in lofe mit dot girl vhich she iss really a poy——”

Though the flare of a quarrel was over, the talk was still going on, and he laid his ear to the floor to give close heed to it.

“Carson iss back down so kvick dhere vill be no fighdt; he knows he musdt be nice to gedt money oudt uff dot veller. So now vot iss nexdt?”

Robert Realf was with that coterie, Kess believed, for the reason that on his previous visit to Fardale he had been an out-and-out and violent enemy to Chip Merriwell.

The conversation at first was rambling. There was so much smoking that soon the air was heavy and dense; now and then there was a clinking of glasses. Dickey entered occasionally, but did not tarry; though it was late, he had to be out in front, presiding over his cigar counter.

It was so apparent that these fellows had gathered solely for the sake of conviviality and the tang of adventure which was a part of these forbidden visits to Dickey’s that Kess was disappointed. He seemed to be wasting his time and taking a risk for nothing; and the touch of that man against the wall behind him, with the belief that he was the Hindu murderer, armed and deadly, was not soothing. Villum wanted to scramble forth and announce loudly that the Hindu was there, and was afraid to do it.

He became interested again when the talk dealt with affairs at the Fardale school. These things could not be touched without bringing in Chip and his friends. Kess glowed with indignation as he listened.

“Oh, Chip is merely showing a sample of the Merriwell jealousy,” said the Duke. “Until Kadir Dhin came, he was Gunn’s pet, and it hurts him to lose that place.”

“That’s the whole history of the Merriwells at Fardale,” said another. “They’ve got to run things. When they can’t use a man, they try to break him. Their friends are idiots like Clancy and Kess, who are always willing to praise everything they do. I’m sick of it.”

Kess began to breathe so heavily that he was in danger of being heard, when, by pressing his face hard against the floor, he tried to see the face of the speaker.

“Idt’s yoost Avery. He ton’dt coundt.”

Bronson Avery was notorious as the Duke’s echo. He, too, had come from Brightwood the year before, with the Duke; hence, with the older students they were hardly considered true Fardale men.

The miscellaneous gabble, filled with envious little stabs at fellows they did not like, brought in Chip Merriwell inevitably, and led slowly up to a discussion of means to get even with Chip, or block and thwart him. The real bitterness of the speakers came forth. They were wild to take Chip down and desperate as to the means to be adopted.

“It seems to me, donchuknow,” drawled the Duke, “that we can easily go farther; by which I mean, things have turned out so that we can drive him from Fardale.”

“Uh-huh! So dot you can be der headt uff der adledtic pitzness,” Villum grumbled so recklessly in his anger that if there had not been a good deal of moving about and noise in the room he would have been heard. “You skink, dot iss alvays vot you t’ink uff since you haf gome here!”

“Colonel Gunn,” said the Duke, “is beginning to get Merriwell’s right measure. He sees that Merriwell is trying to ruin Kadir Dhin, simply because Kadir Dhin refused to be walked on by that crowd. The whole thing started, you remember, when Kess insultingly shouldered into Kadir Dhin, and our friend here resented it and tried to teach the Dutchman that he couldn’t carry off a thing like that. And Chip, you know, backing his chum, proceeded to knock Kadir Dhin down right there. It’s the Merriwell way, don’t you know. Now he’s trying to ruin Kadir Dhin.”

“That’s right,” Carson said. “I’ve had experience, even though I ain’t in Fardale. I went to jail once through Chip’s blabbin’, and if he could ’a’ done it he’d ’a’ sent me to the penitentiary. Of course, I’ve got to keep on the right side o’ the law, but I’d like to hit him hard.”

“You came back at him rather handsomely, donchuknow,” said the Duke, with an air of pleasing condescension; “but the way it ended it only gave him a chance to make the claim that our friend Kadir Dhin is standing in with this mysterious Hindu, who is said to be round here, and who is cutting up such queer pranks, donchuknow, that it’s hard work to believe in them.”

“He’s been saying something new about me?” Kadir Dhin said, flaming.

“He says, I’m told, that this Hindu—if the rascal really exists, and is your uncle, I beg your pardon!—he says the Hindu couldn’t have got hold of a Fardale uniform if you hadn’t assisted him; and that he couldn’t have pulled off that trunk trick, either, without your aid.”

The tense look that had come to the face of Kadir Dhin softened, and he relaxed his strained attitude and dropped back into his chair. For an instant it seemed an explosion would come; but all he said, in a weak voice, was:

“Oh, well, let him talk! The more he talks against me the more he will hurt himself with Colonel Gunn. It’s known everywhere that the barracks have been burglarized and uniforms stolen.”

“By careful work we can create a prejudice against him among the students who do not like his high-and-mighty ways, donchuknow,” the Duke urged, “and among those who will be inclined to sympathize with Kadir Dhin. We can also put through some scheme to blacken him so in the eyes of Colonel Gunn that he will be thrown out of Fardale.”

“That’s right,” said Avery. “Gunn is sore on him on account of what has happened to Kadir Dhin, remember, and that feeling can be increased.”

“What is this plan?” growled Carson. “Put it on exhibition!”

The Duke laughed softly. He could be very pleasant, when he dropped his stilted manners and his air of superiority.

“A thought has just come to me”—it had been in his mind all day—“that if you want to make sure that Chip Merriwell goes out of Fardale, it can be worked by Kadir Dhin. He is quite a hypnotist——”

“I do very little at it—know very little about it,” Kadir Dhin hastily corrected.

The Duke laughed again and lifted his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Gunn told me that this uncle of yours who slew Miss Maitland’s father in France was a wonderful hypnotist. And more than once you have given little exhibitions to amuse the fellows, showing that you have that power to a certain degree.”

“I’m a mere amateur,” said Kadir Dhin.

“But you could put this over, donchuknow. I’m sure. And it would be a deathblow to Merriwell. Get him into conversation in some quiet place and so get hypnotic control of him. This should be in the evening. Then stain his face to the hue of yours, and send him sneaking into Colonel Gunn’s under instructions to try to kidnap Rose Maitland. Hypnotized, he would obey you, and he would not remember that you had ever even spoken to him about it. Colonel Gunn could be posted, tipped off to the fact, that Merriwell was to make this effort, and that it was for the purpose of damaging you, Kadir Dhin; he could be made to think that Merriwell, so disguised, was putting a fake attempt over against the girl, and intended to be seen, so that you would be accused of it.

“Suppose that Colonel Gunn caught Chip Merriwell trying to do a thing like that? What?”

“Wow!” rumbled Carson.

“He would last at Fardale just as long as a snowball in August. It could be made to appear that these other efforts against the young lady had been made by Merriwell to ruin the reputation of Kadir Dhin. Some scheme, eh?”

But Kadir Dhin did not rise to it.

“I’m only an amateur,” he said; “I couldn’t do it.”

“Well, I didn’t know,” said the Duke smoothly. “But you can see how it would finish Merriwell. His excuses that he didn’t know what he was doing wouldn’t go, if Gunn were primed in advance to expect him.”

“Why don’t you get up a plan to beat him to pieces?” said Carson, expressing the bruiser in him. “Fix it so’s the blame’ll be on him; and then when he makes the crack you’ve planned for, sail in and jest put him to sleep. Then you’ve got your excuse ready, and what can be done about it? He was the aggressor.”

“Same old Carson,” commented the Duke, “always seeing blood. But that wouldn’t get him out of Fardale.”

“You see,” said Avery, trying to back the Duke. “Just putting him down for a few days or so wouldn’t do; he’d get over it and come back, and still be cock of the walk here; that’s what the Duke means.”

“I’ll say what I mean, Avery,” the Duke snapped. “I didn’t mean that. We simply want to get rid of the Merriwell influence at Fardale.”

Avery collapsed.

“I understand,” he said; “I beg your pardon!”

Kess hardly heard Carson’s words, he was thinking so intensely of the queer plan which the Duke had unfolded for Kadir Dhin.

“Uh-huh! Dot vos saidt for two ears more; der two ears uff der Hindu who iss pehindt me! Der Duke iss schmardt. He iss know der Hindu is in here. Idt vill gif dot Hindu—ouch, his knees iss now digging in my back!—idt vill gif him der itea uff idt. So he vill hypnotize my friendt Chip, unt all der resdt uff idt vill habben. I see I got to fighdt somepoty sooner; I got to fighdt dot Hindu who iss behint me to-night, and cabture him, unt stob der whole pitzness before idt sdarts. I am glad I haf came, unt I am vishing dot I tidn’t.”

“Another plan that has just come to me,” said the Duke, though he had thought it out earlier, “is to queer Merriwell with Gunn by getting him intoxicated. Two or three times the fellow has either been jagged or drugged—he claimed he was drugged; and if this is worked right, Gunn can be made to believe that he was drinking at those other times.

“You could work that trick, Bully, if you’d undertake it, donchuknow; and you could pay off some of those grudges. Hire a couple of fellows, you know the kind, to take Merriwell down to the Pavilion; hand them a bottle of liquor, and tell them they’ll be well paid for forcing him to drink it. When he’s good and soused let Gunn know about it and see him in that fix. Eh, Carson?”

Carson’s eyes began to shine.

“I’d as soon do it myself as not,” he boasted. “S’pose he claimed afterward that I made him drink it, would anybody believe him?”

The Duke smiled indulgently.

“You’re rather in the heavyweight class, I admit; but could you do it alone? Merriwell is some scrapper. If you try it, you’d better have some competent help handy. The best plan is to send others to do it, and keep out of sight yourself.”

But nothing seemed to materialize. The Duke had as many plans as he had fingers; but always there was something, usually a question of the risk, which kept them from full acceptance.

“I guess there isn’t any one here with nerve enough to go up against Merriwell,” he said. “I’ll have to undertake something myself.”

“Oh, you foxy gran’pa!” Kess was thinking. “You know dot you ar-re delling der veller under here mit me all der t’ings vot he could do. Unt I haf now got to cabture him, pefore he can. Vhen idt cames, idt vill be anodder tog fighdt, I pet you!”

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CHAPTER XII.
A Lively Adventure.

KESS’ “tog fighdt” wasn’t up to his expectations, either in its manner or in its finish.

An interminable time passed before anything occurred, and then Villum had to start it. The room was vacated, the lights were out, and it was deathly cold. Dickey had put up his shutters, locked his doors, and had gone home. The time was wearing on toward morning, and still the man behind Kess under the cot lay there, with no more movement than if he had died or had been turned to stone.

Villum crawled out at last, in desperation. He had long been expecting a knife in his back or a revolver shot.

“Yoost der same I know you, uff you ton’dt sbeak idt,” he announced. “I haf got a rewolver vot iss full uff bullets to idts neck, unt uff you shoodt me I vill shoodt you likevise undil you ar-re deadt. So, you come oudt uff idt kvick!”

When the man did not come out, nor move, nor speak, Villum solemnly scratched a match on his trousers and flung it, flaming, under the cot, at the imminent risk of setting the cot and the house on fire.

The instant dying out of the match was followed by an earthquake; the light cot rose violently in air, and, whirling over, it fell on Villum, bringing him to the floor in a smother of bed clothing.

While he struggled to throw off the bed coverings and mattress, Villum heard the man unbar and fling aside a shutter and smash a window; they were resounding crashes, and the breaking of the window was accompanied by a tinkling fall of glass.

Villum had rammed one foot through the wire mesh of the bed springs, and felt like a wolf in a trap; but he scrambled toward the window, where he now saw the starlight and the man climbing up to escape; Villum was dragging the bed springs with him, and the greater part of the coverings of the cot.

“No you ton’dt escabe me!” he cried, and made a sweeping reach with his hands.

Though he was thrown down by the dragging weight of the bed springs, he clutched the man by the coat tails, and when, in his desperation, the man flung himself through to the ground, one of the tails of his coat remained in Villum’s hands.

Compelled to free his foot before he could do more, Villum began a furious fight with the bed springs; and by this he was so delayed that, when he, too, was ready to scramble out through the broken window the man was a hundred yards off, running through the darkness of the night.

But Kess picked himself up pluckily after his tumble and started in hot pursuit; and, forgetting that explanations would be demanded and would be awkward to give, he began at the same time to bellow for help.

As he thus plunged along in wild chase, Villum saw another figure appear beyond the street corner; there was a loud demand on the fleeing man to halt.

“Stop right where ye be; I’m the constable! Stop, I tell yeou!”

The man whirled about and lifted his hand; there was a pistol report and a flash of fire.

It was the constable who stopped, though the bullet had not touched him; and the man went on, running faster than ever.

The sight of the constable and that revolver play put the thought of discretion into Villum’s wild head; he swung about as the man made off and sprinted for the cover of the darkness by Dickey’s.

Gale, the constable, stood hesitating. Here were two escaping burglars, as he supposed, both armed and in a shooting mood. While the constable hesitated, Kess got the house between himself and Gale and flung wildly ahead for the protecting darkness beyond.

Villum ran down the length of the parade ground, then veered toward the lake. Reflecting that he was making telltale tracks, he turned off to the beaten road, along which he continued his flight. He ran until he could run no longer.

“Yiminy!” he panted, when he stopped. “I am deadt! Vunce in der house I am so coldt I am freezing, undt now I am so mooch uff a varmness dot I vandt to lay down unt valler in der snow. Budt dot vouldt be to gommidt susancide mit rheumonia. I got to keeb going until I feel petter.”

Villum kept going until he reached the boathouse. Crawling under its lee, and making sure no one was around, he struck another match and took a look at the coat tail he had appropriated.

“Der goat dail uff a Fardale feller,” he said. “Idt iss prove dot he vos der Hindu murterer. Idt iss easy to seen vhy he ditn’t vant der gonstable to watch him. Sure! Kadir Dhin is subblying him mit his clodings.”

About daylight Kess made his way into the village, where he sought shelter with a German friend, to whom he made suitable, though false, explanations. There he had breakfast, after he had had a few winks of sleep. As the German did not mention the break at Dickey’s, Kess concluded it had not yet been noised around.

Villum found not much difficulty in smuggling himself, without attracting attention, into the Fardale buildings when the proper time came. He made his way up to Chip’s room.

He burst in on Chip and Clancy, waving the tail of the coat as if it were a banner of victory.

“Yoost seen dot!” he said. “I haf peen having adwentures. Fairst idt iss a tog fighdt, unt afdher idt der ticktograft, unt anodder fighdt vhen der bed sbrings holdt me by der foodt undt I am sdopping der Hindu murterer from gedding oudt uff der vinder, unt——”

“Help! Help!” Chip shouted. “Take a long breath and start over again. What has happened?”

“I haf!” Kess exploded, waving the coat tail.

Breathless, he dropped into a chair.

“Idt iss der mix-oop mit der Hindu unt der pedt springs unt eferyt’ing, vhile I am blaying der ticktograft at Dickey’s. Yoost you lisden vhile I exblanadtion idt; but der Hindu he got avay.”

It was a funny story, as Kess told it; a serious one, too, though the theory that the man who had been under the cot was the Hindu murderer seemed incredible.

“Who sdole der clodings oudt uff der parracks?” Villum demanded, in an argumentative tone.

“We don’t know,” said Clan, who was looking at the piece of cloth Villum had brought in.

“You ton’dt t’ink dot vos a Fardale veller vot I pulled dot tail feadther oudt uff?” said Villum.

“N-o. Yet, we can’t say it wasn’t.”

“You undt Chip haf been susbicioning Kadir Dhin. Budt he vas in der room dalking mit der odder vellers vhile der man iss behint me by der vall under der cot. You exblanadtion me vot iss der meanness.”

“We shan’t know much until we know more,” said Clan.

“Vell, vot do you t’ink uff dhem odder t’ings?” Villum demanded, addressing Chip. “Uff you ar-re to be hypnotized by Kadir Dhin, unt made a indoxicadtion by Carson, unt all der resdt uff idt, you petter be geddting readty to meedt it, heh? Vot? Oddervise, vot goot do I do by running dot riskiness uff blaying der ticktograft?”

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CHAPTER XIII.
Rose and Rhoda.

THAT burglars had broken into Dickey’s, but had been frightened away by the constable, was the story that got over town. Gale was heard bragging of how courageously he had acted in scaring them off, and how one of the burglars, hard pressed, had shot at him.

Chip Merriwell and his friends kept their own counsel. As the days passed, they watched for the Hindu and watched Kadir Dhin. If the fussy and important constable were to be believed, other burglarious attempts had been forestalled by him, and he was as busy as a man with five hands.

The normal routine of the academy was for a time outwardly unbroken. Study and lectures, winter sports, work and play in the gymnasium, went on as usual, under the rather rigid semimilitary discipline which Gunn and the faculty enforced.

But it could be seen that the Duke and his friends were hard at work lining up against Chip Merriwell every man they could. The apparent result was small. Chip had a host of friends who were disposed to stand by him loyally. And of that closer and more intimate band consisting of such fellows as Clan and Kess, Jelliby and others, that they would stand by Chip through thick and thin on any and every occasion, was, of course, known to every one.

Some hockey matches on the cleared ice of the lake were exciting enough to thrill the whole school and bring a mob of spectators out from the village. Twice Chip led scrub teams against the regular Fardale team, once going to victory and another time to defeat.

That Rhoda Realf and her brother were at Fardale Chip knew from Kess’ report; and it was not long before he met them. Chilled a bit by Rose Maitland’s championship of Kadir Dhin, Chip was in a mood to be moved again by the beauty and charm of the younger and slighter girl.

Yet, having a good memory, Chip could not forget even while he was out on the lake in the full swing of enjoyment, skating with Rhoda Realf, that whatever break there had ever been between them had been produced solely because he could not endure the insufferable qualities of Rhoda’s brother.

But when Chip went over to Gunn’s for a talk with Rose Maitland on the subject which was constantly in her mind—her fears of the Hindu who had slain her father and who was believed by herself and Gunn to be in concealment at Fardale—the feeling again mastered him which had swayed him when he first saw her.

“I could wish you were an American,” he said, as he talked and jested with her; “and I don’t say that because I hold any feeling whatever against the English. Now I have offended? I’m sure I didn’t intend it, and beg your pardon.”

She had flushed; but a slight heightening of the color in her cheeks made her only the more charming.

“It’s no offense,” she said. “You see, how can it be, when I am half American. I didn’t know but Colonel Gunn had told you. My mother was an American, from Baltimore. That is why I was so willing to come to America. And I mean to visit Baltimore as soon as I can.”

From this agreeable topic, the talk switched to the Hindu and Kadir Dhin, a change inevitable, as that had been Chip’s reason, or excuse, for making this call.

“Colonel Gunn is sure that Gunga Singh, the man who slew my father, is still here, and that he is committing these burglaries,” she reported. “Colonel Gunn believes he has found refuge with some of the low foreigners in the mill sections, and is burglarizing that he may have money to pay for concealment. He says, too, that Dickey would keep him, would keep any scoundrel, for money. I feel as if I were sitting on a volcano. I don’t go out any more.”

Then she spoke again of Kadir Dhin, declaring that it was too had the young Hindu’s career at Fardale had been shadowed as it was.

She added:

“It has come to Colonel Gunn, and he resents it, that you have been hinting that perhaps Kadir Dhin isn’t so innocent as he seems—that he has been helping Gunga Singh.”

Chip had more than hinted that to his friends—but only to his friends; and he had believed it. He thought he had reasons for believing it.

“Somebody must be a mind reader,” he said.

“You didn’t say it?”

“I said it to Clancy and Kess and perhaps one or two more.”

“So it wouldn’t need mind reading to get out. You have wronged Kadir Dhin. I wish you would apologize to him. You haven’t apologized to him?”

“No—not yet,” said Chip. “I may, in time.”

Chip parried this subject off as well as he could. He was again too much in love with this girl to want anything like disagreement to come between them. Yet he was in no mood to apologize to the young Hindu. His belief was growing that Kadir Dhin was tricky; that he was imposing on the confidence of Colonel Gunn and Rose Maitland. He wanted proof of it, and meant to try to get it. So how could he go to Kadir Dhin and say to the young Hindu that he thought he had wronged and was wronging him? It had to be parried off. It was a dangerous subject.

There were ever so many pleasanter things to talk about, and Chip contrived to bring them forward; so that when he took his leave, it was with a sense of having had a pleasant time and of having made a good impression.

“I wonder if I am fickle-minded?” he thought, as he walked away, his mind turning to Rhoda Realf. “No, I don’t think I am. I like Rhoda—she’s fine; but Rose Maitland——”

Then he thought of Kadir Dhin.

“I can’t get it out of my nut that he is playing a double game. Of course, if he isn’t, and I see that he isn’t, I’ll apologize to him, and do it freely; though I’m afraid I can never like him.”

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CHAPTER XIV.
When the Plot Went Wrong.

“DEAR me! Dear me!” said Colonel Gunn, twisting his glasses about on his nose, as he stared in astonishment at the crumpled note which had been brought to him by the servant girl.

The colonel had arrived at home late, having remained at the academy looking over some examination papers.

This is what his eyes rested on, and why he exclaimed and stared:

Colonel Gunn: The scandalous doings of some of your students is the limit. They drink and gamble right under your nose, and you don’t know it. If you want proof, go down to the Pavilion right now. You will find Chip Merriwell there, intoxicated, so much so that he can’t get back to the barracks. There has been a drinking bout down there, which has lasted ever since Fardale let out its students for the day. When the others left the Pavilion, they had to leave Merriwell there because he couldn’t walk. You ought to know about this.

A Fardale Well-wisher.

Colonel Gunn did not like anonymous communications. But here was something he could not overlook. It called for attention and action.

He rang for the servant.

“Mary,” he said, his voice hoarse and shaky, “will you—er—be kind enough to inform me where you—ahum—got this singular note which you brought me?”

“At the dure,” said Mary; “a b’y brought it. He said it was fer you, and I’m sure yere name was on it.”

“My name was on it—very true. Ahem—you did not recognize the boy?”

“I niver saw his face befure.”

“Ahum—thank you. Mary. If you will help me on with my greatcoat, I—ahum——”

Mary helped him get into his overcoat; and, with his cane in hand, Colonel Gunn sallied forth. The unpleasant note was in his pocket.

“A—er—a distressing thing,” he was thinking. “Until recently I have thought so well of young Merriwell! I fear he will never be the man his father was. Dear me, the pranks that fellow used to cut here; he, too, was quite wild! Nevertheless, there was a saving grace in him; a—er—thoughtfulness. I was younger then, too; and my dear father, Zenas Gunn, of blessed memory—yes, the older Merriwell annoyed him a great deal.”

The night was falling, and the early lights of the village were shining. There were no lights to-night on the lake, unless carried by some skater, and Gunn’s way lay in that direction, along the lake to the Pavilion.

The colonel reflected that he ought to have company, and was on the point of turning aside and telephoning for the constable; but was deterred by the thought that he ought not to expose a student in that way, even though the student deserved exposure.

“By going alone I may be able to prevent a scandal. Yet—er—of course, Mr. Merriwell will have to leave the academy; I—ahum—see no other way. I shall write to his father a full explanation; tell him that recently there has—er—been a great change in his son; I shall have to speak of this violent animosity against the youth, Kadir Dhin, who came here as a foreigner and stranger, under—er—my protection. Such base calumnies as Kadir Dhin assures me young Merriwell has heaped on him—there is even an element of insanity in it! Is the whole world going mad?”

The worthy head of Fardale grew warm with indignation as he stumped along, prodding the snow angrily with his walking stick.

“As for Gunga Singh, Kadir Dhin thinks that the money I have been furnishing him for the purpose of hiring men to hunt down that Hindu murderer will soon bring results. I—ahum—I hope so; I hope so! It is growing very expensive. If results are not attained soon I shall—ahum—be compelled to desist in making further advances. A terrible state of affairs! And the—er—constable makes no progress.”

His mind turned back to Chip Merriwell.

“A drinking bout of Fardale students down at the Pavilion, and Mr. Merriwell left there in so beastly a state of intoxication that he cannot even walk. Dreadful!”

A merry jingling of sleigh bells reached him, as he approached the lake, in the road which turned there and passed along the lakeside toward the Pavilion; the sleigh was coming up behind him, and it seemed that Gunn would be run down by the horses.

He gave a skipping jump which must have surprised him and landed in the snow at the side of the road.

“Ahum! Dear me! How very reckless! A lot of hoodlums from the village, no doubt; and very probably intoxicated. What is the—er—world coming to?”

Then the colonel discovered that the sleigh was filled with young fellows who were, nearly all of them, in the Fardale uniform. They had been laughing; but they drew up beside him and fell silent with respect.

This show of deference pleased him; he was especially gratified when he saw their hands go up in the military salute.

“Are you going far, Colonel Gunn?” he was asked, with politeness.

“Ahum! Er—that is to say——”

They were leaping out of the sleigh, surrounding him.

“We are out for a drive down the road here; beautiful night, isn’t it? If you’re going far, we offer you a seat in with us. The sleighing is delightful. It will honor us.”

Colonel Gunn was flattered and flustered.

“I was—er——”

“Then, right in! Here is a good seat. We’re going to drive down by the Pavilion, and beyond; and then back to Fardale by the other road. It will be a lovely ride.”

They had him by the arms, still trying to be courteous, though in reality they had literally taken possession of him; and before the colonel could say whether he wished to go in the sleigh or did not wish to, he was in it, sinking back in the seat.

“Er—er——Ahaw—ahum! This is aw——I have lost my stick in the snow there, I believe.”

It was rescued and passed up to him.

The young fellows were climbing in beside and behind him; and to keep him from wanting to get out, the driver quietly touched up the horses and sent them dancing along, jingling their bells.

“Ahaw—ahum! I—er——”

Gunn looked around him.

In the faint light, he recognized his companions; he saw Bronson Avery clearly, for Bronson sat beside him, and had been one of the politest. Behind him he heard familiar voices. He was displeased on discovering one of the voices to be Bully Carson’s; he detested and suspected Carson.

“I shall have to speak to these boys about Carson,” he thought, as he tried to get a grip on his scattered faculties.

“Ahum!” he coughed, and touched the driver on the arm. “I shall—er—be obliged if you will put me off in the road near the—er—the Pavilion. From there I shall—er—walk back. This is—er—very pleasant, but on a night like this—so glorious—I prefer to walk; so if you, er——”

“Oh, we’ll put you off at the Pavilion,” was the significant statement with which he was reassured.

But when the road by the ice was reached, the fellows in the sleigh with Gunn were given a surprise that was as great as Gunn’s.

Chip Merriwell, skating on the ice there with Clan and Kess and some others, had stopped at the edge of the ice, curious to see the sleigh go by; not dreaming who its occupants were.

Chip was recognized by the fellows in the sleigh, and by the driver, who gave a little ejaculation of amazement and drew hard on the reins, bringing the horses to a stop.

“Merriwell!” he said, gasping the name.

Gunn, electrified, craned his neck; and Chip, thinking himself addressed, stepped into the road, walking on his skates toward the sleigh.

“It is—er—it is Mr. Merriwell!” Gunn exploded. “This—er—this is you, Mr. Merriwell?”

Chip saluted; and Clan and the others, coming up behind him, repeated the action.

“Yes, sir,” said Chip.

“But you—er—were—that is to say can it——”

“Yes, sir?”

Colonel Gunn tumbled out of the sleigh—almost fell out—in his amazement. He hooked his glasses on his nose and stared at Chip. He saw that Chip was steady-limbed, clear-eyed, and sober.

“Hello!” one of the fellows exclaimed suddenly, with a startled emphasis that drew attention. “What’s that mean? The Pavilion’s on fire!”

A flame had flashed from a window in the lakeside building some distance down the road, and by the light of it two men were seen running away over the snow.

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CHAPTER XV.
Cowardice and Heroism.

THE two men who sat at the table in the front room overlooking the icy lake were as sinister a pair as Bully Carson could have picked up anywhere, and they were not disposed to heed the young fellow who lay bound on the floor by the door.

“Le’s carry him upstairs, Bill, and shet him in that back room, where he can’t make himself heard by anybody passin’ ’long the road; we either got to do that or gag him.”

“But—see here! You’re making an awful mistake, donchuknow! I’m not the fellow you were told to get, donchuknow. This is a hideous mistake, fellows.”

It was the Duke who was making this piteous appeal.

But he had little hope that it would be heeded, since up to this time he had not been listened to and had been given such shameful treatment; moreover, there was small hope that he would be rescued soon by his friends. The Pavilion had been chosen by him because he knew it was far down the lake and isolated.

It was a lakeside place of entertainment, unoccupied in the winter as a rule. The previous winter the Duke had hired it, and it was understood he had some sort of occupancy claim on it this winter.

The men were still disposed to be rough with him.

“We’ve heard all we want out of you,” he was told; “so, shet up! You was pointed out to us plain.”

“By Bully Carson?”

“No matter about that. Here, Bill; we’ll put him upstairs. Either that, or we got to gag him.”

They took him upstairs and locked him in the little room, just as he was. Then they went back to the lower room, with its table, its pack of cards, and the bottle of whisky that was on it.

That whisky had been furnished by Bully Carson; and their prisoner, according to Carson’s directions, was to be drugged with it; but they liked the taste and smell of the liquor too well to waste it in that way; they meant to drink it themselves.

Sitting down at the table again, they sampled the contents of the bottle and applied themselves to the cards; the day was at its close, and they fancied themselves in the greatest security for an hour or more.

Acting up to Bully Carson’s instructions, they had waylaid the Fardale cadet as he came swinging up the lake on his skates, not long before. They thought they knew him; Carson had pointed him out to them, so they were sure there was no mistake, even when he declared there was.

They had made their mistake naturally. The Duke had been standing close by Chip Merriwell, on a street corner, when Carson had indicated the latter; they had simply looked at the wrong man when Carson was talking.

They knew what was expected of them. When they had forced intoxication on their prisoner, they were to depart, and leave him in the Pavilion, to be seen there by Colonel Gunn and any others who chanced to be with the colonel.

They found the cards interesting, and the liquor more so. They had not intended to light the lamp they found on the table; but decided to do so when their caution became less active. They couldn’t see to play without a light, and stakes were then on the table.

How long they played they did not know, but they went very speedily to the bottom of the liquor bottle. They began to quarrel, each accusing the other of cheating. Drawing a knife, one lunged at the other with it, across the table; the other rose and flung back to avoid the blow.

The table was overturned with a crash, and the lamp went to the floor; it shattered, and the kerosene caught from the burning wick. In a moment the room was filled with flames.

Stunned for an instant by what threatened, they made a feeble attempt to fight out the fire; then they threw open the door, and, running out into the road, they fled.

In the room into which he had been flung, the Duke had been trying to get the cords off his wrists; he was in a vile temper. He piled anathemas on Bully Carson and on the men downstairs. If Carson had not been a fool, and chosen fools for this work, this mistake could not have been made. He had planned it and given Carson the money to carry it out, and this was the result. He had come skating down the lake, wondering how near he could be to the Pavilion and be safe when the trick was pulled off; and the ruffians had seized him, instead of the one chosen, who was Chip Merriwell.

The treatment he was receiving was meant for Chip.

What made his fate more bitter was his belief that there had been a clever turning against him of the tables; he thought the ruffians had been tampered with by Chip after Carson had hired them, and that this was done deliberately by them, for pay. So he heaped his curses on Chip as well as on Carson and the two stupid fools.

Then came the fire, and the terror it conveyed to the occupant of the upper room.

He heard the quarreling below, then the crashing of the overturned table and the yells of the men when they tried to stay the fire. He heard them throw the door open and run away like the cowards they were, forgetful of him and of his fate.

The Duke screamed with fear when he heard them go.

For a moment the terror of his situation almost overcame him; he felt sick and faint, his heart pounded up until it seemed almost in his throat; a panicky fear clouded his mind.

This passed. There was some courageous fiber in the Duke. He had been spoiled in his training; he was always made to think he was finer and better than any one else, was always petted and flattered, and constantly treated by servants and even friends as if he were a superior being. If there had not been some good stuff in the Duke, he would have been far worse than he was at present.

As soon as he could control his jumping nerves, the Duke tried again to get free of the cords that held his wrists; but he could not do it. He could not break the cords, and struggling only drew the knots tighter.

Rolling over against the door, he drew up his legs and began to dash his heels against the panels, trying to break through.

The fire was roaring so that he could hear it plainly when he was not making too much noise, and the smoke that had begun to creep through the rooms reached him.

“Help!” he screamed, as he hammered with his heels against the door. “Help! Help!”

That some one passing in the road well out beyond might hear him, was his hope. He was beginning to hope, too, that the fire would be seen in the village in time for fire fighters to get out to it before it had made a finish of him.

As if in answer to his calls, he soon heard the jingling approach of a sleigh, and from the sound of the bells he could tell that the horses were galloping.

The fire had reached the stairway which led to the room where the Duke lay; he could see, under the door, the fiery licking of red tongues of flame, as gusts of air drove the flames higher; and now the smoke, getting into his room more and more, was troublesome, and threatened soon to be suffocating.

He was yelling himself hoarse, bawling for help to the occupants of the sleigh. When he heard them shouting to each other outside in the snow, his screams to attract their attention became screeches.

He had been heard; he could soon tell that.

At the same time it was being said that no one could get up to the second floor; there were no ladders to be had, and the stairs were on fire.

Some one jingled away in the sleigh, going to the village to get ladders; the others, it seemed, were waiting for the ladders, or for the coming of the Fardale fire department.

The Duke knew that before the slow-moving local fire department could get there, or the sleigh return with ladders, he would be beyond the need of aid.

“Help!” he screamed.

His feet, flailing, could not shatter the stout panels of the door.

A little later, when the hot breath of the fire seemed trying to reach through the door to him, he heard a voice. It was followed by a crash that drove the door inward.

Chip Merriwell, head and shoulders wrapped round with a sleigh robe soaked in melted snow, groped into the room; he had come through the fire-filled stairway with it round him; he had dared the fury of the flames to reach and help the Duke, when Carson and Avery, and all the Duke’s own followers, refused the risk, claiming that whoever tried it would be burned to death. The stairs were like a furnace.

“There’s the hall yet,” Chip gasped. “Here!”

“My feet and hands are tied!” the Duke shouted.

Chip got his knife out and cut the cords.

“Here!” he panted. “Can you walk? I’ll help you. Pull your coat up around your head. The hall here is free yet, and we can reach one of the windows.”

“It’s Merriwell!” said the Duke, bewildered.

He had been thinking Chip had sent him there, and he wondered about this; yet it was dull wonder, and a very active thankfulness. No one rejects the hand that is stretched out to save.

He did not need Chip’s aid; he even scrambled ahead, along the hall, driven by fear; and he was at one of the windows, smashing it, when Chip came up. He was about to throw himself out through the window.

“No!” said Chip. “We can take time; we’re safe now, unless the house falls. The fire is following, but we’re well ahead of it here. I’ve got the driving lines from the sleigh for ropes.”

He pushed the Duke through, after passing a length of the leather reins around the Duke’s body, under his arms, and hung to the loops he had set, while the Duke slid downward to the ground.

Securing the lines to the support of a wall bracket, Chip Merriwell followed and dropped; but the sleigh robe and his clothing smoked from the heat.

“Burned much, Chip?” some one was asking, as he reeled into the arms that were stretched out to assist him.

“No,” he gasped; “I—I think not; I think I’m all right!”

“Well, it sure was close; you didn’t have much time! The old Pavilion is going.”

Ten minutes later it was a flaming tinder box, with a tornadolike roar as the fire drove skyward, and a glare that reddened the snow for great distances around.

To be continued in the next issue of WIDE-AWAKE MAGAZINE, out January 25th.

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