“This is what I found,” he announced, handing it over to Dick.
It was an old-fashioned percussion-cap pistol.
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE SILVER BULLETS.
“Look out!” exclaimed Bertie; “it’s loaded.”
Dick held the queer old pistol in his hand, turning it slowly and looking at it with a puzzled expression on his face.
“This is mighty queer,” he muttered. “I don’t understand it. Did you see Lynch with this weapon in his hand?”
“He dropped it when he was knocked out by the ball,” persisted Bertie. “He was sneaking up behind you with that pistol, Dick.”
Merriwell shook his head.
“Why should Mike Lynch, or any one else for that matter, carry a weapon like this?” speculated Dick. “It’s an ancient relic.”
“You know Mike has been rotten queer lately.”