An instant later Dick and Brad sprang out.
“We were just making for the top of the mountain,” explained young Merriwell. “We have something on board the Sachem that will interest you.”
“What is it?” questioned Frank.
“A slick rascal who broke into our stateroom, opened your strong box, and attempted to get away with one of the papers.”
“Who was it?” cried Merry.
“Porfias del Norte.”
“Dick, you’re dreaming!” almost shouted Frank, as he caught his brother by the shoulder. “Porfias del Norte lies dead up there on the mountainside. He fell over a precipice.”
“Porfias del Norte lies tied hand and foot in the saloon of the Sachem,” said Dick. “You can thank my friend Buckhart for it, too. I caught Del Norte as he was trying to get away with the paper, and we had a little racket in the saloon. I downed him once, but he squirmed away from me. The second time, as he was falling, he caught hold of the table, which threw me to one side, and my head struck against a chair. I was stunned, and Del Norte proceeded to choke me, with the intention of finishing me. Just then Brad sailed in and landed on Del Norte’s shoulders with one spring. We handled him all right, and left him tied hand and foot, with one of the sailors keeping watch at the head of the companionway.”
“This is wonderful! This is astounding!” gasped Henry Crossgrove. “I didn’t think it of the man.”
“It is astounding,” nodded Merry. “It’s astounding that he should escape death after falling over that precipice.”