Borak, the black horse Merriwell had bought of Barzy Blunt several weeks before, was a fast traveler, and it was not many minutes until he had deposited his two riders at Dolliver’s ranch, at the mouth of the cañon. The cañon trail was too rough and narrow for an automobile, and so Brad had been compelled to leave the machine at the rancher’s.
Leaving Borak at the hitching pole in front of the house, Merriwell and Brad took to the car and were soon hitting it up on the road to Ophir. Half an hour after leaving Dolliver’s they were drawing to a halt in front of the mining company’s offices in the town.
Mr. Bradlaugh was the Western representative of the syndicate that owned the mine, and was in all matters the court of last resort in questions dealing with mining, milling, and cyaniding on the company’s premises.
Merry and Brad, tumbling out of the machine and making their way into the outer office of the general manager, were told by the stenographer that Mr. Bradlaugh was busy with a caller in his private room.
“Who’s the caller?” queried Brad.
“Colonel Hawtrey.”
Brad drew a deep breath and turned to Merriwell.
“He’s here ahead of us, Chip,” said he, “but, if you’ve made up your mind as to what you’re going to do, I reckon you can get in there and do your talking along with the colonel. Wait a minute.”
A mumble of voices came from beyond the door leading to the manager’s private office. Frank could distinguish Mr. Bradlaugh’s voice, colorless and low-pitched, and Colonel Hawtrey’s, loud and wrathful.
Brad stepped to the door, tapped, and then opened it and passed inside at a word from his father. A moment later he looked out and beckoned to Merriwell.