A slight breeze came through the open bedroom window, and gently stirred the portières behind Frank’s back.
Merriwell’s face grew very pale as he read the opening words of the message, and his watching companion knew something had produced a profound effect on him.
“What is it?” Bart was compelled to ask.
“It is from my father, as I believed,” said Merriwell, plainly making an effort to steady his voice. “I have read nothing but the opening sentence, but this is what it says:
“‘This, my son, is the confession of your father, who, near to the point of death and beyond all hope of recovery, is lying in the cabin of Juan Delores, near Urmiston, which is about fifty miles from Denver.’”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Hodge. “Your father dying?”
“Dead by this time, it is likely,” came sadly from Frank’s lips. “And I not near in his last moments!”
The expression of regret and grief on Frank’s face was sincere and profound.
“Too bad!” muttered Bart. “But he always was such a strange man!”
“Strange, indeed,” nodded Frank. “I knew little of his life after he went to seek his fortune amid the mines, save that part which is closely connected with his fight against his great enemy, Santenel. He told me that portion of it, but concerning the rest he has said little or nothing.”