He handed the missive to Brad, who read it through, his excitement growing every moment. This is what the Texan read:
“Dear Frank: I now am held fast in hands that care little for my life. No house shelters me. I am not near Prescott. If you search, you will find wind and nothing more. Have had a hot mill with my captors, but to no use whatever. S.tay here I must. Brad will worry, so don’t fail to show him this.
“The men who have me swear to mutilate and finally kill me unless you come to terms immediately. You are to settle with the man who has demanded from you your mines and has threatened you with arrest for murder. As soon as you make terms with him, I am to be set free. If you refuse to make terms, this man swears to chop me up by inches. To-morrow you will receive one of my thumbs; next day the other thumb. Then, if you still delay, an ear will follow, and its mate will be delivered to you twenty-four hours later. If you remain obstinate, I shall be killed.
“Your brother,
Dick.”
“Great horn spoon!” shouted Buckhart, flourishing the missive in the air. “Great jumping tarantulas! This certain is a whole lot tough! Why, Frank, what are you going to do about it? You’ve got to rescue him, or else give in to old Morgan, for they will chop him up if you don’t.”
“How am I going to rescue him,” said Merry, “when I don’t know where to find him?”
Brad now stood quite still, with his hands on his hips, a look of perplexity and distress on his face.
“That’s so, Frank,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I am afraid they’ve got you.”
“Do you notice anything peculiar about that letter?” questioned Merry.