At that instant the form of Mr. Bell, weak and tottering, showed in the doorway. He seemed greatly excited.
“There you are!” he cried tearing open his shirt and throwing a bundle, done up in oiled silk on the table. “There are the papers. There are the proofs to the mine. The gang did not get them after all!”
“Calm yourself,” spoke Mr. Snodgrass, in a soothing tone that one uses to sick children or fever patients.
“I’m all right!” exclaimed Mr. Bell. “Don’t think I’m crazy. I was a little off my head, but the wound the bullet gave me, and the blood I lost, accomplished just what was needed. There, I tell you, are the papers proving my claim to the mine.”
“What mine?” asked the professor, while the others waited in anxiety for the answer.
“The mine we were going to,” responded the old man. “From the description you boys gave of it I recognize it as the same one I have more than a half share in. All the way up here I was trying to recall when I had been here before. I recognized the places, but my mind would not serve me. I had suffered so much that I was almost crazy. Then came the shot, and I did not know anything more, until I just woke up in that room, and remembered all about it. Now we will beat that gang.”
“Hurrah!” cried Jerry, seizing Ned by the arms and starting to dance a hornpipe.
“Are you sure you can not be mistaken about the mine?” asked Mr. Snodgrass, for it seemed hardly possible that the old hermit, whom they had rescued, should turn out to be the much-wanted missing owner.
“There are the papers, you can see for yourself,” replied Mr. Bell.