Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona
OR
CLEARING A RIVAL’S RECORD

CONTENTS

Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona
OR
CLEARING A RIVAL’S RECORD

By
BURT L. STANDISH

Author of the famous Merriwell Stories.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79–89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1912
By STREET & SMITH

Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

Printed in the U. S. A.

FRANK MERRIWELL, JUNIOR, IN ARIZONA.

CHAPTER I.
A SLAVE OF THE NEEDLE.

“Buck up, Shoup! What ails you, anyhow?”

“I’m all in, Len. I d-don’t believe I can take another step. You see, I—I——”

The words faded into a groan, and the tottering youth slumped to his knees, then pitched forward and sprawled out limply in the sandy trail.

There were two of them, and they had been tramping wearily through a defile known as Bitter-root Cañon. The stage trail leading from Ophir, Arizona, to Gold Hill, followed the cañon, and the two lads had been taking this trail.

The trail was white with dust, churned up by the wheels and hoofs that had passed over it. It wound interminably along the cañon’s bed, twisting back and forth through patches of greasewood and mesquite, now hugging one wall and now the other, and again skirting the edge of some brackish pool.

A stream flowed through the cañon, although no one not familiar with such mysterious streams would have guessed it. Like a good many Arizona rivers, the water flowed under the surface, appearing only here and there where bedrock forced it upward.

The lad who had yielded to exhaustion and had fallen must have been nineteen or twenty years of age. He was well dressed, although his clothes were dusty and in disorder. His hair was of a tow color, his eyes a washed-out blue, and his face was hueless—startlingly white and waxlike.

The other boy was a year or two younger than his companion, with a dark, sinister face and shifty eyes. They had walked southward from Gold Hill for many miles, and while the younger lad was an athlete and ordinarily in good physical condition, yet a few days of reckless living had sapped his endurance. He was almost as exhausted as his companion.

“Here’s a go!” muttered the younger lad, looking down grimly at the unconscious, deathlike face of his friend in the trail. “Shoup hasn’t the backbone of a jellyfish. I’ve got to do something for him, but what?”

The boy looked around him and discovered that Shoup had fallen only a few yards from the edge of a pool. The sight of water suggested the means for reviving the fainting lad, and, with considerable difficulty, the other dragged him to the pool’s edge. Wetting a handkerchief in the pool, he bathed the pallid face. In a few moments Shoup drew a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“You’re pretty near a wreck, Shoup,” said the boy called Len crossly. “How do you think we’re ever going to get to the gulch if you can’t walk four or five miles without crumpling up in the trail?”

“I was trying to save the dope,” was Shoup’s answer, in a weak voice. “I haven’t got much of it, and no money to buy any more.”

“Cut that out,” the other growled angrily. “The more of that stuff you use, the more you have to use. It’s making you ‘dippy’ as blazes; not only that, but it eats up your muscle and ruins your nerves. Why don’t you quit?”

“Can’t quit. My old man used it, and my grandfather used it. The hankering for the stuff was born in me. What’s bred in the bone, Lenning, is bound to come out in the flesh. No use fighting against the craving. Here, help me to sit up.”

Lenning put his hands under Shoup’s shoulders and lifted him to a sitting posture, twisting him about so he could lean his back against a bowlder. With fingers that trembled from weakness, Shoup pushed up his left sleeve.

The skin of his arm was white as marble, and dotted with little, black, specklike marks. Reaching into an inside pocket of his coat, Shoup drew out a small, worn morocco case.

“Bound to squirt a little more of that poison into your veins, eh?” asked Lenning disgustedly.

As he put the question, he produced a box of cigarettes, lighted one, tossed away the burned match and dropped the box into his pocket. A sneering smile crossed Shoup’s face.

“What’s the difference, Len,” he queried, “whether you inhale the poison or take it my way? It brings us both to the same place, in the end.”

“Splash! Cigarettes aren’t as bad as all that. Anyhow, when I’m in training I cut ’em out. You’re never in training and you never cut out that dope. If you can’t get it just when you want it, your strength is snuffed out like a fool candle. How long do you think you’ll last, going on as you are now, eh?”

“That’s the least of my worries,” was the placid retort.

With his shaking right hand, Shoup pressed the needle-like point of a small “hypoderm” into the flesh of his left arm. An instant his quivering finger toyed with the tiny piston, then drove it “home.” With a long sigh of relief, he sank back.

“I’ll feel like a king pretty soon,” said he, speaking with his eyes half closed. “You haven’t a notion how it gingers a fellow up. Say,” and the eyes opened wide, “why don’t you try it yourself?”

“Not on your life!” returned the other, in a sort of horror. “The sight of you, with one foot in the grave on account of that stuff, is enough for me.”

“Go on,” urged Shoup, his faded eyes brightening wonderfully. “Try for yourself and see how it puts fire into your veins, and peace and happiness into your heart. Jove! Already I’m beginning to feel as though I could run a hundred miles, and be as fresh at the end of the run as when I started.”

Lenning stared at Shoup curiously.

“That’s the way you feel, but your system is all shot to pieces and you’d drop before you’d gone half a mile,” commented Lenning.

“Don’t you want to forget your troubles, old man?” coaxed Shoup. “This is a sure cure for the blues.”

“No!” almost shouted Lenning, springing to his feet. “Try to push that thing into my face again and I’ll grab it and throw it into the water. You say you inherited an appetite for the stuff; well, I inherited a few things, myself, and I reckon they’re enough to stagger under without taking on any of your failings.”

“Maybe you’ll come to it, some time,” laughed Shoup.

He was, by now, an entirely different person from the Shoup of a few minutes before. His eyes gleamed, and while his face remained colorless and of a dead, waxen white, strength ran surging through him, and his nerves steadied. It was the influence of the drug, of course, and when that failed his condition would be more pitiful than ever. Lenning, shivering at the spectacle presented by his companion, turned moodily and looked down into the pool.

Shoup put away his morocco case. Getting up, he stepped to Lenning’s side and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m a horrible example, eh?” he breathed. “All right. You’re a good deal of an example, too. You’re a cast-off; a week ago your uncle gave you a thousand dollars and kicked you out of the house. Where’s the thousand now, Lenning? ‘Rooly’ and faro have swallowed it up.” He laughed jeeringly.

Lenning whirled on him, red with anger.

“And who helped me lose the thousand?” he cried. “It was you! You might have the grace, seems to me, to shut up about the loss of that money. We’ve neither of us got a sou; but, if we can get to the gulch beyond Dolliver’s, maybe I can borrow enough to get us out of this country for good.”

“Who’s at the gulch?”

“A few friends of mine—at least, they used to be friends. They’re members of the Gold Hill Athletic Club, and they’re camping there.”

“I don’t think you’re going to get money—not altogether,” said Shoup. “There’s something else on your mind, too. What is it, Len?”

“Tell you later,” muttered Lenning.

“Look here: The bunch of fellows at the camp in the gulch are having Merriwell over for a boating competition—canoe race, or something like that. You’ve got a grudge against Merriwell and you’d like to saw it off with him. Am I right?”

An astounded look crossed Lenning’s face. He turned his bewildered eyes on his friend.

“How the deuce did you guess that?” he inquired breathlessly.

“The dope clears the brain wonderfully, Len,” grinned Shoup. “It all came to me, just now. Sort of second sight, I reckon. Am I right?”

“Well, what if you are?”

“Nothing, but this: I’m with you. What reason have I to love Merriwell? No more than you. If we square the score, suppose we do it together.”

Lenning stared gloomily at Shoup, then turned on his heel and started off down the cañon. “Come on,” he called, “we’d better keep a-plugging.”

Shoup made after him, his step buoyant, his spirits as light as his step. He was paying for every hour of that stimulated, fictitious strength with a year of his life. But his thoughts did not—dared not—take account of the future. It was the immediate present that concerned him.

“You can’t get away from these family traits, Len,” said Shoup, as they made their way southward.

“There’s a mighty tough prospect ahead of me,” growled Lenning, “if that’s the case.”

“Well, it is the case.”

“I’m not taking your word for it. Nobody would take your word for anything, Billy. You’re a wreck of a man—just a burned-out hulk of what you ought to be. That’s the way with you slaves of the needle.”

“What are you, Jode?” gibed the other. “While you’re throwing it into me, you’d better think about yourself.”

“I’m no dope fiend,” snarled Jode Lenning. “I’ve got a will left, and when I get good and ready I can turn a leaf and be different.”

“I’ve got a picture of you ‘turning a leaf,’” laughed Shoup sarcastically. “You’ll have to show me. You’re not turning a leaf by going after Merriwell, are you?”

Lenning did not answer. Something, ahead of them in the trail, caught his attention, just then, and brought him to a dead stop.

“Thunder!” he exclaimed, “there’s a stage. Something’s gone wrong with it. Where’s the team and the driver? Wonder if they’ve had a break-down?”

CHAPTER II.
MAKING A “RAISE.”

The stage that carried passengers and luggage between the two towns of Ophir and Gold Hill was a mountain wagon with a canopy top. This wagon, minus the horses and driver, was at a rest in the trail.

A woman, dressed in black and with a gray shawl over her shoulders, was sitting on the seat immediately behind the one reserved for the driver. Back of her, in the rear of the wagon box, was a shabby little hide-covered trunk.

This woman, apparently, was the only passenger. The two lads stared in the woman’s direction and continued to wonder regarding what had happened to the stage.

“Some accident, sure,” said Shoup. “The driver must have taken the team and gone after help.”

“I reckon that’s the how of it,” returned Lenning.

“Now,” his companion went on, “if we had money, Len, we could ride in that rig as far as Ophir; and then, if we had some more money, we could hire horses in Ophir and get to the gulch in that way.”

“If we had money,” came grimly from Lenning, “we wouldn’t go to the gulch at all.”

“Wouldn’t we?” queried Shoup. “You say we’re going there to make a ‘touch,’ and won’t admit that your wish to play even with Merriwell has anything to do with it. But I know making a raise is only about half of our work at the gulch.”

“Well, let it go at that,” said the other, with a shade of annoyance. “No use standing here chinning when we ought to be moving on.”

They started forward again. As they drew nearer the stage they soon discovered what had happened.

One of the rear wheels was broken beyond repair. The wheel had struck a bowlder and had been dished. Rim and tire were lying on the ground, covered with half the spokes. The rest of the spokes were sticking in the hub.

The woman on the front seat watched the lads as they approached. They could see that she was little and old and wore spectacles. A lock of snow-white hair dropped below the brim of a hat, which was evidently homemade. Her dress was clearly her best black alpaca, and had probably been her best for many years. The old face slowly lighted up as the young men drew near.

Both boys lifted their hats when they had come close. “You’ve had an accident, ma’am?” asked Lenning.

“Well, goodness me, I should say so!” was the answer. “I’ve been sitting here for an hour, seems like, while the driver’s gone with the horses to get a new wheel, or something else to patch up the wagon, so we can get on to Ophir. Do you boys live hereabouts?”

“Gold Hill,” said Lenning briefly.

“It’s been pretty lonesome, sitting here all alone, and I don’t feel real spry, either. You see, I haven’t been long out of a hospital, and this is quite a trip for a woman, old as I am. But I like this country—always did. I’ll feel a heap better, I know, after I’ve been here a spell. Going far?”

“Ophir.”

“Dear me! Why don’t you ride when the weather’s so warm? I’ve come from up North,” she continued, without waiting for a reply, “and it’s real brisk November weather, up there. Here in southern Arizona, though, winter isn’t winter at all, is it? Years ago, when I lived in these parts, I’ve seen the thermometer at eighty, in the shade, on Christmas day. That wasn’t much like Christmas. Terrible dusty, don’t you think?”

She had an old-fashioned hand reticule on her lap, and just here she opened it to take out a handkerchief. As she drew out the little square of linen, a roll of bills, with a yellowback on the outside, came with it. She grabbed the money before it could fall, and pushed it back where it belonged. Then she dabbed at her face with the handkerchief.

Shoup drew a quick breath as he caught sight of the money. There was an evil, greedy gleam in his eyes as they continued to fix themselves on the hand reticule.

Lenning’s eyes also filled with longing at sight of the roll of bills. He compressed his lips tightly, however, and turned his head away.

“Sorry we can’t stay with you, ma’am,” said he, “and keep you company until the driver gets back, but we’re in a hurry. Good-by. Come on, Billy.”

Shoup smiled at the old lady and again lifted his hat as he followed Lenning along the trail. The old lady shook out her handkerchief at them and called a good-by in a thin, high voice.

“Confound the luck!” grumbled Lenning, after a bend in the trail had hidden the stage from sight, “I’m tired enough to drop. If we could only make a raise this side of the gulch, we could get to where we’re going a heap easier than hoofing it.”

“You’re right, we could!” agreed Shoup. “You’d go on to the camp in the gulch, would you,” he added mockingly, “if we had money?”

“Yes, I would,” was the almost savage response. “You’re fishing around to find out what I’m really up to, and now you’re getting it flat; I want to even up with Frank Merriwell. He’s raised Cain with me, and you know it. What business has he got, sticking his nose into my affairs? He’s due to get what a buttinsky ought to get—and I’m the one that is going to hand it to him. Watch my smoke!”

“Hooray!” chuckled Shoup softly.

“You can help, if you want to,” went on Lenning, fairly ablaze with his fancied wrongs now that Shoup had nagged him into starting on them, “but, by thunder, you’ve got to keep your head clear and not make a monkey out of yourself—or me.”

“I don’t think I’ll do that, Jode,” purred Shoup; “I guess you’ll be tickled to death to have some one helping you before you’re done with Merriwell. He’s a good way from being an easy proposition. Do you think you can bank on your friends in the gulch?”

“Why should they turn against me?”

“Pretty nearly all your friends have given you the cold shoulder, I notice, since your uncle pulled the pin on you.”

“I can’t believe that all of them will kick me when I’m down,” said Lenning gloomily. “I’ve done a heap for that Gold Hill crowd. I used to have plenty of money, and whenever they wanted any all they had to do was to ask me for it. A whole lot of them owe me what they’ve borrowed, too. It’s only right they should pay that back, anyhow.”

“My experience is,” said Shoup, “that a fellow will always have plenty of friends when he’s got the spondulix and can pass it out freely; but when the mazuma gives out, and the barrel can’t be tapped any more, then he can’t find a friend with a microscope.”

“Friends like that are no friends at all.”

“They’re all like that.”

“Merriwell’s friends are not, and I don’t see why I can’t have a few friends just as loyal as his.”

“Well, Len,” grinned Shoup, “you’re not Merriwell.”

“I’m as good as he is!” flared Lenning.

“Not at some things.”

“I didn’t have a dad who was the world’s champion all-round athlete, and that’s one place where he gets the best of me. It’s Merriwell’s father’s reputation that makes young Merriwell what he is. Take that from him and there’s nothing left.”

“Easy, easy! You’re shy a few chips, Jode. Young Merriwell stands on his own feet, and the biggest handicap he has is the way people expect big things of him because his father did big things. Although I hate Merriwell as much as you do, yet I’ve got a whole lot of respect for him. Now——”

Shoup came to a halt, one hand on the outside of his breast pocket. A blank look crossed his pallid face.

“What’s the matter?” asked Lenning, halting.

“My dope case is gone!” was the answer. “I must have dropped it along the trail somewhere.”

“Let it go, Billy! Now’s as good a time as ever to cut away from the dope. Buck up and use your will power. Try and be a——”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” cut in the other angrily. “I’d die if I had to get along without that. Will you go back with me and help me find it?”

“I will—nit. I’m pretty nearly fagged. If you’re bound to have that stuff, go back and hunt it up yourself. I’ll wait for you here.”

A look as of satisfaction crossed Shoup’s face.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said, and turned back and was soon out of sight behind the chaparral.

Moodily Jode Lenning found a place where he could be fairly comfortable, and sat down. Every muscle in his body was aching. A few weeks before he would not have minded a jaunt like the one he and Shoup was taking, but now it told on him fearfully.

He knew the reason. His wits were keen enough to assure him that reckless living for only a few days had sapped the strength and endurance which he had been garnering for months.

He had been foolish, worse than foolish. But that couldn’t be helped, and there was no use crying over spilt milk.

The one object he had in life, just then, was squaring accounts with Frank Merriwell. Merriwell was always in the pink of condition—he made it a point to keep himself so.

“I’m all shot to pieces,” growled Lenning, “and I’ve got to go up against this paragon who never side-steps his training and settle a big score with him. Will he be too much for me? He will, sure, unless I can get at him in some underhand way. That’s the idea!” he finished.

Then, for an hour, he tried to think of some “underhand way” in which he could make young Merriwell feel the full force of his vengeance. Lenning was unscrupulous, to a certain extent, and his association with Shoup was well calculated to make him more so; nevertheless, Lenning had some shreds of character and self-respect left, although they formed a very imperfect foundation on which to build for better things.

While Lenning was still busy with his thoughts, Billy Shoup came briskly back along the trail. Lenning started up as he drew close, and stared at the triumphant look on his waxlike face.

“I reckon you found what you were looking for,” said he.

“You can bet a blue stack I did,” was the answer. “It wasn’t the dope case, either, Len.”

“Not that?” queried the startled Len. “What was it, then?”

Shoup proudly drew from his pocket something which he held toward Lenning in the palm of his hand. It was a roll of bills with a “yellowback” on the outside.

“Made a raise,” he chuckled. “Transferred this from the old lady’s hand bag to my pocket. Ain’t I the cute boy, all right?”

CHAPTER III.
A DRUGGED CONSCIENCE.

With revulsion plainly marked in his face, Jode Lenning leaped back from the outstretched hand and the roll of bills as he would from a coiled rattlesnake.

“Squeamish, eh?” jeered Shoup, his eyes two points of light and boring into Lenning’s brain. “You’ve got a lot of cause, after the way you’ve acted, to get on your high horse with me.”

“You’re a plain thief!” gasped Lenning.

“Very plain,” sneered the other; “you’re worse, Lenning, only it’s not so plain.”

Lenning jumped at Shoup with clenched fists.

“What do you mean by that sort of talk?” he demanded chokingly.

“Don’t think you can scare me, Jode. You can’t. If you want a tussle, don’t think for a minute that you’d have the easy end of it. I know you better than anybody else does—better even than your fool of an uncle, who let you pull the wool over his eyes for so long. You’re a coward. When you saw the money in that old woman’s hand bag, you wanted it just as much as I did, only you didn’t have the nerve to take it. Well, I had the nerve; and I was so clever about it that she’ll never know it’s gone until she wants to pay a bill. Now get a grip on yourself and don’t act like a blooming idiot.”

Lenning shivered slightly. The gleaming eyes of his companion were still boring into his brain, and somehow they robbed him of all desire to resent with his fists the hard words Shoup had spoken.

“It seems to me as though, if you’re bound to steal, you could pick out some one else for a victim,” Lenning grumbled. “That poor old woman—I can see her face now, with that lock of gray hair falling down from under that rusty old hat and—and—oh, it makes me sick just to think of it!”

He turned away in gloomy protest. Shoup laughed.

“Fine!” said he. “I didn’t know, Jode, that there was so much maudlin sentiment wrapped up in you. How do you know the old lady is so poor, eh? You can’t always judge from appearances. The biggest miser I ever knew—an old curmudgeon that looked like a tramp, had more than a hundred thousand in the bank. There’s two hundred in this roll, and it will stake us until luck begins coming our way.”

The first shock of disgust had passed and Lenning began to take a little interest in his friend’s recent achievement.

“You didn’t lose that morocco case at all, eh?” he asked.

“Not at all; that was merely an excuse for me to go back to the stage and pull off my little play.”

“Suppose I had gone with you to help hunt for the case?”

“I was pretty sure you wouldn’t.”

“Well, how did you manage it?”

“Easy. The old lady was still on the front seat, and when she saw me coming she brightened up a lot. She wanted to know why I was coming back, and I told her that I had lost something in the trail and had come back to look for it. The hand bag lay on the seat beside her. I leaned over the side of the wagon, and began to talk. I called her attention to the wall of the cañon, pointing out a queer formation of the rocks, with my left hand, and, with my right, opening the bag and taking out the money. She never suspected a thing. It was about the easiest job I ever pulled off.”

The shameless steps which he had followed in committing the robbery were recited by Shoup without a shadow of feeling or regret; on the contrary, there was a boasting note in his voice, as though he had accomplished something of which he was proud.

“You’re—you’re a coyote!” muttered Lenning.

“I’m a fox, Jode,” laughed Shoup, “and a slick one, believe me. You couldn’t have turned a trick like that without bungling.”

“I’d as soon think of stealing pennies out of a blind man’s cup. That dope has killed your conscience. I don’t believe you have a heart in you—when you’re under the influence of that fiendish stuff.”

“Oh, cut that out!” grunted Shoup. “We’ve made a raise and we’re going to use the money. We need it—you know we need it. Come on. We’ll see how quick we can get into Ophir and out again. We’ll hire horses and ride to the gulch. It won’t do for us to stay long in the town.”

They started again, Lenning dragging along, moodily thoughtful. His thoughts, whatever they were, must have been far from pleasant. Shoup, abnormally keen while under the spell of the slow poison, seemed to know what his companion was thinking about.

“You’re asking yourself, Jode,” said he jestingly, “how you ever happened to fall so low as to be a friend of mine. You were pretty well down yourself before we got into each other’s company this last time. While you’re thinking what a conscienceless wretch I am, let your mind circle about yourself. What have you got to be proud of?”

“Nothing,” snarled Jode.

“That is correct. If we can pick our bone with Merriwell, we’ll both feel a whole lot better; when that’s finished, we’ll clear out of this country and make a long jump to Frisco. That’s the town! We can do big things there.”

“What sort of things?” queried Lenning suspiciously.

“Oh, something safe and profitable. I’m well acquainted, and the friends I have are the kind who’ll help a fellow when he’s down. They’ll take you in on my say-so, and, if you prove loyal to them, you’ll find that they will prove loyal to you, in fair weather or foul. We——”

Lenning cut into Shoup’s remarks with a sharp exclamation. “Duck!” he exclaimed; “get into the brush—quick!”

At this same moment, Lenning suited his action to the word and dove pell-mell into the chaparral beside the trail. Without understanding the reason for this sudden move, Shoup did likewise. The next moment, he heard a tramp of horses’ hoofs in the trail. Riders were coming, and Lenning had been crafty enough to understand that it was not well, after the robbery, for them to be seen in that part of the cañon.

Shoup chuckled. This meant, as he looked at it, that Lenning had accepted the situation and was eager to help his companion avoid the consequences.

Three horses came along at a gallop. Two of the horses had a wagon harness upon them. One of these animals was ridden by a flannel-shirted man, who was probably the stage driver. The third animal was a saddle horse, and was ridden by a young fellow with snapping black eyes and in cowboy rig. One horse in the stage team carried a wagon wheel lashed to its back.

The horses and their riders flashed by the thicket where Lenning and Shoup lay concealed, and were quickly out of sight and hearing. Lenning crawled slowly back into the trail.

“If we hadn’t been quick,” said he, as Shoup joined him, “they’d have seen us.”

“But they didn’t,” answered Shoup, “so it’s nothing to worry over. What’s the cowboy along for?”

“Give it up. The cowboy was Barzy Blunt, of the Bar Z Ranch. Ever heard of him?”

“No, but there are several cowboys I never heard of, Jode. How has this fellow Blunt ever distinguished himself?”

“Well, when Merriwell first came to Ophir, Blunt got a grouch at him. Blunt is a cowboy athlete, but never had any special training. He thought Merriwell was a conceited Easterner, and made up his mind he’d take a few falls out of him. He tried it.”

“And made a failure, eh?”

“How did you know Blunt failed?”

“Guessed it. It takes a pretty good athlete to beat Merriwell at any sort of sport. But go on.”

“As you say, Blunt failed. Time after time he tried to best Merriwell, but was always beaten out. At last they became friends. There’s an old professor with Merriwell and his pals. They found him holed away in the Picketpost Mountains, holding down a gold ‘prospect.’ Merriwell helped the professor save the ‘prospect,’ and by and by it turned out that the man who had taken Blunt to raise had a grubstake interest in the professor’s claim. The man was dead, but his widow came in for the good thing. The syndicate that has the big gold mine in Ophir, I understand, have paid, or are going to pay, fifty thousand for the mine. That will put Barzy Blunt on Easy Street, for everybody says half the purchase price will come to him when the widow is done with it.”

“Some fellows certainly have a habit of dropping into a good thing,” murmured Shoup.

“It wasn’t a habit with Blunt. He had about as hard a time getting along as any fellow you ever saw.”

“So he and Merriwell were enemies, and now they’re friends?”

“Yes.”

“Look out, Jode!” joked Shoup. “Maybe Merriwell will win you over before you have a chance to settle accounts with him.”

“No danger,” grunted Lenning. “Merriwell hasn’t any more use for me than I have for him. Merriwell wouldn’t wipe his feet on me, I reckon, and you can bet your last sou I wouldn’t give him a chance to try. He knows the sort of father I had, and that I’m headed wrong as a birthright, and will go wrong in spite of fate.”

“What a fellow inherits he can’t get away from,” declared Shoup. “Merriwell, it seems, understands that. When you know a thing’s true, what’s the use of trying to buck against it? We’re all born with a handicap of some sort in the race of life; we’ve got to win by doing the thing that comes easiest.”

This was the logic of a drugged conscience, of a fellow who was not himself at the very moment he brought up the argument. For a lad like Jode Lenning, already started on the downhill road, such a fellow was a dangerous companion.

“I don’t know whether you’ve got the right of that, or not,” said Lenning, “but I hope you haven’t. There are times when I want to turn over a leaf and be different—and never a time more than right now, since my uncle has kicked me out; but——” He hesitated.

“But you want to hand Merriwell a testimonial of your kind regards before the leaf is turned, eh?” grinned Shoup.

“I’ll show him,” snapped Lenning, “that he had no business butting into my affairs.”

“We’ll both show him, Len. I can be of more help to you than you think. We’ll get horses in Ophir and ride for the gulch. After we’re through with our work there, we’ll clear out of this part of the country and pull off some big things.”

“I wish to thunder,” said Lenning, “that I could look into the future and see just what is going to happen.”

Had he been able to do that, Jode Lenning would probably have received the surprise of his life.

CHAPTER IV.
BLUNT TAKES THE WARPATH.

Frank and his chums, Owen Clancy and Billy Ballard, sat on the front veranda of the Ophir House and saw a horseman come pounding along the road. The rider was a cowboy—that much could be seen at a glance. Cowboys were no novelty in the streets of Ophir, and this one secured attention mainly because he was pointing for the hotel.

Gracefully he dashed at the veranda steps, just as though he intended to gallop into the hotel; then, deftly whirling his horse, he came to a halt broadside on to the three lads who were watching him over the veranda rail. So suddenly did the cowboy stop, that his horse sat down and slid to a standstill in a flurry of dust.

“Whoop!” cried the admiring Clancy to the master horseman, “say, old man, you’re all to the mustard.”

“Shucks!” grinned the cowboy, “stoppin’ in a horse’s length from full gallop ain’t nothing to what old Hot Shot can do. This here little cayuse can ride up the side of a house, with me on his back, and then turn a summerset off’n the ridge pole. Fact. Which is the hombray that totes the label of Merriwell?”

“I’m the hombre,” laughed Merry.

The cowboy drew back in his saddle and peered at him through half-closed eyes.

“Is that all there is of ye?” he inquired. “From what I’ve heard, I reckoned ye was about ten feet high an’ went chuggin’ around like a steam engine. My notions was kinder hazy, more’n like. Since I was a kid, my favor-ite hero has allers been that dad o’ yourn. I allow, that pullin’ off athletic stunts comes mighty easy for you, arter the way you was brung up. Here’s a paper talk I was asked to kerry in an’ pass over to ye.”

The cowboy jerked a letter from the breast of his shirt, flipped it toward Merriwell, then rattled his spurs and bore on with a husky “Adios!” Frank had caught the missive deftly, and he now sat staring glumly after the disappearing rider.

“Come out of it, Chip,” said Ballard. “Just open that paper talk and let’s hear what it says.”

“That cowboy thinks athletics come easy for me because dad made such a record,” muttered Frank. “I wish to thunder people would understand that such things can’t be handed down in a fellow’s family, like silver spoons, and the grandfather’s clock, and the old homestead.”

“Don’t fret about anything that cowboy said,” returned Clancy. “He also had a notion that you were ten feet high, and went snorting around like a locomotive. His ideas don’t seem to be reliable, anyhow. What’s in the letter, Chip?”

Frank tore open the envelope and drew out the inclosed sheet. His face brightened as he read the letter.

“Here’s news, fellows,” said he; “listen.” And he read aloud:

“‘I’ll bet something handsome you’ll be surprised when you get this and find out some of us Gold Hill fellows are back at the old camp in the gulch. We’re here for a week, and we want you and Reddy, and Pink to come out and see us to-morrow. Hotch and I challenge you for a canoe race, or a swimming match, or any other old thing that’s in the line of sport and excitement. We hear that you’re soon to leave Arizona, and we can’t let you go without having a visit with you. Of course, we don’t expect to beat you at anything—you were born with the athletic virus in your veins and all sports are second nature to you—but give us a chance to do our best against you, anyway. Come on, and stay as long as you can.’

“And that,” Frank added, with the shadow of a frown crossing his face, “is signed by Bleeker, the Gold Hill chap we’re pretty well acquainted with.”

“It’s a bully letter!” Clancy declared. “What’s more, it hits me about where I live. Staying holed up in this hotel for the rest of the time we’re in Arizona doesn’t appeal to me a little bit. We’ll go, of course?”

“No studies for a couple of days, Chip!” put in Ballard, repressing his exultation. “Mrs. Boorland will reach Ophir to-day, and then she and the professor will be busy selling out their mine to the syndicate. The prof told us, you remember, that he regretted the break in our studies, but that he expected to make it up as soon as the mine is out of the way. Let’s pile in and enjoy ourselves. What?”

“Did you absorb what Bleek says about all sports being second nature to me?” fretted Merry, staring gloomily at that particular passage in the letter. “Say, I wonder if anybody gives me credit for doing anything in my own right? I’ve put in some pretty hard licks trying to make a sprinter, a pitcher, and a few other things out of myself, and yet there’s an impression around that dad’s responsible for it all. It’s a thundering big handicap, and I’m getting tired of it. I don’t care a picayune what a fellow inherits, he has to stand on his own feet, and it’s what he does himself that makes or breaks him.”

Merriwell was getting rather warm on the subject—too warm, he suddenly realized, and put the clamps on himself.

“Of course,” he went on, “I’m mighty lucky in having a father in the champion class. He has been mighty good to me, and his advice has been the biggest kind of a help, but he has only pointed the way, and it was left to me whether I made good or not. It’s the most foolish thing in the world, strikes me, to think a fellow is worthy or worthless simply because his father was one or the other. Now——”

Merriwell paused. The stage from Gold Hill, several hours late, was lumbering up the main street of Ophir. He had been watching it moodily while he talked; and then, abruptly, his moodiness vanished and he jumped to his feet.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed, in pleased surprise. “As sure as shooting, fellows, there’s Barzy Blunt!”

There was no doubt about it. Barzy Blunt, on horseback, was riding along at the side of the stage; and, on a seat of the stage, was a little old lady with spectacles, and a shawl over her shoulders.

“Hello, Barzy!” Frank called, leaning out over the veranda railing and waving his hand. “Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you, old man?”

“How’s the ranch, Barze?” shouted Clancy.

“Good old Barzy!” chirped Ballard. “You’re a wonder, all right. Whoever had a notion you’d be turning up in Ophir this afternoon?”

The stage had halted in front of the hotel, and Blunt had swung down from his saddle and rushed to the side of the vehicle. He waved a joyous greeting to the lads on the veranda, and then very carefully helped the old lady to alight. Pophagan, proprietor of the hotel, came briskly out, followed by the Chinaman who acted as porter.

“Glad to see ye, Blunt,” said Pophagan. “An’ this here is Mrs. Hilt Boorland, ain’t it? It’s been a heap o’ years since I’ve seen Mrs. Boorland. Howdy, mum? Feelin’ well, I hope? I been savin’ a good room for you. I’ll take the grip, and the chink, I reckon, can manage the trunk. Come right in whenever you’re ready. Have a break-down, Andy?” he called to the stage driver. “You’re a long time behind schedule.”

The roustabout shouldered the little, hide-bound trunk and trotted into the hotel with it. Pophagan, already up the steps, was swinging a scarred and battered satchel. Blunt, still very carefully, was helping the old lady mount to the veranda. Merry ran down and lent his assistance. Andy, settling back in his seat and picking up the reins, was sputtering about the broken wheel and the delay. He drove on, still sputtering, bound for the post office, where he was to leave the mail bags.

“Merriwell,” said Blunt, after his charge had safely reached the veranda, “this is Mrs. Boorland. Mam,” and he turned to the old lady, “this is Frank Merriwell, and Owen Clancy, and Billy Ballard. I reckon,” and he laughed softly, “that you’re not exactly strangers to each other.”

“Deary me!” exclaimed the little old lady, very much flustered. “Why, the letters Barzy wrote to me at the hospital were just full of things about you boys.” She got up and put her trembling arms about Merriwell. “You don’t mind an old woman showing her affection for you, do you? Seems like you were one of my boys, same as Barzy. You did a lot for Barzy, you and your friends, Frank Merriwell. I just wish I had the last letter he wrote me! If you could see the fine things he said about you, you’d know you’d never lack for a friend so long as Barzy’s alive.”

She turned from Frank to Owen.

“And here’s Mr. Clancy,” she went on, “and Mr. Ballard! Goodness sakes, I am just as pleased as I can be. We’d have got here a lot sooner if the wheel hadn’t broken, ’way off in the cañon. I had to wait in the stage while the driver came on to get another wheel. Well, it was lonesome, but I didn’t mind. Two young fellows came along on foot, and they kind of cheered me up, only they didn’t stay long. Now, Barzy,” and Mrs. Boorland turned supplicatingly to the cowboy, “don’t you go and think hard about those two young fellows. I don’t believe they had a thing to do with it, not a thing. I just pulled out my handkerchief, and the roll came with it—and that’s how it was lost.”

“Never mind, mam,” said Blunt, allowing a smile to chase away the hard look that had come over his face, “you’re not as strong as you might be, and I’m going to take you into the house and make you comfortable.”

“I hope I’ll see a lot of you boys while I’m here,” Mrs. Boorland said, clinging with both hands to Blunt’s arm. “I’ll be here for quite a little while, I reckon. Friends of Barzy’s are always friends of mine, and mighty good friends, too.”

She and the cowboy vanished inside the hotel.

“So that’s Mrs. Boorland!” murmured Ballard. “She’s a nice old lady and I’m glad she’s got a wad of money coming to her.”

“Same here,” spoke up Clancy. “It was a lucky thing for Blunt that, when he was a homeless kid, a woman like Mrs. Boorland took him in and made a home for him.”

“And Blunt, ever since Mr. Boorland died,” said Merry, “has been paying back the debt. While Mrs. Boorland was in the hospital, he sent about all his wages to her, and even sold his favorite riding horse to me so he could send more when he found his wages weren’t enough. Well, I don’t blame him at all. I’d do the same for an old lady like that.”

A few moments later Blunt came back to the veranda. There was an angry frown on his face as he dropped into a chair near Merriwell.

“What’s biting you, Barzy?” Frank inquired.

“A whole lot, pard,” Blunt answered. “I’ve danced the medicine and am going on the warpath. Do you know a fellow with a white face, washed-out eyes, and tow hair?”

“Well, slightly,” Merriwell answered, with a grim smile. “He was brought on from some place unknown by Jode Lenning to coach the Gold Hill football squad. But he and Jode have both got their walking papers, and where they are now is more than I know.”

“They were in the cañon this afternoon,” scowled Blunt. “Mrs. Boorland saw them there. They were on foot and walking this way, but they stopped to talk for a spell. After they left and went down the cañon, this white-faced skunk came back. He talked some more, and when he went away for good, Mrs. Boorland found that two hundred in bills was missing from her hand bag.”

“Great Scott!” muttered Clancy. “Billy Shoup is up to his old tricks.”

“He must have had his nerve with him to steal from an old woman!” exclaimed Ballard contemptuously.

“I’ll bet a row of ’dobies that Lenning was in on the deal as much as Shoup,” said Blunt darkly, “only he was too much of a coward to pull off the robbery. I’m going on the warpath and get that money back—and with interest. You hear me!”

CHAPTER V.
A SURPRISE AT THE GULCH.

“Don’t be in a rush with your suspicions, Barzy,” Merriwell advised. “Accusing a man of robbing an old lady like Mrs. Boorland is pretty serious business. From what I heard her say to you, she thinks she may have lost the money.”

“Not on your life, she doesn’t think that!” returned Blunt. “That’s her way—always trying to screen everybody. She didn’t lose the money. It was stolen from the hand bag, and Shoup and Lenning are the ones that did it. I’m going after them, and I’ll get the money and wring their necks into the bargain. I can’t remember when anything has happened that has worked me up like this.”

Blunt was a cowboy, and, as Frank knew very well, inclined to be rough and reckless whenever he thought he was dealing with guilt or injustice. If he found Shoup and Lenning and recovered the money, there was no doubt but that he would attempt to give them a lesson they’d long remember.

“When are you going to start on this warpath of yours, Blunt?” Merriwell asked.

“Right now, just as quick as I can do it. I’ve told mam that I had to go back to the ranch, but that was only to ease her mind. Instead of loping for the Bar Z I’m going to hunt the trail of Shoup and Lenning, and run it out. If I don’t they’ll be apt to have all that money spent. I know their caliber, all right. For the last week they’ve been gambling in Gold Hill, I’ve heard, getting rid of the thousand Colonel Hawtrey gave Lenning when he kicked the fellow out of his house.”

“I guess,” said Frank, “that I’ll go with you, Barzy.”

The sloe-black eyes of the cowboy softened a little, then flamed.

“No, you won’t, Chip!” he declared. “This is my business and you’ll keep out of it. I know what’s on your mind. You think there are two of them, and that they’ll be one too many for me.” He flung back his head and laughed derisively. “Why,” he finished, “they’re both cowards from the ground up. They’ll be scared to death just at the sight of me. I can handle ’em.”

“I’d like to go along, anyhow,” insisted Frank. “A little excitement wouldn’t come amiss, just now. We’re going to leave Arizona pretty soon, and we’d like to keep keyed up with something or other until we go.”

“That’s you!” grinned Blunt, “but you can’t drive such palaver down my throat. You’re afraid I’ll get into trouble, and you’re making excuses to go along, but this is a single-handed expedition, and I’m going to see it through all by my lonesome. Mam is feeling pretty chipper, and she won’t need me for a while. It isn’t that I wouldn’t be glad of your company, Chip, but I just want to nail these fellows myself, and do it good and proper. You’re a crack hand at everything—get it from your dad, of course—but Barzy Blunt is pretty good at a thing like this. Buenos!”

Merry had not another word to say. He watched Blunt run down the steps, pull the reins over his saddle-horn, and spring to the back of his horse. A moment later he had vanished in the direction of the cañon trail.

“That’s three times in one afternoon,” grumbled Merry. “And the last time it comes from Blunt, who ought to know better.”

“Chip’s hearing funny noises, Pink,” remarked Clancy to Ballard. “What do you suppose has got into him? He’s breaking out in an unexpected place.”

“Three times!” mused Ballard. “What has happened three times, Chip? Maybe I’m thick, but I can’t follow you.”

“Blunt said that I’m a crack hand at everything, which is coming it rather strong, and that I get it from my dad, of course. Everybody has suddenly begun throwing that handicap at me.”

“Not much of a handicap,” said the red-headed chap. “If my governor was the best all-round athlete in the country, I’d be tickled to death over it.”

“You’re not getting me right, Clan,” returned Merry earnestly. “I’m proud of dad, but the things he has done he did himself, and against a whole lot of discouraging circumstances at the outset. I want to make the same sort of a record, see? But how can I when everybody insists that what dad has done makes my imitation easy? If a fellow goes wrong because his father went wrong, he’s a pretty poor stick; and if he goes right just because his father went right, what credit is it to him? Anyhow, there’s nothing in that theory. If a fellow wins or loses, it’s his own doing—his own, mind you.”

Frank was nettled. It was unusual for him to show his feelings so plainly, but he was human, and there were a few things that struck pretty hard at his self-restraint.

“I’m glad you didn’t run off with Blunt,” said Ballard, after a moment, “for that would have knocked our trip to the gulch in the head. We’re going?”

“Yes,” Frank nodded. “Early in the morning we’ll ride for the gulch.”

“Hooray!” jubilated Clancy. “What you need, Chip, is a little outdoor exercise—a little of the summer ozone which we’re getting, in this part of the country, in the middle of November. Let’s make the most of it. When we leave southern Arizona, we’ll probably land somewhere in the ice and snow.”

The boys saw little of Mrs. Boorland until evening. At supper, she came down from her room and Frank introduced her to Professor Borrodaile, who was tutoring the three lads, getting his health back in the splendid climate, and incidentally waiting to claim the half of fifty thousand dollars, which he and Mrs. Boorland were to receive for the mining claim.

The more the lads saw of the little old lady the more they liked her. It was plain that she was all wrapped up in Barzy Blunt; and that, when she got through with her half of the fifty thousand, it would be passed on to Barzy. Nor would this be long, Merriwell thought, as he saw how frail and worn she was through years of misfortune.

Frank and his chums were in bed early, that night, and next morning they were up and on the road to the gulch before either Mrs. Boorland or the professor was stirring.

It was a crisp, bright morning. The air, pure and clean from the wide deserts, acted like a tonic. Ballard, in spite of himself, burst into song, and Clancy had a time of it smothering the ragtime airs that Ballard insisted on trying to sing.

The trail was wide and fine for the fifteen miles that lay between Ophir and Dolliver’s. Dolliver, the ranchman, was well known to the boys.

“What d’you reckon,” he asked of the boys, as they halted to water their mounts, “Lenning and that white-faced feller trailin’ along with him is doin’ in these parts?”

The boys were startled.

“Do you mean to say they’ve been around here, Dolliver?” Frank asked.

“That’s what,” was the reply. “They was here late yesterday arternoon, ridin’ a couple o’ hosses. The white-faced feller had a roll of bills enough to choke a dog. They’re up to somethin’ crooked, I’ll bet you.”

“Which way did they go when they left here?”

“Quién sabe?” answered Dolliver. “They jest went, an’ I didn’t see ’em when they shacked away.”

“You know Barzy Blunt?” went on Frank, casting a look at his chums that kept them silent.

“Well, I reckon. I’ve knowed Barzy ever since he was gopher-high.”

“Did you see him yesterday afternoon?”

“Nary I didn’t. He ain’t around in these parts. If he was, ye can gamble he wouldn’t pass without sayin’ how-de-do to Dolliver.”

At Dolliver’s, the boys turned from the wide trail and started into Mohave Cañon. Here the road narrowed, and angled back and forth until the mouth of the gulch was reached, and the riders turned to follow the dammed-up waters that sparkled in the late forenoon’s sun.

“I’ve a hunch,” Frank remarked, “that Blunt will get into trouble with Lenning and Shoup.”

“Chances are, Chip,” cried Clancy, “Blunt will never find them. They’re a foxy pair, and if they really stole that money, then they’ll be mighty careful to keep out of sight.”

“Maybe Shoup didn’t take the money, after all,” suggested Ballard.

“He’s a thief, Pink,” said Frank, “and I wouldn’t put it past him. The fellow’s not in his right mind for very much of the time.”

“That’s so. Do you think Lenning would stand for thieving of that sort on Shoup’s part?”

“Sure he would,” asserted Clancy. “That cub would stand for anything that didn’t call for any particular nerve on his part. He’s as crooked as Shoup; or, if he isn’t, he’ll be as crooked as Shoup before he’s been with him very long.”

“They say Lenning’s father was wild, and was killed in a brawl somewhere in Alaska,” remarked Ballard. “I suppose we couldn’t expect much better things of Lenning.”

“There you go, Pink!” exclaimed Merry. “What Lenning’s father did isn’t any excuse for Lenning.”

“Right!” laughed Ballard. “Lenning’s handicap is a bit different from yours, Chip, but I spoke before I thought.”

The walls of the gulch widened out, and as the boys rode along the border of the pent-up waters, they came presently into view of three white tents, pitched on a strip of clean, sandy beach.

Dinner was being made ready. A fire had been started, and the campers could be seen moving about, each doing his allotted part of the work.

Half a dozen canoes were drawn up on the sand, a little way from the tent, and off shore a float was anchored for the use of swimmers. It was a pleasant scene for the three lads, just a little tired from their long morning’s ride.

A moment after the travelers sighted the camp, the campers sighted them. Instantly all work among the tents came to a standstill.

“Here’s the Merriwell crowd!” whooped one of the Gold Hill fellows.

“Good old Merry!”

“Just in time for grub pile!”

A rush was made for the newcomers, and they were dragged from their horses, pounded on the back, and punched in the ribs with all the delight and good feeling imaginable.

Hotchkiss, another lad whom Frank and his chums knew pretty well, took charge of the three horses, and led them away to be picketed with the rest of the live stock. Bleeker, who seemed to be in charge of the camping party, led the visitors into the camp and showed them their quarters.

“We’re all mighty glad you’ve come,” said Bleeker heartily. “We’re going to have great times while you’re here. Didn’t see anything of Lenning and Shoup on the road, did you?”

“Lenning and Shoup?” returned Merriwell, startled. “No, we didn’t see them, but we hear they were at Dolliver’s late yesterday. Have they been here?”

“They were here last night, and I ordered them out of camp. Nearly had a fight getting them to go, but we got rid of them. Last night, though, one of our canoes was stolen. Of course,” he finished, “it’s not much of a guess who took it. Shoup’s a thief, and Lenning isn’t much better. We’ll get that canoe back, though, you can bet on that.”

CHAPTER VI.
THE REVOLVER SHOT.

“Why the deuce did Lenning and Shoup come in this direction?” asked Ballard, in a puzzled tone. “If they’d done anything crooked on the trail from Ophir to Gold Hill, they would be getting away from company instead of hunting for it.”

“It looks as though Blunt was barking up the wrong tree,” put in Clancy. “He had a revolver in his belt, under his coat, when he came out of the hotel, and started on the warpath, Chip. Didn’t see that, did you?”

“Is that straight, Clan?” Merry demanded, staring at his chum with grave concern.

“Straight as a die.”

“I didn’t see it,” said Ballard.

“Well, I did. His coat flew back as he climbed into the saddle, and for just a second I saw the gun.”

“Why didn’t you say something about it before?” asked Frank sharply.

“It would only have got you all stirred up, Chip, without doing any good. You ought to know Barzy Blunt by this time, I should think.”

They were inside the tent where the three visitors were to have their sleeping quarters. Merry, Clancy, and Ballard had flung themselves down on a pile of blankets. Bleeker had started to leave, but the conversation of Frank and his chums filled him with sudden interest, and he turned back.

“What are you chinning about?” he asked. “If Blunt had a gun, it isn’t the first time he has gone ‘heeled,’ by a long chalk. A cowboy, as a rule, knows how to shoot. I’ve heard that Blunt is particularly good on the trigger. What are you stewing about, Chip?”

“First,” said Merriwell, “I wish you’d tell me what excuse Lenning and Shoup gave for coming here—that is, if they gave any.”

“Lenning was after money.”

“Money? How did he expect to get money here?”

“Why, he claimed that some of the fellows in camp owed him money they had borrowed. I reckon he was right about it, but none of us brought any coin to speak of out here. So those who owed Lenning couldn’t pay him back if they wanted to. You know what a hold Lenning had on Colonel Hawtrey before the colonel cast him adrift. Lenning was always well supplied with funds. He was generally a tightwad, too, but he’d loosen up now and then, just to get some of the boys in debt to him, so he could boss them around. It must seem kind of queer to Lenning to be ‘strapped’ and have to go around collecting on the I O Us.”

“Queer, he was so hard pressed,” mused Frank, “when, if our suspicions are correct, he and Shoup should have been flush.”

“What are your suspicions?”

Frank told about Mrs. Boorland’s loss on the trail from Gold Hill, and how Barzy Blunt had “gone on the warpath” to recover the money. Bleeker gave a long whistle.

“Blunt is sure a crazy cowboy when he gets his mad up,” said he, “but he’s not so crazy as to use a gun on anybody. He might make a grand-stand play with it, but that’s as far as he’d go. He’s right, I think. Shoup took the bank roll, and Lenning must have known about it. Jode Lenning is going to the dogs as fast as he can.”

“If those fellows got the money,” queried Merriwell, “why in thunder were they here, trying to get some more?”

“Probably two hundred wasn’t enough.”

“Don’t forget, Chip,” spoke up Ballard, “what Dolliver said. He told us, you know, that Shoup flashed a roll ‘big enough to choke a dog.’”

“That’s right,” said Frank. “They certainly had money, and yet they came here and made a play for more. I’ll be hanged if I can understand it.”

“The Gold Hill crowd was camped right in this place, a couple of weeks ago,” went on Bleeker, “and Jode got mad at Hotch and me and made us leave the camp. I’m on top myself, just now, and am back in the athletic club, and have been elected to Jode’s place as captain of the football team. It did me good to turn on the skunk and order him off, just as he had done to me. He was backward about going, too, and said he and Shoup would have to have something to eat. We gave them some provisions, and then drove them away. They made their threats that they’d get even with us, and, as I said, last night, one of our canoes was stolen. That’s how they got even, I reckon. This is the only stretch of water in this section, where a canoe can be used, so if we hunt long enough we’re bound to get back our lost property.”

“Lenning is getting pretty mild in the way he settles his scores,” remarked Ballard. “When he’s worked up, he can be rather desperate.”

“I’m betting,” said Bleeker, “that with Shoup to nag him on, he’ll go farther than he ever went before. That Shoup is a hard case.”

“Only thing in the way of that theory,” chimed in Clancy, “is that Lenning lacks nerve. He’s got a white feather in every pocket, and he shows it every time any one gives him a chance.”

“I wouldn’t come down too hard on Jode Lenning,” suggested Merriwell. “Dad has told me, a good many times, that he never saw a fellow so tough there wasn’t some good in him.”

“Lenning’s the exception,” declared Bleeker. “He’s a schemer, through and through, and he’d be out-and-out bad if he had the courage.”

Frank shook his head. “Lenning has had a hard lesson,” said he, “and maybe he’ll show you Gold Hill fellows, some day, that he has profited by it.”

Bleeker laughed incredulously.

“Chip,” he declared, “your heart’s running away with your head. Lenning’s lawlessness was born in him.”

“Oh, splash!” grunted Merry. “That sort of talk makes me tired. A man’s born with the same chance every one else has to make something out of himself. If he goes wrong, he can’t sneak behind his pedigree and whine about it; and if he does anything worth while, why, he’s entitled to the credit.”

“Gee,” grinned Bleeker, “I reckon I’ve started something. Let’s change the subject. What are Blunt’s chances for overhauling Lenning and Bleeker?”

“Not very good—if we can get at those fellows first,” said Frank.

“Going on the warpath yourself, Chip?” inquired Ballard.

“Right after dinner. If Lenning and Shoup have Mrs. Boorland’s money, and if they’re anywhere in the vicinity of this gulch, we ought to be able to find them and get back that two hundred. Blunt is probably on the wrong trail, and we may be the means of saving him a little trouble. While we’re looking for the money, Bleek,” he added, “you can come along and hunt for the canoe.”

“I’ll go with you, Chip,” answered Bleeker heartily. “But we’re not going to waste all the afternoon on Lenning and Shoup. We’re going to have a canoe race around the Point, before sundown. I’m anxious to take a fall out of you on the water. From here to the broken pine around the Point is half a mile. I’ll pick a fellow to paddle with me, and you can take either Pink or Red. I’ve got a notion, old chap, that we Gold Hillers can show you a trick or two with the paddles.”

“I hope you can, Bleek,” laughed Merriwell. “We haven’t touched a paddle since we were up in the Wyoming country.”

“And that seems like a year ago,” sighed Clancy. “Say, I’m just honing for a paddle! Are you going to take Pink or Little Reddy, Chip?”

“We’ll settle that later,” said Frank.

“Go on!” cried Ballard, with mock indignation. “I can paddle circles all around Clancy.”

“That’s a joke,” said Clancy. “You’re too lazy to paddle circles around anybody.”

“I’m not too lazy to knock a chip off your shoulder, you red-headed chump!”

“Yah!” taunted Clancy, hunting around for a chip. “Chips are scarce,” he added finally, picking a pebble out of the sand. “How’ll this do?”

The pebble went flying from Clancy’s shoulder, and the two chums laughed and came together. While they were kicking and rolling among the blankets, a voice from outside announced “grub pile.”

“If you fellows would rather fight than eat,” said Merriwell, “stay right here and keep it up. Come on, Bleek, I’m hungry enough to eat a pair of boots.”

It was a fish dinner the campers had that day, and a good one. Half an hour before the fish was served, they had been swimming up and down the gulch. From the water to the frying pan was a quick shift—and the quicker the shift the better, when it comes to fish.

There were ten Gold Hillers in camp, and the coming of Frank and his chums brought the total number up to a baker’s dozen. The ten from Gold Hill all belonged to the athletic club, and were a splendid lot of fellows. They were hungry, too, for the morning had been full of exercise.

“Pass the spuds, there, Hotch!” “Trying to hog all the canned oleo, Ming?” “A little more of the planked shad, if you please!” “Where’s my fork?” “Confound it, Bleek, the first thing you know the company will find out we didn’t have forks enough to go around, and that we’re using one between us.” “If you can’t be real polite, then for Heaven’s sake be as polite as you can.” “I’ve got a bone in my throat!” wailed Hotchkiss. “Hit him on the back,” said Bleeker; “everybody hit Hotch on the back.”

Everybody took a slam at Hotchkiss, and when they got through with him he had been pounded to a frazzle—but he had got rid of the bone.

“That’ll do!” he cried. “I’m no punching bag—let up.”

“Where’s the bone?” asked Bleeker severely.

“Gone! It’s not bothering me half so much, now, as you fellows are.”

“Prove it’s gone.”

“How?”

“Sing. Go on, Hotch.”

“I’ve eaten too much—I can’t sing.”

“Try it!” clamored the others.

“Shucks,” deprecated Hotch, “I’ve got a voice like a foghorn. But here goes.”

He threw back his head and went at it.

“I once knew a girl in the year of eighty-nine—

A handsome young thing by the name of Emmaline—

I never could persuade her for to leave me be,

And she went and she took and she married me-e-e!”

A chorus of groans greeted Hotchkiss’ attempt.

“That’s a ranch song, Hotch,” said Bleeker sternly, “and it is not in good taste. Try again. We——”

But Hotchkiss did not get a chance to try again. Bleeker’s words were cut short by the clear, yet distant, note of a firearm.

The fun stopped as though by magic. All the boys cast startled glances at each other.

“That may be the fellows who stole our canoe!” cried Hotch, jumping to his feet. “Come on, fellows! Here’s a chance to nail ’em!”

He started up the gulch bank at a run, Bleeker and Merriwell tight at his heels.

CHAPTER VII.
A BLIND CHASE.

The lads were somewhat confused as to the direction from which the report had come. They were all agreed on one point, however, and that was that the shot had been fired on their side of the gulch. From there on, their ideas of the right direction varied widely. Clustered together on the crest of the long slope of the gulch bank, they held a hurried consultation, to decide what their next move should be.

“I’m sure,” said Bleeker, “that the sound came from the northwest.”

“Northeast, Bleek,” asserted Hotchkiss.

“Directly north,” a chap named Lenaway declared, with equal conviction.

“What do you think, Merriwell?” asked Bleeker.

“It’s hard to tell,” Frank answered. “If we’d been listening for the shot, and trying to locate it, we might have got the direction tolerably close; but the sound came when we weren’t expecting anything of the kind, so that the way we ought to go is more or less of a guess. I’m inclined to think you’re right, though, Bleek.”

“Pick out a couple to go with you, Hotch,” said Bleeker, “and go northeast. You do the same, Len, and go north. Merry and I will go over towards the cañon.”

Frank turned and gave Clancy and Ballard a significant look.

“You go with Hotch, Clan,” said he, “and Pink, you go with Lenaway.”

Clancy and Ballard understood Merriwell’s reason for this move. If the party led by Hotchkiss, or the one led by Lenaway, succeeded in finding Lenning and Shoup, then there would be some one along to make an attempt to secure Mrs. Boorland’s lost money. So far, of the Gold Hillers, only Bleeker knew of the money that had been stolen on the trail from Gold Hill to Ophir.

“This matter is settled, then,” said Bleeker. “The rest of you boys go back to camp. We don’t want to leave the camp to take care of itself and lose any more canoes. Come on, Chip.”

The party divided, the three detachments of searchers starting off hurriedly in as many different directions, while several of the lads went back down the slope to the camp.

Merriwell and Bleeker took a northwest course among low, rocky hills. They traveled rapidly, keeping their ears open for another report, which might serve further as a guide.

“That was a revolver shot,” asserted Bleeker, as they hurried on, “but it may have been farther away than we think. In this clear, still air a report will carry a long distance.”

“Did Lenning or Shoup have any weapons, Bleeker?” asked Frank, in a worried tone.

“I don’t think so; at least I didn’t see any when I sent them away from the camp, last night. If they had had any guns, they might have tried to use them then and make a bluff.”

“Probably,” said Frank, with a feeling of relief. “It’s possible, too, that some one besides Blunt was doing that shooting. There may be others in this vicinity, don’t you think?”

“Sure thing, but it’s hardly likely. I don’t believe there’s a soul nearer our camp than Dolliver’s.”

“Some cowboy might be riding down Mohave Cañon from the Fiddleback Ranch.”

“Yes; but I don’t know what he’d find to shoot at. Cowboys don’t carry revolvers all the time, like they used to; and, if a Fiddleback man was going to town, he certainly wouldn’t pack a six-shooter. But that couldn’t have been Blunt doing the shooting. He wasn’t on the track of Lenning and Shoup, at last accounts.”

“Blunt has had plenty of time to pick up the trail. He’s a determined chap when he sets out to do anything.”

“Hotch jumped at the conclusion that Lenning and Shoup were doing the shooting. But if they didn’t have anything to shoot with, Hotch, of course, is wrong. Whoever pulled the trigger was easily satisfied. Only one shot was fired.”

Just at that moment, Merriwell glimpsed something a few yards to the right of him. It was an object that lay on the ground and gleamed brightly in the sun. Swerving to one side, he picked the object up.

“What have you found, pard?” called Bleeker.

“An empty sardine tin,” Frank reported.

“That’s right,” said Bleeker, coming up and peering at the flat can with its ragged flap. “It’s bright and new, and hasn’t lain where you found it for very long. We gave Lenning and Shoup a couple of tins of sardines, and I reckon they must have camped somewhere near this place last night.”

The lads examined the ground in the vicinity with some care. They found a thicket of mesquite, which had been trampled by horses—and Bleeker’s theory that Lenning and Shoup had spent the night in that place was all but proved.

“I reckon they stayed here,” said Bleeker. “Their horses could browse on the mesquite beans, and it wouldn’t have been much of a hardship for Lenning and Shoup to sleep in the open. But why did they do it, when they could just as well have returned to Dolliver’s?”

“Perhaps they were afraid to go to Dolliver’s; that is, if they really took Mrs. Boorland’s money.”

“They’re hanging out in the hills for some purpose, that’s plain,” mused Bleeker. “We might as well keep on, Chip, and see what we can find.”

The gulch and the cañon formed a right angle, and the course the two lads were taking was carrying them nearer and nearer the deeper and narrower defile. The hills among which they traveled were low, but there were many of them, and they kept to the valleys between. Now and then, either Merriwell or Bleeker would climb one of the uplifts and take a look at the country around them. They could see nothing of the fellows they were trying to find.

“We ought to have brought our horses,” grumbled Bleeker. “If we hadn’t started in such a rush we’d have thought of that. Lenning and Shoup have mounts, and if they see us first they’ll get away and we can’t stop them.”

“It’s too late to think of our horses now,” returned Frank. “Why do you suppose they stole your canoe, last night?” he queried. “If they have horses, what use would they find for a canoe?”

“Well, they might have taken that seventy-five dollar boat just to get even with us for not letting them stay in the camp.” Bleeker came to a halt. “We’ve come twice as far as that revolver shot would carry,” he went on, “and it’s a cinch we’ve had our trouble for our pains. Suppose we give up, and go back?”

“I don’t think we’re going to have any luck,” was Merry’s answer, “so there’s nothing for us to do but to return to camp. But that shot is bothering me a lot,” he added, sitting down on a convenient bowlder.

“I’m puzzled a heap, myself,” said Bleeker, hunting a seat and dropping down on it disgustedly. “I reckon, after all, we’d better make up our minds that some prospector took a chance shot at a coyote. That’s as good a guess as any, Chip. It’s fair to suppose that Barzy Blunt is all at sea, and hasn’t a notion where to look for Shoup and Lenning. So he couldn’t have done the shooting. Shoup and Lenning are out of it, because they hadn’t a gun. We’ve taken this little trip through the hills all for nothing.”

“I’ve got a hunch you’re wrong, Bleek, yet I can’t say where you’re wrong, or why.”

“My nerves must be in a fearful state when I get so worked up over the report of a revolver. I wouldn’t have thought anything about it if Shoup and Lenning hadn’t been in our vicinity, and if they hadn’t taken our canoe, and if you hadn’t told me what you did about Mrs. Boorland’s money, and about Blunt going on the warpath.”

“Well, let’s give it up as a bad job and mosey back to the camp. I’d like to keep Blunt from finding those two fellows, for he might do something a whole lot worse than just losing the two hundred dollars. I guess, though, that Shoup and Lenning are foxy enough to keep away from Blunt.”

“Our best bet is to look for the canoe. That must be along the river, somewhere. If we can find that, we may be able to lie low and get track of the thieves who made off with it. I had already planned that move for this afternoon. Why not begin at the mouth of the gulch, Chip, and work our way back to the camp? It wouldn’t take more than an hour or two to beat up every thicket where the canoe could be hidden.”

“Come on, Bleek, and we’ll try it.”

They had hardly started before Merriwell came to a quick halt, and dropped his hand on Bleeker’s arm.

“Listen!” he said.

They bent their heads, and what Merriwell had heard came to the ears of each of them distinctly. It was the sound of galloping hoofs.

“That’s a horse, all right,” murmured Bleeker excitedly. “From the sound, the animal is heading this way.”

“One horse,” said Frank. “Wait till I climb this hill and see if I can locate the animal.”

He hurried to the top of the low hill on his left, and stared in the direction from which the hoofbeats were coming. To the south, perhaps a hundred feet away, was a long ridge. Well to the east of the point where he was making his observations, he could see the head of a horseman bobbing up and down as the animal he rode lifted and dropped in a slow gallop. The rider was heading west, following the other side of the ridge.

A quick survey of the ground showed Frank that the valley which he and Bleeker were following pierced the ridge, and, if they made good time, they could get to that part of the ridge ahead of the rider. Thus, if the rider did not change his course, they might be able to intercept him. Frank bounded down the hillside and started southward at a run.

“Hustle, Bleek,” he called. “There’s a fellow coming on a horse, and if we hurry we can head him off.”

“That’s the stuff!” answered Bleeker, getting into motion. “What sort of a looking fellow is he?”

“I couldn’t see anything but the top of his hat. There’s a ridge in the way, and he’s galloping along on the other side.”

The valley crooked in a half circle around the base of another hill, and Merry and Bleeker raced through it and came to the point where the ridge was broken. The thump of hoofs was growing louder and louder.

“He’s pretty near,” whispered Bleeker.

“He’s right on us,” Merriwell flung back, and jumped out from among the rocks.

He came within one of being trampled by the galloping hoofs, for he leaped almost under the horse’s nose. The animal snorted and reared back, while an exclamation of surprise came from its rider.

As soon as Frank could get his bearings, he gave a yell of surprise himself. The rider, as it proved, was none other than Barzy Blunt!

CHAPTER VIII.
BLUNT’S WARNING.

“What are you trying to do, pard?” called the cowboy. “Trying to scare a fellow to death?”

“Suffering side winders!” exclaimed Bleeker. “Blamed if it isn’t Blunt.”

“What appears to be the trouble?” asked Blunt.

“We’re trailing down a revolver shot, Barzy,” said Merriwell. “We thought Lenning and Shoup might be mixed up with it, somehow.”

“They were,” was the grim response. “I caught sight of them, but they were too quick for me. When I called on them to halt, they didn’t pay any attention; so I turned loose with a shot just to show ’em I meant business.”

“Did you hit either of them?” Frank inquired, with a good deal of concern.

“What do you take me for, Chip?” said Blunt. “I’m careless a whole lot, and there are times when I’m a pretty rough proposition, but I’m not plumb locoed. I wasn’t trying to hit either of those junipers—but I came mighty close to Shoup. You can bet your scalp lock that he heard the sing of the bullet.”

“They got away?”

“They did, with ground to spare.”

Blunt crooked a knee around his saddle horn and took up a comfortable position on his horse.

“How did you get on the track of those fellows, Blunt?” Frank went on.

“By a happenchance. When I rode away from the hotel, yesterday afternoon, I traveled the cañon trail toward Gold Hill. Met Schuster, one of our boys. He had been to the Hill for a couple of days, and was on his way back to the ranch. It was Schuster put me wise, Chip. He had heard a few things about Lenning and Shoup in town. You want to look out for yourself.”

“I do?” asked Frank. “Why?”

“Schuster heard that Lenning and Shoup are after your scalp. They want to balance accounts with you. I reckon you know what that means to a couple of fellows like they are.”

“Lenning and Shoup have all they can do to look out for themselves,” Chip laughingly said, “and I don’t think they’ll have any time to bother with me. Schuster probably didn’t get the thing straight, anyhow. When you overhear talk like that, Barzy, it is pretty apt to be gammon.”

“This is how straight Schuster got it,” returned Blunt. “Listen: Along at the same time Schuster heard that, he also heard that Lenning and Shoup know you and your chums were to be invited to spend a few days with the Gold Hillers in the gulch. Lenning opined that the gulch would be a good place to make his play. Did he and Shoup come out to your camp?” Blunt asked, turning to Bleeker.

“That’s what they did,” said Bleeker.

“Then Schuster wasn’t very wide of his trail on that part of it, was he? It was the information I got from him that brought me to Mohave Cañon early this morning. I didn’t stop at Dolliver’s, but drilled past his shack like a streak. Been knocking around the hills all day, and it was less than an hour ago when I got a glimpse of the skunks I’m after. Of course, I knew the Gold Hillers wouldn’t let them stay in the camp; and I was just as sure they’d hang around here, because they’re looking for a chance at you, Merriwell, and they won’t pull their freight till they get it.”

“I’m not going to lose any sleep or miss any fun waiting for the blow to fall,” Merriwell laughed. “Come on over to the camp, Blunt. There’s a canoe race on for this afternoon and I’d like to have you help me out with a paddle.”

“Business first, pard,” answered Blunt. “I’m going to find Shoup and Lenning, get back that stolen money, and then run them out of this part of the range before they have a chance to lay hands on you.”

“Have you had anything to eat to-day?”

“This morning. At noon, I pulled up my belt a notch. To-night, if I’ve done what I’ve laid out to do, I’ll drop in at your camp for a little chuck. If I’m still shy on my plans, then I’ll shack over to Dolliver’s for grub pile.”

“I’ll get my horse and help you hunt for those fellows.”

“I feel the same as I did at the hotel yesterday,” demurred Blunt. “This is my job, and I want every one else to keep hands off.”

“Where are you going now?”

“I’m going it blind, but I know that if I comb the hills close enough Shoup and Lenning can’t dodge me.”

Blunt straightened in his saddle.

“If those fellows are really after me, Barzy,” said Frank, “you’ll do better to go with us to the camp, and put in your time waiting and keeping your eyes skinned.”

“I’ve got a different notion. You’re the one that’s got to keep his eyes skinned. See you later.”

With that, Blunt rattled his spurs and galloped on along the side of the ridge.

“I can see with half an eye what he’s up to,” declared Bleeker.

“What?”

“Why, he thinks he’s saving you a little trouble by keeping Shoup and Lenning on the run. If they know he’s after them and it’s a cinch they do after that shooting—they won’t have any chance to make things lively for you, Chip. They’ll have their hands full taking care of themselves.”

Bleeker laughed. He broke into merriment suddenly, convulsed with some idea that had come to him on the spur of the moment.

“What’s the joke, Bleek?” asked the wondering Merriwell.

“Why, it’s the complete change of front Barzy has made in the last few weeks. He was as hot at you, for a spell, as Lenning is now; but, right at this minute, he’d fight for you till he dropped. It’s plumb humorous—to any one that knows Barzy Blunt. You must be a wizard to change an enemy into a friend, like that.”

“Everybody said that Blunt was rantankerous, and that his disposition was born in him and couldn’t be changed,” said Frank, “but I knew better. That cowboy is one of the finest fellows that ever breathed. All you have to do to make sure of that is to see the way he takes care of Mrs. Boorland. Come on, Bleek, if we’re going to hunt for that canoe.”

Bleeker cocked his eyes at the sun.

“I reckon we’ll let the canoe go, for now,” he answered. “Since we’ve seen and talked with Blunt, I’ve made up my mind that the canoe, wherever it is, is safe enough for the present. Shoup and Lenning have probably hidden it away in the bushes, and Blunt will keep them so busy that they won’t be able to go near it. How long are you and Clancy and Ballard going to stay with us?”

“We had two days for fun and frivolity when we left Ophir. That means, Bleek, that we’ve got to start back to-morrow afternoon.”

“I thought your stay might be limited, and if we have any good times at all we’ve got to start them. So we’ll let the old canoe go, get back to camp and start the races. It’s a shame you can’t be with us longer. What’s the particular rush?”

“The prof is busy selling his mining claim, and he figures that it will take two days. When the two days are over, we’ve got to grind at our studies and make up for the time we’ve lost.”

“I see. Knowledge comes at an awful price, eh? Well, let’s get back and put the canoes into the water.”

It was three o’clock before they regained the camp. The other search parties had already arrived. They had seen nothing of Shoup or Lenning.

Merriwell and Bleeker reported their own discoveries, but held back the warning Blunt had delivered. Merry had asked Bleeker to say nothing about that. He considered the idea as altogether foolish, and not worth recounting. Bleeker, on his part, although he may have credited Lenning and Shoup with sinister designs against Frank, undoubtedly thought that the two fugitives would have too much to think about to have any spare time for plots.

The idea of the races had been received by the whole camp with enthusiasm. Shoup and Lenning and the lost canoe were temporarily forgotten in the prospect of the afternoon’s sport.

It was settled that there were to be three competing canoes. Bleeker and Hotchkiss were to man one, Merry and Clancy another, and Lenaway and a chap named Orr were booked for the third.

Arizona being a dry country, there was not the chance for water sports that was enjoyed by States more favored by Mr. Jupiter Pluvius. Had miners, in the olden times, not thrown a dam across the mouth of the gulch, the gulch would have been like the cañon, with only a knee-deep pool here and there throughout its entire length. The dam, however, had created a reservoir some three miles long, fed by clear mountain springs. It was the only place in that part of the State where the twin sports of bathing and boating could be indulged in.

“The course, fellows,” announced Bleeker, “is one that was marked out by the late-lamented Lenning, when he was king bee in the Gold Hill crowd. Look up the gulch, will you? See Apache Point, over there?”

Frank and Clancy followed Bleeker’s pointing finger with their eyes. A little more than a quarter of a mile away, the left-hand bank of the gulch rose into a sheer wall, some fifty feet high, with the water laving its base. The stream narrowed at the foot of Apache Point, so that there was room for no more than three canoes to pass it abreast of each other.

“Around the Point,” Bleeker went on, “the gulch banks widen out again, and this stretch of slack-water navigation widens with it. A quarter of a mile up the other side of the Point, on the left-hand bank, is a white flag. The course is around the bend, to the white flag and back again to the camp. We Gold Hillers know all about it, Merriwell, and if you and Clancy want to paddle over it before the race, we’ll wait for you.”

“Any snags in the course?” asked Frank. “Any obstacles we’ll have to look out for?”

“The whole course is as clean as a whistle. The only thing to remember is to hug the foot of the cliff when you go round the Point. The lead boat gets the pole, of course,” he laughed.

“I don’t think we’ll have to go over it, Bleek, before we race. We’re ready, now.”

“Then pick out your canoe and get ready.”

There was really no choice in the canoes, and Merry and Clancy selected one at random and got their paddles. Bleeker, Hotchkiss, Lenaway and Orr ducked into a tent and got out of their clothes and into bathing trunks. Frank and his red-headed chum had only to step out of their ordinary garments, for as underclothes they wore gymnasium togs.

Launching their canoe, they got into it and waited for the others to make ready and for the word to start.

CHAPTER IX.
ACCIDENT OR TREACHERY?

“What’s on to follow this race, Chip?” asked Clancy, while they were waiting.

“A half mile for single paddles,” Merry answered.

“That will give Pink a chance, if there are canoes enough to go round.”

“Don’t fret about Pink,” called that worthy from the bank, happening to overhear the talk between his chums. “I’m going to run along the bank and root for the heroes of Farnham Hall. I invented canoes, and naturally I’m a better paddler than Red, but I can put more heart into you from the shore than I could with a paddle.”

Clancy slapped the water with his paddle and threw a small shower over Ballard.

“You invented the long bow, too, you old chump,” laughed Clancy, “and you’re a champion hand at pulling it. Come on in, the water’s fine.”

Ballard had leaped out of the way of the shower, and was sputtering about his wet clothes.

“You’ll get all you want of the water if I’m any prophet, you red-headed false alarm!” he shouted. “For half a cent I’d wade out there and swamp you.”

“Somebody got a nickel?” sang out Clancy. “Throw it to Pink and let him keep the change.”

At just this point, the other canoes glided out into the water, taking up their positions on each side of Merry and Clancy.

“All ready?” cried a fellow named Dart, who was acting as starter, as the canoes lined up.

“All ready!” came the chorus from the racers.

“Then, go!”

Splash went the paddles, and the light, graceful water craft jumped ahead like restless thoroughbreds. Before they had gone twenty feet, Merry realized that in Bleeker and Hotchkiss he and Clancy had foemen worthy of their mettle. The lads in the other craft were working hard, but were left behind almost from the start. By an unlucky move they overturned their canoe before the Point was reached, and the last Frank saw of them on the first lap they were swimming for the bank, towing their water-logged craft.

Clancy was in the stern, and he was doing the steering in masterly fashion. Frank, wielding his paddle with grace and power, knelt at the bow.

“Steady, Clan!” he called. “Don’t use up all your ginger at the beginning!”

“Steady it is,” answered Clancy.

Bleeker and Hotchkiss were working like Trojans. Foot by foot they drew ahead of the other canoe.

“Dig, you Farnham Hall fellows!” bellowed Ballard from the bank. “What do you think this is—a picnic excursion? Dig, I tell you! If you’re last at the finish, don’t you ever speak to me again.”

“Come on, you Bleek!” shouted the Gold Hillers.

“Come on, Hotch!”

“Keep it up, Gold Hill! You’ve got ’em beaten.”

“Oh, you Bleeker! We’re slow at football, but I reckon we’re there with the goods on the water.”

“It isn’t Jode Lenning you’re up against now, Merriwell!”

All this rooting on the part of the Gold Hill fellows did not in the least disturb Merriwell or Clancy. They were paddling like clockwork, but were saving their energies for the last lap. After the white flag was met and turned, they’d begin to show what they were made of.

The main thing was to keep a clear head and steady nerves while the competing canoe was moving away from them. And in this certainly Merriwell and Clancy were put to a severe test.

Before the Point was reached, the stern of the other canoe was even with Merry’s position in the bow of his own craft. Bleeker had the inside, and he went so close to the perpendicular wall of the cliff that his paddle touched the base of the rocks. He looked over at Merry.

“Come on, old man!” he called.

“Not yet, Bleek,” Merry answered, with a laugh. “We want you to get farther ahead first.”

“Much obliged! Now watch us.”

Merry and Clancy had to go farther in getting around the Point than Bleeker and Hotch, for they were forced farther away from the cliff. Inasmuch as the gulch curved at the Point, the rival canoe was offered an advantage, similar to that which comes to a pole horse on the oval of a race track. When once more on a straightaway, Bleeker and Hotch were leading by a full canoe length.

The boys on the bank had not been able to get around the Point, so some of them, including Ballard, crossed to the opposite shore in the other canoes.

“What’s the trouble with you chumps?” shouted Ballard. “Don’t you know the other boat’s ahead? Buckle in—paddle like you used to. Do better than that, Red, or I’ll swim out there and take your place.”

“You got ’em, Bleek!” cried the Gold Hillers frantically. “Keep a-coming!”

“Here’s where the chip off the old block gets a setback! I reckon Merry’s dad was better with a baseball than he was with a paddle!”

In the excitement of the moment some ill-considered words were roared across the water. This remark, by a Gold Hill partisan, was probably excusable, in the circumstances, but it struck a spark from Merry’s temper.

It opened up the old, tantalizing question of heredity—the very thing which Merriwell had called a “handicap.” His father could pitch better than he could paddle, could he? If that was the case, then by winning that contest he might prove that what he had learned about canoes had come to him in his own right.

“Good old Merry!” cried one of the Gold Hill crowd, by way of tempering the unwise rooting of his camp-mate. “You’re the stuff! Never say die is your slogan—and that’s all that came down to you from the champion in Bloomfield.”

A thrill raced along Frank’s nerves. At the risk of giving the competitors a still longer lead, he looked shoreward to locate the chap who had called those electrifying words.

“Pink is a peach of a rooter—I don’t think,” grumbled Clancy.

“Never mind, Pink,” laughed Frank, his momentary flash of temper passing, “he’s trying to spur us across the finish line instead of giving us a pull. Ah! There’s the flag, Clan!”

A bit of white fluttered on the left-hand bank. Bleeker and Hotchkiss had already made the turn and were coming down.

“We’ll be at the finish to welcome you fellows!” jubilated Hotch.

“Maybe you’ll do better in the singles,” shouted Bleeker. “It’s hardly fair, anyway. You haven’t gripped a paddle for a long time, while we’ve been at it every day for a week.”

“Don’t fret about that, Bleek,” grinned Clancy.

He could grin, but nevertheless he was worried. He and Merry had a lot of strength to draw on, but could they be sure that Bleeker and Hotchkiss had not a lot of power in reserve? The next few minutes would tell the tale.

The canoe came around, and headed away on the final stretch. Bleeker and Hotchkiss, the silver spray sparkling under the strong dip of their paddles, were all of five canoe lengths in the lead.

“Now, Clancy!” cried Merriwell. “We must get the inside track around the Point! Let yourself out, old man!”

Then and there the Farnham Hall lads began doing their prettiest. They bent to their work in a way that was beautiful to see, and the strength they had been nursing for just that moment expended itself in a wonderful burst of speed.

“Now you’re coming!” screeched Ballard. “Keep that up, Chip, and you’ll pass the other canoe and leave it out of sight!”

“Don’t lose your nerve, Bleek!” shouted the Gold Hillers. “Crack your backs! Pull, I tell you! For the honor of Gold Hill, you junipers! For the love of Mike, don’t let this chance get away from you!”

“Gold Hill winners, hump, you sinners!”

It was evident to Frank, however, that Bleeker and Hotchkiss had put the best of their energy into the first half of the race. The wise precaution of husbanding their muscle for the wind-up had not appealed to them. They had wanted a good lead at the start-off—and were probably hoping that the lead could not be overcome.

Yard by yard Merry and Clancy overhauled the canoe ahead. Every thrust of the paddles, sturdy and strong and swift, carried the rear craft forward for a gain. Halfway to the point the canoes were side by side.

Bleeker and Hotchkiss had no breath nor inclination for joshing. Their faces were white and set, and their arms knotted at the biceps with the strain they put upon their dipping blades. Every nerve was stretched to the breaking point.

It was a good race, a splendid race. No matter which canoe won, the joy of those fleeting moments as they came down the homestretch would be happily remembered by victor and vanquished.

Bleeker and Hotchkiss must have realized how their opponents had been playing the game. They had played it squarely, too, and had calmly watched their rivals lead in the first half of the race. Now, at last, Bleeker and his canoe mate understood that they were facing a crisis, and that only heartbreaking work could save the day.

They labored so well, for a considerable distance, the canoes continued to remain side by side.

“Want us to wait for you, Bleek?” called Clancy.

Bleeker had other uses for his breath, however, than wasting it on replies to the red-headed fellow in the other craft.

“Once more, Clan!” cried Merriwell. “Hug the cliff—we’ve got to!”

Half a dozen sweeps of the paddles and Merry and Clancy were leading. A few more sweeps, and Clancy sent their craft across the bows of their rivals.

They were on the inside now, those Farnham Hall boys, and paddling like fiends. A few moments more and they were under the shadow of the Point.

And then—something happened. Was it accident, or was it design? Intent on their work, none of those in the two canoes could tell; nor could the frantic lads on shore.

Clancy heard a crash and roar above him. A glance aloft showed a bowlder dropping downward from the top of the Point. To Clancy, it looked as big as a house, and in a flash he knew it must strike the canoe.

The red-headed chap’s heart jumped into his throat. For a heartbeat he sat powerless, stunned by what he saw. Then he roused up suddenly, with a yell:

“Jump, Merry! Jump for your life!”

On the instant, Clancy dropped his paddle and went overboard. His frantic plunge overturned the canoe, and Merry was in the water almost as soon as his chum.

The falling bowlder just grazed the overturned canoe, splashed into the waves and sent up a geyser of foaming spray.

CHAPTER X.
DESPERATE WORK.

Merry, as well as Clancy, had heard the rush and roar of the bowlder. But Merry was not in a position to see it, and his first intimation of the real cause of the trouble came with Clancy’s jump, the sweeping of the canoe, and the splash of the bowlder in the water.

Bleeker and Hotchkiss, no less than the lads on the shore, were thunder-struck. The second canoe was far enough away to be out of danger, although it bobbed perilously in the swash of the waves.

The huge rock had dropped so unexpectedly, and had missed Merriwell and Clancy so narrowly, that all who watched it were paralyzed for a space. Then, when the first shock had worn away, a wild turmoil of voices went up from the bank and from the other canoe.

“A rock was loosened and dropped from the cliff!” called some one huskily.

“A bowlder was never known to drop from the Point!” protested another.

“An accident, that’s all!” asserted a third. “How could it have been anything else?”

Ballard, pale as death, was launching a canoe to the other bank. Dart and another lad crowded in with him.

The seething waters had quieted about the foot of the cliff, and Bleeker and Hotch were paddling close to Merriwell and Clancy, who were swimming to get around the Point.

“Are you all right, fellows?” Bleeker asked in a shaking voice.

“I am,” answered Merry. “How about you, Clan?”

“Physically, I’m all to the good, but mentally I’m badly disabled,” Clancy answered. “A fine course you laid out for us, Bleek,” he added.

“It’s Jode Lenning’s course,” said Bleeker. “I’ve been here a good many times, during the last six years, and I never knew a rock to fall from the cliff before. I can’t understand it.”

“It was an accident, Bleek,” said Frank, “and the bowlder missed us. A miss, you know, is as good as a mile. Better have somebody look after the canoe.”

“The fellows in one of the other canoes are towing it in,” said Hotch.

Merry and Clancy, reaching the sloping bank below the Point, walked up out of the water. Both were still a little dazed by the recent mishap.

Ballard, all a-tremble from the shock, landed and hurried to the side of his chums.

“You got out of that by the skin of your teeth,” said he. “Thunder! I thought you were gone, for sure. That bowlder wasn’t more than a second coming down, but it seemed to me like a year before it hit the water.”

“It must have been an accident,” commented Dart.

“No,” said Bleeker, and threw a significant look at Merriwell.

Bleeker had had a little time in which to collect his thoughts, and he was doing some reasoning, with Blunt’s warning for a background.

“I agree with Dart,” spoke up Merriwell. “I don’t see how it could have been anything but an accident.”

“I do,” muttered Bleeker darkly. “Some of you fellows get up on top of the Point. Hustle! See if you can find any one there. If you lose too much time, there isn’t a chance.”

Ballard led the rush up the steep slope, taking the roundabout way necessary for gaining the crest of the cliff. Several of the wondering lads followed Ballard. They were hardly started on their climb when a canoe from the opposite shore came nosing to the bank. It held two of the campers. As they arose, they got a bit of a glimpse of the water on the other side of the Point.

“Look!” one of them cried. “There’s our other canoe—and Lenning and Shoup!”

Owing to the bend in the river, nothing could be seen from the bank where Merry and the rest were standing. Merry, the instant he heard the shouted warning, started for the water’s edge and flung himself into the craft which Bleeker and Hotchkiss had used for the race.

“Come on, Clan!” Frank called. “Here’s something we’ve got to look into—and we must be quick about it.”

Clancy jumped for the canoe as though touched by a live wire. Through his befogged brain an inkling of his chum’s purpose had drifted.

In almost less time than it takes to tell it, the canoe was racing across the water, Merry in the bow and Clancy in the stern. Other canoes followed, for a feeling that something more of a portentous nature was about to happen ran through every lad’s nerves.

When well into the river, Frank could look ahead, as the vista opened out above the Point, and see the stolen canoe, with the two thieves aboard. Shoup was in the stern and Lenning at the bow. Both were using their paddles like mad, evidently trying to get across to the other bank.

“Get busy, Clan!” called Merriwell quietly, but compellingly. “I think we can overhaul those fellows before they land.”

“We’ll have to go some, if we do,” was the answer.

“I guess we’ve shown that we can do that, all right.”

Shoup, taking a survey over his shoulder, saw that he and Lenning were pursued. He spoke to Lenning, and both bent fiercely to their paddling.

They were awkward at the work, and the canoe zigzagged back and forth. But, in spite of the poor paddling, it looked as though the two might reach the bank before Merriwell and Clancy could get to them.

“Great guns!” cried Clancy, as an idea suddenly burst on his mind.

“What’s to pay, Clan?” asked Merry, keeping his keen, calculating eyes straight ahead.

“I’ve just thought of something, Chip. Those two hounds are trying to get away—they were on top of the Point—they dropped that rock down on us! By thunder, what do you think of that!”

“I wouldn’t say that until I had some proof,” counselled Merriwell. “Shut up, Clan, and dig in! We’ve got to if we get close enough to lay hands on them.”

Clancy smothered his desire for further talk and put all his vim into his paddle. He and Merry were gaining on the other craft, but nevertheless it seemed a foregone conclusion that Shoup and Lenning would reach shore before they could be stopped.

And then, just when the chase appeared most hopeless, Lenning’s paddle snapped. A shout of anger came from Shoup. He followed it by an act as surprising to those who looked on as it was desperate in its nature.

Rising to his feet, his own paddle in his hands, Shoup stepped forward and brought the paddle down viciously on the head of his companion. Lenning, who was still in a kneeling posture, pitched forward over the side of the frail craft and disappeared beneath the surface of the water. The canoe went gunwale under as he fell, and at the same moment, Shoup jumped and began swimming for the bank.

One astounding event after another was happening that afternoon, and this last tragic incident held the onlookers spellbound for a moment.

The first thought that drifted through each spectator’s mind must have been this: Why had Shoup dealt Lenning that blow? Was it anger because the paddle had broken? Or was there some other motive back of it?

Merriwell was first to recover his wits.

“Some of you fellows get ashore and try and head off Shoup!” he called. “I’ll see what I can do for Lenning. Quick with your paddle, Clan,” he added to his chum.

Lenning, stunned by the blow, had not reappeared at the surface of the water. And he might never reappear alive unless something was done for him at once.

These thoughts darted through Merriwell’s mind as he and Clancy drove the canoe onward to the place where the unfortunate youth had gone down. In less than a minute the craft was over the spot, and Merry had taken a long, clean dive into the river.

Ballard and Dart, and a few more were watching the progress of events from the top of the cliff. Bleeker and Hotch had more interest in Merriwell’s work than in trying to halt Shoup, and stood by in their canoe to be of what assistance they could. Clancy, hoping to be of some aid to his chum in effecting a rescue, had likewise taken to the water.

At such a time as that, bygones were bygones. Merriwell forgot all his old differences with Lenning—forgot also that Lenning might have been the one who had rolled the bowlder off the cliff—and plunged to the fellow’s relief just as he would have hastened to the aid of any one else in distress.

“That’s Chip Merriwell for you,” muttered Bleeker, kneeling and peering into the watery depths from the side of the canoe.

“Excitement is crowding us pretty hard this afternoon,” said Hotchkiss. “I’m fair dazed with it all. Why in Sam Hill did Shoup pound Lenning on the head with that paddle? I thought they were pards.”

“They were; but Shoup’s a dope fiend, and a fellow like that isn’t responsible for what he does. I suppose he was mad because Lenning’s paddle broke in his hands. Lenning couldn’t help that, and Shoup——”

Merry and Clancy had been under water for what seemed an inordinately long period. At that instant, however, they came to the surface—and between them was the white, dripping face of Jode Lenning.

“Bully for you, Merriwell!” shouted Bleeker enthusiastically. “Can we help with the canoe?”

“We’ll get him ashore,” sputtered Merry, shaking his head to get the water out of his eyes. “He’s unconscious and won’t make any trouble. How are you making it, Clan?” he asked of his chum.

“Well enough,” answered Clancy, blowing like a porpoise. “Let’s get solid ground under us as soon as we can, though. This is no easy job.”

Steadily, but surely, the two chums made their way shoreward. Fortunately, the bank was but a little distance away, and it was not long before they had dragged the limp form of Lenning high and dry on the sand.

While Merriwell and Clancy sprawled out in the sun to get their breath, Bleeker and Hotchkiss, and a few more of the campers, worked over Lenning. The lad was not in very bad shape, and the efforts at resuscitation speedily met with success.

“It was your quickness, Merriwell,” declared Bleeker, “that saved the fellow. If he had been under water a minute or two longer, it would have been all day with him.”

“He’s all right,” said Frank diffidently, “and that’s the main thing. Has he opened his eyes yet?”

“He’s opening them now.”

Frank got up and walked to Lenning’s side. “How do you feel, Jode?” he inquired, staring down into his bewildered eyes.

Lenning shivered, and closed his eyes again.

CHAPTER XI.
THE SAVING GRACE.

For several minutes Jode Lenning continued to lie on the warm sand. He could not have been very comfortable, for his hat was gone and his clothes were soaking wet. Bleeker had removed his coat in order to work over him to better advantage, and Hotch now took the garment and wrung it out. But if Lenning was not comfortable, he was at least getting his strength back and beginning to feel more like himself.

When he next opened his eyes, he sat up suddenly and looked out over the shimmering expanse of water. His lips twitched with some passing emotion, and he finally withdrew his gaze and fixed it upon Bleeker.

“Did Shoup hit me over the head with his paddle?” he asked, in a low, colorless voice.

“Yes,” was the answer.

“Merriwell and Clancy pulled me out of the water?”

“That was the way of it.”

“Where’s Shoup now?”

“Suffering horn toads!” gasped Bleeker. “Say, I had clean forgotten about that fellow. What became of him? Anybody know?”

“I can tell you,” one of the lads spoke up. “Two or three of us hustled ashore to try and head him off, but he was too quick for us. There were a couple of horses, hitched in the chaparral, and Shoup took one of them and got away.”

A baleful glitter shone in Lenning’s shifty eyes.

“He tried to do me up,” Lenning muttered.

“Why?” asked Bleeker. “I thought you and he were pards.”

“You never can tell what a pard like Shoup is going to do. But I gave him cause to have it in for me. Help me up, Bleeker. I’m not going to ask much of you, nor bother you very long. Five minutes will do the trick.”

Bleeker reached down and took Lenning’s hand. The lad was weak, as yet, for it would be some time before he recovered entirely from his recent ordeal.

“Let’s go to the place where Shoup got the horse,” went on Lenning. “I want the rest of you to come, too, especially Merriwell.”

Those who had followed Shoup to the chaparral placed themselves in the lead. Bleeker and Hotch followed, with Lenning between them.

Less than twenty yards up the slope of the bank the strange party came to the edge of the chaparral.

“Pick up that stone there,” said Lenning, pointing.

A stone about the size of a man’s two fists was indicated. Clancy stooped and removed the stone. As he did so, he gave vent to a low whistle, and exclamations of astonishment came from others clustered around him.

A roll of bills had been brought into view by the removal of the stone—a large roll with a yellowback on the outside.

“You take the money, Merriwell,” said Lenning, “and give it to Blunt. It’s the roll Shoup stole from Mrs. Boorland. I didn’t know the old lady was Mrs. Boorland until I found Blunt was after us. Shoup did the stealing, and he did it without my knowledge or consent. Maybe you fellows won’t believe that, but it’s a fact. I reckon I’ve come pretty low, but I couldn’t stand for what Shoup did. All the money’s there but twenty dollars. Shoup used that to buy a supply of dope in Ophir and to hire a couple of horses.”

Lenning paused. He was getting stronger, and he drew away from Bleeker and Hotchkiss.

“I took that money from Shoup last night, while he was asleep,” Lenning went on. “We brought our horses over here before daylight, and hid them in the chaparral. When we did that, I sneaked around and got the roll under that stone, and Shoup didn’t see me. I intended to let Blunt know, in some way, where the money was. That’s something else you can believe or not, just as you please, but it’s the truth.

“There was merry blazes to pay when Shoup found the money was gone out of his pocket. He accused me of taking it, and I admitted it. He threatened me, and even threw me down and went through my clothes to see if he couldn’t find it. Blunt made things so interesting for us that Shoup didn’t have any time to keep nagging at me. When we tried to get across the river to the horses, directly after that bowlder dropped from the cliff, Shoup found his chance to hand me a rap over the head. You saw him do it; and now I’ve explained why he had it in for me.

“Of course,” and Lenning’s glance wandered to Merriwell, “you fellows can take me to Ophir and put me in the lockup on a charge of highway robbery. The question is, are you going to do it? I’ve tried to do the right thing, and now it’s up to you either to let me go or hand me over to the law. Which is it to be?”

“Get his horse for him,” said Merriwell, “and let him go. He’s had a hard enough time of it, and the way Shoup treated him proves that his story is straight.”

Lenning, most unexpectedly, had done a good deed, and it was the saving grace of that act which led many of the boys to agree with Merriwell. The horse was led out of the bushes, and Lenning, with some difficulty, climbed into the saddle.

“Where are you going?” Merriwell asked.

“I don’t know,” was the answer, “and I’m not caring a whole lot.”

“Why don’t you buck up, Lenning, and try to be different?”

Lenning studied Merriwell for a moment with moody eyes.

“What’s the use?” he asked, at last. “I’m down and out. I’ve been a fool, but that doesn’t count any in my favor. When a fellow makes his bed, he’s got to lie in it.”

“If it doesn’t suit him he can get up and make it over.”

“You’ve always been at the top of the heap, Merriwell, so it’s easy for you to give advice. Try to be the under dog once, and maybe you’ll change your mind about what a fellow can or can’t do.”

Without another word, Lenning turned the horse’s head up the slope. Hatless as he was, and with his wet clothing clinging to his limbs, he was a melancholy figure as he rode to the top of the bank and then vanished from the gaze of the lads below.

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” exclaimed Bleeker. “I’m struck all of a heap, no two ways about that. To think that Jode Lenning should make a play of that kind! He hasn’t a sou in his jeans, and yet he took that roll from Shoup and was doing what he could to get it back into the hands of Blunt. Well, well!”

“It only goes to prove,” chuckled Merriwell, “that lawlessness wasn’t born in Lenning, and that he can make a pretty decent sort of a fellow out of himself if he tries.”

“I reckon,” said Bleeker thoughtfully, “that all of us are handicapped in one way or another.”

“We are,” agreed Frank, “but it’s our own doing.”

“That so, Chip?” put in Clancy.

Merriwell stared at him for an instant, then caught his drift and nodded emphatically.

“Yes, that’s so, Clan, and I’m not backing away from that statement because I’ve got a little handicap of my own. Who won that race, anyhow, Bleeker?” he finished, with a grin.

“You and Clancy did,” was the prompt reply.

“We can try it over again to-morrow forenoon, if you say so.”

“Not much! Single paddles are trumps, to-morrow forenoon, and I’ll see if we Gold Hillers can’t have a little luck. Now let’s get back to camp.”

A return was quickly made to the other shore; and, while Merry and Clancy were in their tent, giving all the news to Ballard, and, at the same time, getting into their clothes, Barzy Blunt stuck his head in at the flap.

“Somebody beat me to it,” he remarked. “Call that a fair shake, Chip?”

There was a laugh in Blunt’s voice, so the lads knew his words were not to be taken seriously.

“Where were you while all the trouble was going on?” demanded Frank.

“I was a heap nearer the scene of trouble than you imagine. I’ve found out something, too, that will probably change your opinion of Jode Lenning.”

“Come in, then,” said Merry, “and bat it up to us. We’re getting sort of hardened to surprises, so I guess we can stand this one.”

CHAPTER XII.
BLUNT’S “SURPRISE.”

The cowboy pushed his way into the tent and sat down beside Ballard on a pile of blankets.

“First off,” said he, “let me ask you if you’re satisfied Schuster gave me a straight tip when I met him on the way back from Gold Hill?”

“Why, yes,” Frank answered, “Schuster had a pretty good line on the situation, all except that ‘getting even’ part.”

Blunt screwed up his black eyes and gave Merriwell a keen sizing.

“What do you think about that bowlder that dropped from the cliff?” he asked.

“Accident,” said Frank briefly.

“Well, holy smoke!” grunted the cowboy, in disgust. “Is that what you really think, Chip?”

“It is, Barzy.”

Blunt removed his hat and ran his fingers through his long, jet-black hair.

“You’re a little shy in your headpiece,” he remarked. “Either that or else you’ve got a fool notion about not wanting to go on record with what you really think. Some of the lads outside kind of told me the way you were leaning, and how you’d been cracking Jode Lenning up as something of a man, in spite of his shortcomings. What Schuster said Lenning and Shoup had up their sleeves for you, Chip, worried me a heap. I got to thinking more of keeping the three of you apart than I had thought about recovering the money. Pretty soon after I left you and Bleeker in the hills, I tied up my horse and started to skirmishing in some difficult places on foot.

“First thing I knew I was in the brush on top of the Point. The canoe race was going on below, and I could hear the yells pretty near as plain as though I had been down in the bottom of the gulch. Shoup and Lenning were skulking back of the cliff’s edge. They had a rock poised on the brink. Lenning was waiting to push it over, while Shoup was looking down, ready to give the signal at the right time.

“It was a few minutes before I got on to what they might be up to. Just as it rushed over me, and I started to get busy with the coyotes, Shoup gave the signal and Lenning pushed the rock over. Then both of them took to their heels. I was right after ’em, but they pulled a canoe out of the bushes when they got near the water, and slid beyond my reach.

“I started back toward the place where I had left my horse, but stopped again when I got a glimpse of the river and saw you and Clancy chasing the other canoe. I saw the rest of what happened, too, including the bat Shoup gave Lenning on the head, and the way you and Clancy went to the rescue. I reckon that was fine, considering all that those skunks had tried to do to you, but, pard, it was a whole lot more than I’d have done in your place.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Merriwell decidedly.

“No? Seems like you’re putting me in your own class. Chip, and you know as well as I do that I don’t belong there. Well, we’ll let that pass. I went for my horse with my thoughts and feelings sort of scrambled, so that I didn’t know how I really felt. I sort of forgot about the stolen money, and about everything else, but the way those two sneaks pushed the bowlder down on you, and the way you went into the drink to save the fellow that did the most of it. Finally I got into my saddle and rode for this camp, where I was told how you believed that bowlder business was an accident, and that Lenning had done the square thing with the money. Then I was at sixes and sevens again. I didn’t want to jolt you with the truth about Lenning, and yet I couldn’t see how you were so dense as not to figure it out for yourself. Now, Chip, I come to you as an eyewitness, and you’re getting the facts. Schuster had it pretty straight, didn’t he?”

“Surest thing you know, Barzy,” Frank answered. “Here’s the money,” he added, passing over the roll. “It’s all there but twenty dollars. Shoup spent that in Ophir.”

“I’m glad enough to get hands on it, even if it is a twenty short. Mam is coming in for quite a wad of coin, on account of that mine deal, so maybe she wouldn’t have missed this so much as she might. It was the way Shoup took it, more than anything else, that got me all worked up. Now, Chip, tell me this: What’s your opinion about Lenning?”

“It was the best thing that ever happened to him when Colonel Hawtrey kicked him out,” said Merriwell. “There’s good stuff in Lenning and he’s going to prove it a good many times—just as he proved it this afternoon.”

“Bosh!” said Bleeker, thrusting his head into the tent, “you’re dippy on that point, Chip.”

“Wait and see, Bleek.”

“Supper’s ready—that’s what I looked in to tell you. Place for you, Blunt. Going back to Ophir to-night?”

“I hear there’s a race on to-morrow forenoon,” returned Blunt, “and I’d sort of made up my mind to hang around and take a hand in it.”

“Good for you!” cried Merriwell.

“But,” the cowboy went on, with an odd gleam in his black eyes, “I don’t want any more bowlders tumbling from Apache Point if I’m to be in one of the canoes.”

“Now that Shoup and Lenning have cleared out,” cried Clancy, “I’ll guarantee there won’t be any more rocks rolling down the cliff. Come on and let’s eat.”

CHAPTER XIII.
THE RACE FOR SINGLE PADDLES.

“Get a move on, Bleek! Ginger up, pard, ginger up!”

“Good work, Merry! That’s the way to show ’em your heels!”

“Dig, old scout! Why don’t you dig?”

“Plenty of chance, yet, Bleek; don’t lose your nerve!”

“Chance? Why, Bleeker hasn’t a look-in—not with Chip Merriwell paddling like that! Merry’s coming down the stretch like a scared coyote making for home and mother. Hoop-a-la!”

There were five canoes in that race for single paddles. There had been seven, but two had fouled each other and come to grief less than a hundred yards from the starting point. Barzy Blunt and Hotchkiss, of Gold Hill, were the unlucky ones. As soon as they had gained the shore they joined the rooters who were running along the bank. A ducking had not dampened their ardor in the least, and Blunt and Hotch pranced along in their bathing trunks, cheering and encouraging the rest of the racers.

It was late in the forenoon. The bright Arizona sun trailed its beams over the waters of the gulch, gilding each little ripple as it danced about the charging canoes. The only shadow on the stream was at the place where the gentle slopes of the gulch banks were shouldered aside by the steep bluff known as Apache Point.

Above the Point, and around the turn in the gulch, was a white flag. The start of the canoe race had been from this flag. The “elbow” at the foot of the Point was to be rounded by the racers, and the finish line was opposite the white tents of the Gold Hill campers.

Apart from Blunt and Hotchkiss, the contesting paddlers were young Merriwell, his chums, Owen Clancy and Billy Ballard, Bleeker, a leader in the Gold Hill Athletic Club, and Lenaway, another member of the club.

Merriwell, Clancy, and Ballard, crouching in the sterns of their frail craft, had worked easily but steadily from the start. They knew from experience that swiftness in the get-away and a wild expenditure of energy at the beginning caused the loss of many a race—not only on the water but on the cinder track, as well. It is the fellow who carefully and judiciously nurses his powers for a spurt on the home stretch that makes the best showing, when all’s said and done.

The length of the course to be covered in this canoe race was about half a mile. A hundred yards from the starting point, Frank and his chums were some distance behind. Bleeker led, and almost neck and neck with him were Hotchkiss and the cowboy, Barzy Blunt. Lenaway’s canoe filled in the widening gap between the leaders and the Farnham Hall lads in the rear.

Blunt had more strength than skill, and it was his awkwardness that caused the crash with Hotchkiss. The violence of the impact caused both canoes to roll over and fill. With these two contestants out of the way, the race began rapidly narrowing down.

One by one the canoes rounded the foot of the Point, hugging the steep wall closely. Bleeker led the procession, Lenaway followed, and then came Merry, Clancy, and Ballard in the order named.

The instant Merriwell’s canoe shot away from the Point, however, he could be seen to buckle to his work in masterly style. First he overhauled Lenaway, and then passed him with comparative ease.

Lenaway, realizing that the race undoubtedly lay between Merriwell and Bleeker, strove to take what honors he could away from Clancy and Ballard. Halfway between the Point and the finish line, Ballard snapped his paddle.

“How’s that for luck?” he shouted ruefully, as Clancy and Lenaway dashed on prow to prow. “Go it, Reddy! It’s up to you and Chip, now, to show these Gold Hillers what we can do.”

Bleeker, a prime fellow and trained to the minute, realized that he had the fight of his life on his hands if he was to win against Merriwell. He made swift demand upon all his reserve strength, and his muscles answered superbly. But the strain of the contest was telling upon him—mainly because he had worked too hard on the first half of the course.

Merriwell was creeping up on the other canoe, slowly yet steadily and relentlessly. And the remarkable part of his work was that the tension of those exciting moments was not evident in a single move he made. With easy, almost careless, grace he dipped his blade, and his light craft plunged onward like a well-trained thoroughbred. It was evident to all that Merriwell was a “stayer,” and that Bleeker had about shot his bolt.

Frank was somewhat surprised at Bleeker, for on the preceding day he and Clancy had given the Gold Hill lads an object lesson in husbanding resources for the home stretch and not being too free with them at the beginning. Bleeker should have profited by that experience.

Little by little Merry drew up abreast of Bleeker. The latter’s face was set and there was a strained look about it which proved how hard he was driving himself.

When Frank nosed on into the lead, a roar went up from the bank. Blunt was rooting for Merry, and cheering with all his range ardor and enthusiasm. The cowboy had a whole-souled admiration for the Eastern lad, and believed that no one of his age or inches could beat him at any sport.

“Whoop!” he bellowed, jumping around on the bank in his drenched and abbreviated costume. “Keep your eye on my pard, will you? Throw up your hands, Bleek! It’s as good as over.”

“Never say die, Bleek!” shouted a Gold Hiller across the water. “Keep at it, old man! Come ahead, come ahead!”

Bleeker was fighting gamely. He was not the lad to quit because the tide of battle was running against him. By an effort as remarkable as it was unexpected, he dug down into an underlying stratum of power and hurled his canoe onward until it was again nose to nose with Merriwell’s.

Frank’s admiration for his plucky rival was great. To win over such a true sportsman would be a victory to be highly prized.

And Frank was doing his best. If Bleeker’s sudden access of strength held out, Frank might be only second at the swimming float where the race was to end.

“Go to it, Chip!” yelled a voice which had not been heard before in all that riot of noise from the river bank. “You’re generally first at the last of it, mainly because you never get rattled by being last at the beginning. Now’s the time to make your showing!”

A thrill shot through Merriwell as he heard that particular voice. He was wondering a little, too, as to how the owner of that voice happened to be at the Gold Hill camp. Just then, however, he had no attention to spare from his immediate work.

Bleeker’s spurt did not last. He had been too prodigal of his strength. His canoe began dropping off, and Merriwell came abreast of the float half a length in the lead.

“Hoop-a-la!” shouted Barzy Blunt, cutting a few cowboy capers on the bank. “What did I tell you, eh? Hurrah for Chip—a chip of the old block if there ever was one.”

Ballard, working his way to the shore with what was left of his paddle, likewise exulted in his chum’s victory. Clancy, reaching the float just ahead of Lenaway, joined in the cheering.

Bleeker, although breathless with his efforts, managed to get his canoe alongside Merriwell’s.

“Put it there, Chip,” he laughed, reaching out his hand. “You gave me the finest bit of fun I’ve had in many a day.”

Merriwell clasped the hand heartily.

“It was anybody’s race for a while, Bleek,” he answered. “If we had it to do over again, more than likely you’d trim me.”

“Not so you could notice it, old man. You’re a stayer from Stayerville, and I take off my hat to you as the better man.”

It was to be noticed that the cheering over Merry’s victory was general, and the Gold Hill boys joined in it quite as heartily as did Frank’s chums and his cowboy friend. As Merry brought his canoe to the bank and hopped ashore, he was greeted by the lad whose voice he had heard so unexpectedly while the canoes were bearing down on the float.

“Up to your old tricks, eh, Chip?” laughed this youth. “If I had known what was on for this morning, I’d have tried to get here earlier.”

“Hannibal Bradlaugh, by Jove!” cried Merry, taking a grip on the hand that was pushed out to him.

Ever since Merry had come to southern Arizona he had known the son of the president of the Ophir Athletic Club. The clubs at Ophir and Gold Hill were rivals—bitter rivals, at one time, but now, in a great measure, owing to Merriwell’s efforts, all the bitterness was a thing of the past.

“Hello, Brad!” called Bleeker, pushing forward to take the hand Merriwell had released. “The last of that performance was the best part of it, so you didn’t miss a whole lot by getting here late. If you’ve come to stay for a while, we’ll give you a chance to take a hand in some of these water sports.”

“I’m not going to have my scalp dangling at any Gold Hill belt,” Brad laughed, “and that’s what would happen if I got hold of a paddle and tried to do anything. Anyhow, I didn’t come to stay for more than a few minutes. I’m after Chip. He’s wanted in Ophir.”

“News from Bloomfield?” Frank asked, lifting his eyes quickly.

“No, nothing from Bloomfield. I’m sorry as blazes to cut short your stay here——”

“We were going back to Ophir this afternoon, anyhow,” Merry cut in, “so that part of it is all right. Pink, Clan, and I promised the professor solemnly we’d get back to town this evening. He’d be after us if we didn’t go, for that’s the sort of a prof he is. What’s up, Brad? From your looks I should say it was serious business.”

“Oh, not so blamed serious. Step over this way a minute, will you?”

Bradlaugh drew Merriwell to one side and began talking to him in low, earnest tones. As Merry listened, an expression of thoughtful concern could be seen to cross his face.

CHAPTER XIV.
AN ENEMY’S APPEAL.

“You saved a fellow’s life here yesterday, didn’t you, Chip?” Brad asked.

“Clancy and I pulled Jode Lenning out of the water,” Frank answered.

“That’s about the way I’d expect you to tell it. Well, Lenning has asked for a job at the Ophir mine. He hasn’t much left in the way of reputation, and when the super asked my father what to do, pop told him to let Lenning hunt a berth somewhere else. Lenning came straight to pop’s office from the mine. He told pop that he knew he hadn’t done right, but that he had cut loose from his rowdy friends, had turned over a new leaf, and was going to make something of himself. Pop thought that was a pretty good thing to do, and told him so, but couldn’t give him any encouragement. The company had made it a rule not to hire anybody who couldn’t give a clean bill as to character. Lenning wanted to know if somebody couldn’t be responsible for him, and pop answered that it all depended on who the ‘somebody’ was. The next minute pop was almost knocked off his feet.”

Brad paused. “Who hit him?” asked Merry, with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“Lenning,” said Brad promptly. “He hit pop with a few words that almost took his breath. ‘Chip Merriwell will be responsible for me,’ is what he said. Do you wonder that the governor was floored?”

Frank did not. In fact, Frank was almost floored himself.

“Pop told Lenning that he’d have to talk with you,” Brad went on, “and Lenning wanted him to get you to Ophir as soon as possible. Well, it wasn’t exactly that that brought me after you, Chip. Pop telephoned to Colonel Hawtrey, Lenning’s uncle, in Gold Hill, and the colonel’s coming to Ophir himself to see about it. We all know that Colonel Hawtrey hates Lenning like poison, and, while I can’t understand why you want to help a fellow who has done you so much dirt as Lenning has, all the same I thought I’d hustle out here and tell you about Hawtrey. If you want to help Lenning, you’ll have to see pop before the colonel gets to Ophir. I rushed to Dolliver’s in the automobile, and came on up the cañon on foot. If you want to go back with me, it won’t take us long to get to the car.”

Merriwell was in a quandary. At first, a blunt refusal to do anything for Lenning was on his lips. Something held it back.

“It’s up to you, Chip,” said Brad. “What are you going to do? You stand pretty high with pop. I’ll bet a good deal that one word from you would get the job for Lenning—providing you get busy before the colonel reaches Ophir. It’s your own business, and I’m only butting in to help you do what you want to do.”

“I know that, Brad,” Merry answered. “I can’t tell you what I want to do, offhand. I’ve got to think it over.”

“You haven’t much time.”

“I’ll have to take time to get into my clothes. Dinner’s about ready, too, and there won’t be much more delay if we eat in camp. After that, Brad, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.”

“All right, old man,” assented Brad, and turned away to shake hands with Clancy, Ballard, and a few other fellows with whom he was acquainted.

Merriwell was still in a quandary as he went to one of the tents and began getting out of his wet bathing suit and into his other clothes. Jode Lenning had appealed to him for help, and such a move was so unlike Lenning that Merry thought there must be something crooked back of it. On the other hand, Lenning might really be trying to turn over a new leaf, and, if that was the case, Frank was the last one in the world to hold back when a word from him to Mr. Bradlaugh would help set an enemy in the right road.

Jode Lenning and his half brother, Ellis Darrel, had lived with their uncle, Colonel Hawtrey, in Gold Hill. Lenning had gone wrong, but he had managed cleverly to pull the wool over his uncle’s eyes for a year or more. Merriwell had befriended Darrel, and, in so doing, had earned the enmity of Lenning. The latter had done a number of treacherous things—ugly, underhand deeds, some of which had only failed of accomplishing desperate ends by a narrow margin—and when the colonel finally had his eyes opened to the truth, he cast the scheming, unscrupulous nephew adrift.

Was Lenning trying honestly to turn over a new leaf? This was the question Merriwell was turning over in his mind. If he was, then he deserved and ought to have Merriwell’s help.

Nevertheless, Merriwell could not forget the past. Lenning had been sly, and treacherous, and cowardly. His whole nature could not be changed in twenty-four hours, and to be responsible for his honesty at the mine would perhaps prove dangerous business.

The only square thing Merriwell had ever known Lenning to do was in taking that stolen money of Mrs. Boorland’s from Shoup and returning it to Barzy Blunt. If the principle of right and justice had swerved Lenning, then certainly he was trying to put himself on a proper footing and deserved encouragement.

While Frank was considering the question that had been so suddenly put up to him, Blunt, Clancy, and Ballard came into the tent to dress and make ready for dinner. They were curious to learn what errand had brought Brad to the gulch; and Frank, after a little reflection, told them.

“Crawling side winders!” muttered Blunt, his face flushed with indignation and anger. “That juniper’s the limit! Think of him calling on Chip for help when it hasn’t been a day since he tried to smash Chip and Clancy with that bowlder! How’s that for nerve, pards?”

“Nerve is his long suit,” grunted Ballard. “Now that he’s out with Shoup, he’s trying to curry favor with Chip.”

“And of course Chip will give him the cold shoulder,” put in Clancy, with an air of conviction. “He’d be foolish to tangle up with Lenning in any way.”

“Suppose Lenning is trying to square away and do the right thing?” queried Merriwell.

“That’s a bluff,” asserted Blunt. “Lenning is more kinds of a crook than I know how to tell about. It’s a cinch he wants to get in at the mine so he can pull off some scheme or other that he’s been hatching. He’s a master hand at schemes.”

“He’s up against a tough proposition,” went on Merriwell, “and if he’s trying to be square I don’t want to turn him down.”

“If you’re fool enough to help him, Merriwell,” growled Blunt, “you’ll get yourself in trouble. Mark what I say.”

“Give Chip credit for having a little horse sense,” said Ballard. “Brad makes me tired. What the deuce did he want to come out here for? He might have known Chip wouldn’t have anything to do with Lenning’s affairs.”

“The trouble with Brad is, he never stops to reason a thing out,” observed Clancy. “He means all right, and I’ll bet he thought he was doing Chip a bigger favor than he was Lenning.”

“His own uncle ought to know him pretty well,” continued Ballard. “Let him handle Lenning.”

“I’m going in with Brad, anyhow,” said Merry, his face set and a resolute gleam in his eyes. “You fellows can follow along with the horses and pick up my mount at Dolliver’s.”

“What are you going in for?” demanded Ballard suspiciously.

“I want to get deeper into this business,” was the reply. “It won’t do any harm for me to have a talk with Mr. Bradlaugh.”

“Maybe not,” said Blunt, “but I’ll gamble my spurs it won’t do you any good, either. Lenning’s a cur, and he’s proved it.”

“What’s the use of jumping on a fellow when he’s down, Barzy?”

“It amounts to the same,” was the fierce retort, “as putting your heel on the head of a rattler before it can strike. Chip,” and his voice grew intensely earnest, “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll be sorry for.”

Merriwell laughed and thumped the cowboy on the back.

“Why, you crazy chump,” said he, “what do you take me for? There’s the call for grub pile. Come on and let’s eat.”

Following dinner, Frank caught up his horse, put on the riding gear, and then mounted and took up Brad behind him. All the Gold Hillers were sorry to see Merriwell go, but he and his chums had only come out to the gulch for overnight, and in two short days they had managed to crowd a lot of sport and excitement.

“Hope we’ll see you again before you leave Arizona, Chip,” said Bleeker, who was last to grip Merriwell’s hand. “You’re a true sportsman, and it was an honor to compete with you—even if we did get left. Adios, and good luck!”

“So long, fellows!” called Frank, waving his hand.

“We’ll be along later, Chip,” sang out Clancy.

At a word, Frank’s horse broke into a gallop along the gulch trail. The white tents faded slowly into the background and the cheers of the Gold Hillers grew fainter and fainter in Frank’s ears until they died out altogether.

CHAPTER XV.
TAKING A CHANCE.

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.

As Frank entered the room, Colonel Hawtrey got up and took him by the hand.

“Mighty glad to see you again, Merriwell,” said he, “but I hope nothing Lenning has said has brought you here.”

“Hello, my boy,” smiled Mr. Bradlaugh, waving Merriwell to a chair. “This looks like a plot, with Hannibal at the bottom of it. You needn’t go, Han. You’ve got Merriwell here, now stay and see the matter through.”

Merry and Brad seated themselves.

“I hear that Jode Lenning has asked for a job at the mine,” remarked Frank, a little embarrassed to find himself in danger of crossing the colonel’s will at such close quarters.

“That’s what has happened,” replied Mr. Bradlaugh. “We need a watchman at the cyanide plant for night duty. That’s the work Lenning applied for. It’s a responsible position, and a man is needed badly and at once. The superintendent, knowing Lenning’s character was not of the best, referred the matter to me. It’s against our policy to hire any one whose record is not clean, so I turned Lenning down. Then he said that he thought you would be responsible for him. I haven’t an idea that you’re looking for such a protégé,” laughed the general manager, “and your coming here is quite a surprise. I called up the colonel, and he took the trouble to come over. From what he says, I don’t believe we can consider Lenning’s application at all.”

“If you hire him, Bradlaugh,” said the colonel, “you’ll do it without any recommendation from me. Lenning is a graceless scamp. The company he keeps is the worst imaginable. Why, in a week he ran through with a thousand dollars, which I gave him to use in making something of himself—squandered it at the gambling tables in Gold Hill, with that rascal Shoup to help him. His latest exploit is such as to make me blush to think that he is my dead sister’s son. Highway robbery—with a poor, old lady for the victim! By George, he ought to have been arrested and put through for that.”

“Colonel,” said Frank, “you haven’t all the facts connected with that robbery. It was Shoup who stole the money, and it was Lenning who took it away from him and returned it to its rightful owner.”

The colonel’s eyes narrowed.

“Merriwell,” said he, with a trace of annoyance, “I know more than you think. Lenning wanted to revenge himself upon you for some fancied wrong, and that was why he and Shoup went to the camp in the gulch. Lenning took the money from his scoundrelly companion and hid it away; then, aided by Shoup, he attempted to roll a bowlder from Apache Point and smash the canoe in which you and one of your friends were racing past the foot of the cliff. His villainous attempts failed. He and Shoup tried to clear out. As they crossed the river in a stolen canoe, in order to reach their horses, Shoup struck Lenning with a paddle. Shoup got away, and you saved Lenning from drowning. He——”

“Clancy and I pulled Lenning out of the water,” Frank broke in. “Possibly he would have got out himself if we had let him alone.”

“Hardly,” came the crisp protest from the colonel. “Lenning was stunned and unable to help himself. As soon as he revived, he took you to the place where he had hidden the money. Why?”

The colonel bored into Frank with his eyes as he put the question.

“Because he wanted to do the square thing,” answered Merriwell, “and because he wouldn’t stand for any thieving on the part of Shoup. Shoup was mad about it, and that’s why he hit Lenning with the paddle.”

“I’m surprised at you, Merriwell,” said Hawtrey. “That wasn’t the reason at all. Lenning wanted all that money for himself. When you got him out of the water, he—well, he—well, he ‘worked you,’ to use a slang term. He returned the money and told that yarn in order to keep out of jail. Lenning is shrewd—you ought to know that.”

Colonel Hawtrey was bitter against his once-cherished nephew. He was a stern man, and the fact that Lenning was his sister’s son in no wise tempered his merciless spirit.

“I think you’re wrong, colonel,” said Merriwell quietly.

For a few moments a silence dropped over those in the office. Merriwell had been still in doubt as to what he would do up to that very moment. The colonel’s relentless attitude brought him to a conclusion in a flash. Merriwell believed Lenning had returned the money because he wanted to do the right thing, while the colonel professed to believe that it was only a makeshift to save him from arrest. At last, Colonel Hawtrey spoke, and it was noticeable that his voice had softened.

“You stand pretty high in my regard, my lad,” said he to Merriwell, “and I recall the time when you believed in Darrel and I did not. As events proved, I was an unreasonable old fool and your judgment was correct. I have you to thank for giving me back a nephew who is in every way a credit to his family. But don’t make any mistake about Jode Lenning. He’s a thorough-paced villain, and there is not one redeeming feature in his case. It is hard for me to sit here and talk in this way, but Jode has made his own bed and must lie in it. He fooled me for a long time, and I sincerely hope, Merriwell, that you won’t let him deceive you.”

“I believe he has squared around, colonel,” insisted Frank, “and that he ought to be helped.”

“There’s some black motive back of what he’s doing.”

“The fact that he came to the Ophir and asked for a job proves——”

“You don’t know what it proves,” cut in Col Hawtrey irascibly. “Lenning is deep. There is no guessing what he has at the back of his head.”

“I think he ought to have a chance.”

“Why didn’t he take his thousand dollars, go away somewhere where no one knows him and try to make a man of himself? He had a chance then—a better chance than he’ll ever get again—and he threw it away. He’s tricky, and he’s not in earnest.”

“He was training with Shoup when he squandered that money, colonel,” urged Merriwell. “Now he and Shoup have quarreled, and Lenning hasn’t his influence to fight. If Mr. Bradlaugh will take Lenning on my say-so, I’m here to ask him to let Lenning have that job as night watchman.”

“You’re making a rash move,” declared the colonel, “and it is a move that will get you into trouble as sure as fate.” He turned to Mr. Bradlaugh. “Don’t let Merriwell do something he’ll be sorry for, Bradlaugh,” said he.

There was a grim expression on the general manager’s face. “How am I to help myself, colonel?” he asked.

“Help yourself? Why, you can refuse to put Lenning on your pay roll, in spite of what Merriwell says. That is the best move you could make for all concerned.”

Bradlaugh sat back in his chair, and, for a few minutes, was deep in thought. At last he roused up to address Colonel Hawtrey, once more.

“You are under obligations to Merriwell, colonel,” said he, “and so am I. He came to Ophir and immediately identified himself with the affairs of the Ophir Athletic Club, which, as you know, were in pretty bad shape. He and his friends have brought a new spirit into the club, and from being always on the losing side, now and then we’re able to win. You remember how he coached our football team, and steered the boys to victory?” The colonel winced and a smile unfolded itself around Bradlaugh’s lips. “No,” he went on, “I see you haven’t forgotten that, colonel. Well, as president of the O. A. C., I’m indebted to Merriwell. If he asks me to give Lenning a chance, and will become personally responsible for his actions, I can’t refuse. That’s flat.”

“Merriwell is taking a long chance on Lenning,” growled Colonel Hawtrey, “and I hate to see the boy make such a mistake. I’m Lenning’s uncle, and it’s a chance I wouldn’t think of taking myself.” He turned to Frank. “Think it over,” he urged, “before you finally make up your mind. Don’t forget that Jode has tried several times to be tricky with you. He may be trying it now.”

“I’ve got a hunch that he’s trying to be square, and not to be tricky,” Merriwell answered. “And it’s a man’s fight, colonel, for every one seems to be down on him. He ought to be given a boost. If I’m willing to forget the past and take a chance, you ought to be.”

“I think, and you’ll pardon me for saying it, that my judgment is too sound. What are you going to do, Bradlaugh?”

“Lenning goes on duty at the cyanide plant to-night,” said the general manager, “but he’s accepted solely and provisionally as Merriwell’s protégé. I shall phone the superintendent to that effect in a few minutes.”

The colonel frowned and got to his feet. “I wash my hands of the consequences,” said he, “but if Merriwell gets into trouble on account of his rashness, I shall do all I can to help him.”

With that, Colonel Hawtrey strode out of the office, very much wrought up over the result of his call on Mr. Bradlaugh. As soon as he was gone, the general manager left his chair and came around to take Merriwell’s hand.

“This move of yours does you credit, Merriwell,” said he, “and I’m backing your judgment against the colonel’s. But—and please consider this a tip—keep track of Lenning as well as you can. That’s all. Hannibal,” he laughed, turning to his son, “you’re something of a schemer yourself. Why didn’t you tell me you were going after Chip?”

CHAPTER XVI.
THE YELLOW STREAK.

An hour after Merry and Brad had left the office of the general manager of the Ophir Mining Company, Merry was sitting alone on the veranda of the Ophir House, waiting for his chums to arrive from the camp in the gulch. He was wondering, a little dubiously, whether he had done right by setting his judgment against the colonel’s in the matter of Jode Lenning.

In matters of sentiment, and quite apart from ordinary business, Merriwell knew that Colonel Hawtrey was far from infallible. The colonel himself had mentioned the fact that he had been wrong and Merriwell right in affairs connected with Ellis Darrel. The same sort of a “hunch” that had led Merry to befriend Darrel was now spurring him on to help Lenning. If it was right in one case, he felt in his bones it must be right in the other.

And then, too, Lenning was absolutely friendless. In this sorry plight, he had smothered his pride and appealed for aid to a fellow whom he considered an enemy. This touched Merry, as he might have expressed it, pretty close “to where he lived.” Lenning had asked for help, and Merry would have felt like a cur if he had turned him down.

The lad on the veranda was unable to find any fault with himself for his generous action. He did not mix any hard-headed logic in his reasoning, but considered the affair almost entirely from the standpoint of doing the right thing by a chap who was down and had every man’s hand against him.

“I say, Merriwell!”

Frank started at the sound of the voice. Looking up, he saw a lad leaning over the veranda rail not more than a couple of yards away. His face was haggard, and his clothes, although of good quality, were dusty and rumpled. A pair of eyes, by nature of the shifty sort, were fixed with some steadiness upon Merry’s face.

“Oh, hello, Lenning,” said Frank, with a certain amount of constraint in his voice and manner. “I thought you were out at the mine.”

“I was there,” came the answer, “until I heard a little while ago that I was to have a job as night watchman, and that I owed the job to you. That sent me to town. Can you give me a little of your time? I—I’ve got something I want to say to you.”

“Sure! Come up here and take a chair. We’ll palaver as long as you please.”

“I’d rather not do my talking here. If you’re agreeable, suppose we walk out along the road to the mine. I’ll feel more like loosening up if I knew there’s no one around to overhear.”

“That suits me,” and Frank left the veranda and started south with Lenning, through the ragged outskirts of the town.

Lenning did not travel the main street, but avoided it, finally leading Frank out on the trail to the mine by a roundabout course. A short mile lay between the settlement and the Ophir “workings,” and Lenning did not speak until the last house in the town had been left behind. If he had much to say, Frank thought, he would have to talk fast if he got through before they reached the mine.

But Lenning did not propose to walk while he was easing his mind. He found a place at the trailside where they could sit down, and after they had made themselves comfortable, he began:

“I reckon you think I had a good deal of nerve to drag you into this,” said he, “but I knew if you wouldn’t give me a good word no one else would, and the jig would be up. I’m obliged to you. I hadn’t a notion you’d help me, but I took the only chance I had. You’ve acted white, and I want you to know that I appreciate it and that I’m going to make good—if it’s possible.”

“I don’t know why it isn’t possible,” said Merriwell, “so long as you keep away from Shoup.”

A scowl crossed the other’s haggard face. Instinctively his hand went to the back of his head, where the paddle had left its mark.

“You can bet all you’re worth I’ll keep away from that crazy dub. He had a lot to do with getting me into trouble. The responsibility isn’t all his, by a long shot, for I was born with an inclination to be crooked—and you can’t get away from what’s bred in the bone.”

“Who pounded that into you, Lenning? Was it Shoup?”

“I don’t know. He was always harping on that idea, and maybe I got a little of it from him.”

“Well, it’s the wrong idea, I don’t care where you got it. Cut it out. Don’t hamper yourself with any such foolishness. You’ve got a hard fight on your hands, and if you go into it without any confidence in yourself, you’re going to lose out.”

Lenning stared at Merriwell blankly.

“Don’t you believe that some traits are handed down to a fellow?” he asked.

“They may be handed down, but that’s no sign a fellow’s got to let them get a strangle hold on him,” Frank answered, with spirit. “Some fellows,” he added, “take all the credit if they make a show in the world; but, if they go wrong, they put all the blame onto some one else. You’re responsible for what you do, or don’t do. A fellow’s a pup if he can’t take all the responsibility for his own actions, or——”

Frank broke off with a laugh.

“Hang it!” he grunted, “I don’t know what license I’ve got to preach. What I’ve said is the truth, though, so we’ll let it pass and go on to something else.”

“I don’t want to go on to anything else,” said Lenning, “at least, not just yet. This is a mighty important matter, to me. I’ve got a yellow streak—in some things, I’m a plain coward—and I’ve sort of thought I came by it naturally. My father——” he paused. “I suppose,” he went on presently, a shamed look crossing his face, “that you’ve heard how my father was killed in Alaska, years ago, in a row?”

“I’ve heard something about it; but you don’t have to go into that, Lenning.”

“I want you to know,” said Lenning, almost savagely, “I want you to understand how that idea of Shoup’s has been taking a hold on me. My father was killed while—while he was trying to take another man’s bag of gold dust.”

“What has that got to do with you?” demanded Frank sharply.

“Don’t you think I come in for any of my father’s failings? Most people think that way.”

“Forget it. That kind of talk makes me sick. A fellow ought to be man enough to stand on his own feet.”

“You know I’m a coward. I rolled that rock off Apache Point, and I hoped it would ‘get’ you—providing I could skip out and you’d never know who it was loosened the bowlder.”

In spite of himself, Merry felt his whole nature shrink from the fellow who was admitting such an act of treachery. By an effort, however, he succeeded in getting the whip hand of his feelings.

“Then,” proceeded Lenning, “when Shoup knocked me on the head with that paddle and you pulled me out on dry land and kept me from drowning, I felt like a hound. That’s why I tried to square things by giving up that money.”

“I thought you did that because Shoup had stolen it.”

“I reckon I talked that way, but it wasn’t the truth. I took the money from Shoup and thought I’d get away with it. When you and Clancy saved me, and when I knew that I was done with Shoup, I began thinking about a job at the Ophir mine. I wondered if I could be different—if I could get the respect of people, same as you have done—and I thought maybe I’d try it. The super wouldn’t have me, so I went to the general manager. He wouldn’t have me, either, until you had asked him to give me a chance.”

Lenning swallowed hard and his voice shook as he went on:

“What you’ve done to-day, Merriwell, has done more to make me see what an infernal cur I’ve been, and to want to be different, than anything else that ever happened to me. If I can keep that yellow streak from getting the upper hand, I’ll make good at the mine.”

“You’ve got to make good,” said Frank, “because I’ve become responsible for you. What became of Shoup?”

“He has left the country, I reckon. I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.” Lenning muttered a fierce exclamation. “I wish he’d hang around for a spell so I’d have a chance to get even with him.”

“That’s a sentiment you’d better side-step. You’ll have your hands too full straightening yourself out to get even with anybody.”

“I reckon you’re right; I’ve got a job on my hands if ever a fellow had. But Shoup’s crazy, plain crazy. I’m glad I’m rid of him. I—I guess that’s about all.” He got up from the bowlder where he had been sitting. “You’ve done more for me than my own uncle would do. I’ll not forget it, Merriwell. You have less reason to help me than the colonel had. I say you’ve acted white, and you can bet I’m going to see to it that you never have any reason to be sorry for it.”

“Let it go at that, Lenning. I guess the best of us make mistakes. You’re to be night watchman at the cyanide plant?”

“Yes. It’s a responsible place. I have to watch the valves, regulate the flow of solution, and do a lot of other things connected with the plant. They’re just finishing a clean-up this afternoon, and will be running the bullion into bars this evening. The gold will have to be kept in the laboratory safe until morning—and I’ll be a guard as well as night watchman. I’m beginning at sixty a month.”

It was odd to hear Jode Lenning talk of work, and of getting “sixty a month.” When he was in favor with Colonel Hawtrey, he had had no work to do worth mentioning, and a liberal allowance had been given him for spending money. Now he had to buckle down, and earn less than his allowance had been, with his own hands.

There was something vaguely disturbing to Merriwell in that mention of the clean-up, and of the gold which was to be put in the laboratory safe for the night, with Lenning for guard. That bullion might prove a temptation, right at the beginning of Lenning’s attempt to be honest and to turn over a new leaf. Frank mentally resolved that he would visit the cyanide plant that night, and stick around for a while to see how matters were going.

“Sixty a month is a whole lot of money,” Frank remarked.

“It’s a whole lot when you make it yourself,” said Lenning. “I reckon I’ll have to mosey back. The super is going to show me the ropes before it’s time for me to go on duty, and I was to report to him at four-thirty.”

“You’ve got plenty of time,” said Frank.

As he got up, he looked southward along the trail. A cloud of dust was moving northward, and, while he watched, three riders broke out of it—one of them trailing a led horse with an empty saddle.

“Blunt!” gasped Lenning, wild fear surging in the word.

He was right. One of the riders was Barzy Blunt, and the others were Clancy and Ballard. Blunt was leading Merry’s horse, Borak.

CHAPTER XVII.
A CRY IN THE NIGHT.

Clancy, Ballard, and Blunt, on their way to town from the gulch, came charging toward Merriwell and Lenning at full gallop. They drew to a quick halt, very much surprised at sight of Merry and his old enemy. Nor were the newcomers pleasantly surprised, as they were quick to make manifest.

“Chip, or I’m an Indian!” exclaimed Ballard.

“And I’m another Indian,” snorted Blunt, “if he isn’t chin-chinning with one of the fellows who stole Mrs. Boorland’s money!”

Clancy had nothing to say, but he looked his violent disapproval of his chum’s actions.

“If that’s the way you fellows feel,” said Frank, temper flashing in his eyes, “you can leave my horse here and ride on.”

That Lenning was in deadly fear of Blunt was plainly to be seen. The cowboy had taken the trail of Lenning and Shoup, immediately after Mrs. Boorland had been robbed, and for a time he had crowded the pair pretty hard. Lenning, evidently, was still in doubt as to the cowboy’s intentions toward him. His haggard face went white as chalk, and he crouched shivering away at the trailside.

“Don’t get excited,” sneered Blunt, leveling his cold black eyes at the youth. “If Chip Merriwell has taken you under his wing, I won’t lay a hand on you. How about it, Chip?” he demanded, shifting his gaze to Frank.

“I’ve helped Lenning get a job at the Ophir mine,” Merry answered.

“That settles it,” grunted Blunt, tossing the reins of Borak to Frank.

Scowling blackly, the cowboy pulled down the brim of his hat and set spurs to his horse. He had not a word to say. Frank looked after him grimly, then laughed a little, and vaulted into his own saddle.

With the going of Blunt, Lenning revived considerably. Straightening his shoulders, he stepped back to the trail. Clancy and Ballard watched him with a gaze far from friendly.

“Good-by, Lenning,” Frank called from the saddle. “Do your best, over there, and everything will come out all right.”

“Thank you, Merriwell,” Lenning answered. “If I do come out all right you can bet I’ll know who to thank for it.”

He threw a defiant glance at Clancy and Ballard, a look of gratitude at Merriwell, then turned on his heel and started south. Slowly Frank put Borak in motion the other way.

Clancy and Ballard rode on either side of Merriwell, and both preserved a glum silence. They were displeased, but Merry had done what he thought was right, and the attitude of his chums did not worry him.

“Have you hooked up with that crook, Chip?” asked Ballard, as they rode into town and headed for the corral.

“I’m trying to help a fellow who doesn’t seem to have a friend in the world,” was the answer. “If that’s what you call ‘hooking up’ with a crook, Pink, I guess you’ve nicked it.”

“It was a foolish move,” began Clancy, “and I didn’t think——”

“It’s my move, Clan,” interrupted Merry, “so you needn’t sob your head off about it. Your fingers won’t be burned if the move’s a bad one.”

Nothing more was said, and the ride to the corral was finished in an atmosphere that was not particularly pleasant for anybody. When the horses had been taken care of, and the three chums started on foot for the hotel, Clancy’s loyalty to Merry got the better of his wrathful feelings.

“Oh, well, hang this Lenning business, anyhow!” he exclaimed. “You never go very far wrong, Chip, and if you think you’ve done right, why, that’s enough for me.”

“Same here,” said Ballard, but rather gloomily. “Whenever I think of Apache Point and that falling rock, I’m mad enough to fight. You’re generous to a fault, but it’s your own fault, and why the blazes should we take it out on you? But it’s still my private opinion that Lenning’s a skunk.”

“I’m not trying to change your opinion,” Merry laughed, “so you needn’t get your back up if I want to do a little reasoning for myself. Now, forget it.”

They did forget it, and by the time they reached the hotel they were laughing and jollying each other in their usual fashion. Blunt was sitting on the veranda, when they arrived, and his burst of indignation had also subsided.

“You’re one too many for me, Chip,” he remarked, shaking his head in a puzzled way, “but I’m not the one to jump on you for making friends with a rattler. If the varmint makes a strike at you, though, I reckon I’ll show my hand quick.”

What Frank had done for Lenning was no longer discussed. The lads got together on the less dangerous and more interesting ground of the canoe race in the gulch, and talked it over until the hotel Chinaman came out in front and pounded the supper gong.

The evening meal out of the way, Barzy Blunt went off to spend the evening with Mrs. Boorland, Clancy and Ballard got into a game of checkers in the hotel office, and Merry went upstairs to his room.

Frank was pestering himself with the question of that cyanide clean-up, and the gold in the laboratory safe which Lenning was to guard. When he had first heard of the clean-up and the gold, he had made up his mind to stroll out to the Ophir workings during the evening, and sort of reconnoiter the situation at the cyanide plant. Later, he had decided that such an act would be foolish, and would show his distrust of Lenning. Now he was again wondering if he had not better go to the mine.

He recalled that he had told Mr. Bradlaugh that he would be responsible for the way Lenning did his duty. Suppose, on the first night of his work, Lenning should yield to temptation and run off with a few bars of bullion? Frank’s promise to the general manager would oblige him to go down in his pocket and make good the mining company’s loss.

Frank could not believe that Lenning would do such a thing. He believed that the fellow was honestly trying to retrieve his good name. Reformation comes slow, however, and is not secured at a single jump. Guarding bullion was a pretty hard position in which to place a fellow like Lenning, on the very first night of his work. His newly formed resolution would be put to a hard test.

Merriwell’s mind revolved around the subject until it began to get on his nerves. At last he jumped up and began pulling off his coat.

“I’ll go batty over this if I don’t get it out of my mind somehow,” he muttered. “Maybe if I go to bed I can sleep and forget it.”

He began to unlace one of his shoes, paused, then laced it up again.

“I don’t believe I could sleep, anyhow,” he grumbled. “The quickest way to get this out of my system is to do a little reconnoitering around that blooming cyanide plant.”

He looked at a tin clock which hung from a nail in the wall. The hands indicated a quarter past nine.

“I can get back here by eleven,” he thought, “and have plenty of time to look around at the mine. Clancy will wonder where I am, I suppose, but what he doesn’t know hadn’t ought to trouble him. Here goes.”

Clancy occupied the room with Merry, and, when he came to bed, would, of course, note his chum’s absence. It was possible that Frank might get back before Clancy and Ballard broke away from the checkerboard; at any rate, he would certainly be back very soon afterward.

Owing to the hostile attitude of his chums toward Lenning, Frank did not intend to tell them where he was going. It would only open up a subject on which he and they could not agree, but it would tend to show that Frank had not the confidence in Lenning which he professed. This would have been a false impression, and yet it would have been difficult to explain the matter so Clancy and Ballard could understand the real motive which sent Frank to the mine. It was a whole lot better to slip away quietly, and then slip back again, without inviting questions or trying to explain.

Frank went down the back stairs, then stole through the dining room to the door that communicated with the office. Clancy and Ballard were absorbed in their game.

“Wow!” Clancy was saying, “here I go slap into your king row, Pink! Why don’t you wake up and make this game interesting for me?”

“I’ll make it interesting enough, you red-headed chump, before I’m done,” grinned Ballard.

Frank turned back from the door and gumshoed his way into the kitchen and then out at the rear of the hotel. There was no moon, but the sky was clear and the stars were bright. He had no difficulty in following almost the identical course Lenning had led him over in the afternoon. When he struck the trail beyond the town, the thunderous roll of the stamps from the gold mill came to him on the night wind. There were a hundred stamps in the mill, and they raised a din like muffled thunder.

There was a crispness in the cool air that ran through Merry’s veins like a tonic. His step was light, and he threw back his shoulders, sniffed the air delightedly, and pushed on.

The desert, with its shadowy clumps of greasewood, stretched away into the dim distance on either side of the trail. Now and then some bird fluttered in the brush, or some skulking animal raced across the road, but there was no other human being going or coming along the trail at that hour.

As Frank drew nearer the mine, the steady clamor of the stamps grew in volume. At last, when he stood on the slight rise overlooking the shaft house, the bunk house, the mill, and the cyanide plant, the lad paused, admiring the shadowy scene that lay stretched before him.

There were lights in the windows of the bunk house, but they were dull gleams compared with the brightness that shone through every crack and cranny of the great building that housed the beating stamps. There was something ghostlike in the scene, and the effect was heightened by the steady moaning of the mill. An uncanny sensation ruffled Frank’s nerves, but he smothered it with a laugh and started down the slope.

Suddenly he paused. He had heard something—something like a smothered cry breaking through the low growling of the stamps. What was it?

He bent his head and listened intently. Two or three minutes passed. The sound was not repeated, and he laid it to his imagination, or to some prowling coyote off in the hills.

He had no sooner started on again, however, before the muffled cry once more struck on his ears. This time there was no mistake. It was a human voice that had given the cry, and it seemed like a call for help.

Locating the spot from which it apparently came, Frank started at a run to investigate the cause. Before he had taken a dozen steps he heard the cry more distinctly, and felt positive that some one was in distress and calling for aid.

Sure of the location of it, by then, he darted into a chaparral that lay directly in front of him.

CHAPTER XVIII.
TRACKING TROUBLE.

Merriwell dashed into the chaparral like a whirlwind and beat about in the bushes trying to discover where the person was who needed help. His hunt was vain. Several times he called aloud, from various parts of the chaparral, but without getting any response.

“This beats the deuce!” he muttered, at last, withdrawing from the bushes and throwing a puzzled look about him into the dark. “What the mischief is going on? It can’t be that I imagined I heard a cry for help. If I didn’t, why can’t I find somebody or something to account for it?”

He was greatly disturbed by his failure to locate the source of that alarm. Finally he gave up, and started to regain the road that led down the slope and in among the mine buildings. Scarcely had he turned, however, when that cry in the night once more smote upon his ears.

He whirled to an about face in a flash. “Where are you?” he called.

The cry was repeated, apparently coming from a mass of shadow, to his left, and farther down the slope. He plunged on into the gloom.

“I’ll find out what’s back of this if it takes a leg,” he declared to himself.

The next moment he stumbled over some obstacle, and fell forward. He threw out his hands instinctively to ease his fall, but they came in contact with nothing more substantial than thin air.

He dropped through space—not far, yet far enough to give him quite a jolt when he landed on the hard rocks. After a moment he scrambled to a sitting posture and rubbed his bruised shins.

On every side of him the gloom was thick. He could look up, however, and see an oblong patch of sky, studded with stars.

“Thunder!” he exclaimed ruefully. “There’s an open cut on the slope, and I’ve stumbled into it. That’s what a fellow gets for tracking trouble over ground he doesn’t know anything about. But that cry for help! It certainly gets my goat.”

He had lost his cap in his fall, and he groped around in the dark until he found it. Then, getting to his feet, he made his way to the steep bank and began climbing.

An “open cut” is a gouge in the earth made for purposes of exploration. Usually an “open cut” is dug or blasted out in order to make sure of surface indications of a vein, and sometimes it is made in the hunt for a vein that has been lost.

Yet it made little difference how or what that particular open cut was there. The fact of most importance to Merry was that he had fallen into it.

His bruises were of small consequences; and many a time he had landed from a pole vault with a harder jolt. When a youngster keeps in the pink of physical condition, a hard fall now and then is nothing to worry him.

Presently Frank managed to paw and scramble his way to the top of the steep bank; and there he perched, trying to figure out what in blazes it was that had lured him into the pitfall. He could make nothing of it, and at last turned his attention to the buildings below him.

That was not his first visit to the Ophir mine, by any means. He was fairly familiar with the location of the different buildings, and he knew that the cyanide plant lay at a considerable distance to the left of the mill. It surprised him, though, to discover that his wanderings across the slope had brought him to a point directly opposite the cyanide tanks.

Cyanide of potassium, it may be explained, is one of the two commercially valuable solvents of gold. This cyanide eats up the gold and holds it in solution. For that reason, the drug is used in treating refuse from a stamp mill. In such refuse—technically known as “tailings”—there is always present a small amount of yellow metal which the quicksilver on the copper plates of the mill fails to “catch.” If it were not for the cyanide, this gold would prove a total loss.

The tailings are thrown into tanks, arranged in rows like a series of giant steps. From a large reservoir, high above the rows of vats, the cyanide solution flows by gravity into all the tanks below—entering at the bottom and percolating through the tailings upward to the top, where it flows off and into the row of tanks next below. The solution takes up the gold as it flows, finally depositing its burden of wealth on zinc shavings in what is called the “zinc box.” From the zinc box the solution drops down another step into a sump tank, and from there, at stated intervals, it is pumped back into the reservoir.

Merriwell was familiar with the cyanide plant at the Ophir mine. He had been showed around by the super, and the work had been explained to him. Consequently he was able to recognize the plant from the open cut the moment his eyes rested on the black bulk of the tanks.

For the present the tanks were out of commission. A cyanide “clean-up” is a long and tedious operation, and the work pauses for a longer or shorter period while the work is going on.

“I’ll slip down among the tanks and look for Lenning,” Frank murmured. “After I talk with him a while, I’ll return to the hotel and go to bed. If the bullion is locked up in a safe, I guess he won’t have any trouble taking care of it. Funny I didn’t think of that before. The strong box here must be a regular teaser for a cracksman.”

Carefully he gained his feet and descended the rough slope to the tanks. At his left, as he stood by the end of the upper tier of vats, was the laboratory building, where the cyanide expert kept his store of the deadly poison that stole the gold from the tailings, and where he had his assay equipment, his furnaces, crucibles, et cetera. The building was dark, and Frank, sure that Lenning was not inside of it, but on duty around the tanks, paid the structure no attention.

Comparatively close to the mill, where the rumble of the stamps drowned every other noise, to call for Lenning was useless. Frank would have to plunge in among the tanks and look for him. Scrambling over the tailings piles that cluttered the ground, he began his search.

Lenning was not in the vicinity of the first row, and Frank dropped to the next tier. He wasn’t there, either. In spite of the gloomy shadows cast by the big vats, the lad was able to see with tolerable clearness. The third and last row remained to be investigated, but here the same ill luck rewarded Frank’s search. Lenning was not in evidence around the tanks.

Possibly, Frank thought, the new watchman might be in the mill. Or, if he was not there, some of the night shift might know where he could be found. Just as Frank was turning to start for the mill, he saw a flash of light through one of the windows of the laboratory. He halted and stared, a trifle bewildered.

Not five minutes before he had looked at the laboratory, and the windows had all been dark. How did it happen that now there was a light in one of them?

“Not much of a mystery about that,” he finally decided. “Some one has gone into the place and lighted a lamp. It may be Lenning; or, if not Lenning, then some one who has been helping with the clean-up. I’ll——”

The muttered words died on Frank’s lips. Under his eyes, as he continued to watch the window, the light winked out and again left the laboratory in darkness.

“I guess that’s easily explained, too,” he presently decided. “The fellow that lighted the lamp put it out again. It was Lenning, of course. As I went hunting for him among the tanks, he had to go to the laboratory for something. That’s how I happened to miss him. He has got what he wanted, and so he has put out the light and will soon be coming back. I’ll wait here for him.”

Frank kept his eyes fixed on the dark side of the laboratory building, where he knew the door was located. Every moment he expected Lenning to appear, walking toward him out of the shadow of the laboratory wall. But the seconds grew into minutes, and still Lenning did not come. The waiting lad was forced to the conclusion that there was something strange about all this.

“If there’s anything wrong,” he thought, “I ought to find the superintendent, and report. But how do I know there is anything wrong? Maybe all I see is a part of the night’s work, and if I went to the super he’d only have the laugh on me. I’d better investigate a little before I spread any news of trouble.”

The roaring mill, with its glittering lights, suggested quick help in the case of emergency. Frank had a vague notion that it would be well to go there and make some inquiries before investigating the laboratory. But, if he went to the mill, the fellow who had struck a light in the laboratory would have time to come out and get away unseen. If it was Lenning, then he would miss him, and would have to begin his search all over.

Another thought came to him, as he moved slowly upon the laboratory, and Frank was surprised that it had not occurred to him before. A night watchman, moving about among those dark tanks, would certainly carry a lantern. Frank had been stumbling blindly around the tanks, hunting for Lenning, when, if he had considered the matter thoroughly, he need only have looked for a bobbing light.