“THE DAM IS GONE!” CRIED THE GIRL. “FLY FOR YOUR LIVES!” Page 7.

The

Blue Grass Seminary Girls’

Vacation Adventures

OR

Shirley Willing to the Rescue

By Carolyn Judson Burnett

AUTHOR OF

“The Blue Grass Seminary Girls’ Christmas Holidays,”

“The Blue Grass Seminary Girls in the Mountains,”

“The Blue Grass Seminary

Girls on the Water.”

A. L. BURT COMPANY

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Copyright, 1916

By A. L. Burt Company

THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY GIRLS’ VACATION ADVENTURES

THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY GIRLS’ VACATION ADVENTURES

CHAPTER I.—THE BROKEN DAM.

“The dam! The dam! The dam has broken!”

Shirley Willing, with flaming eyes and tightly-clenched hands, jumped quickly forward, and with her right hand seized the bridle of a horse that was bearing a strange boy along the road, which ran near the river.

The horse reared back on its haunches, frightened at the sudden halting.

“The dam!” cried the young girl again. “Quick! The people must be warned!”

The face of the rider turned white.

“What do you mean?” he shouted, fear stamped on every feature.

Shirley’s excitement fell from her like a cloak. She became quiet.

“The Darret dam has been washed away,” she answered, “and unless the people in the valley are warned immediately they will perish. There is one chance to save them. You are mounted. You can outrun the oncoming wall of water and save them. Away with you, quick! There is not a second to spare!”

“But,” protested the boy, “the water may overtake me and I shall drown. We can climb to higher ground here and be safe.”

He tried to turn his horse’s head to the east. But Shirley clung to the rein.

“And leave those people to drown, without warning?” she cried. “You coward! You are afraid!”

“I——” the boy began, but Shirley cut his protest short.

Releasing the bridle of the horse, she sprang quickly to the side of the animal, seized the rider by the leg with both her strong, young hands and pulled quickly and vigorously. Unprepared for such action, the boy came tumbling to the ground in a sprawling heap.

Quick as a flash Shirley leaped to the saddle and turned the horse’s head toward the valley. As she dug her heels into the animal’s ribs, sending him forward with a jump, she called over her shoulder to the boy, who sat still dazed at the sudden danger:

“Get to safety the best way you can, you coward!”

Under the firm touch of the girl’s hand on the rein the horse sped on down the valley.

It was a mad race with death and Shirley knew it. But she realized that human lives were at stake and she did not hesitate.

To the left of the road down which she sped lay high ground and safety, while coming down the valley, perhaps a mile in the rear, poured a dense wall of water, coming as swift as the wind.

For days the Mississippi and its tributaries had been rising rapidly and steadily. Along the lowlands in that part of the state of Illinois, just south of Cairo, where Shirley Willing had been visiting friends, fears that the Darret dam, three miles up one of these tributary streams, would give way, had been entertained.

Some families, therefore, had moved their perishable belongings to higher ground, where they would be beyond the sweep of the waters should the dam break.

Then suddenly, without warning, the dam had gone.

The home where Shirley had been visiting was a farmhouse, and the cry of danger had been received by telephone. Those in the house had been asked to repeat the warning to families further down the valley. But the fierce wind that was raging had, at almost that very moment, blown down all wires.

Shirley, in spite of the fact that she, with the others, could easily have reached the safety afforded by higher ground a short distance away, had thought only of those whose lives would be snuffed out if they were not warned.

She had decided that she would warn them herself. She ran from the house to the stable, where one single horse had been left.

But the seriousness of the situation seemed to have been carried to the animal, and when Shirley had attempted to slip a bridle over his head he struck out violently with his fore feet. As the girl sprang back, he dashed from the stable.

Shirley ran after him and followed him into the road. There she encountered a rider; and the conversation with which this story begins took place.

As the girl sped down the road, she could hear from far behind, the roar of the waters as they came tumbling after her.

A farmhouse came into sight. A man, a woman and several children came out, attracted by the galloping hoofbeats. Without checking the speed of her mount a single instant, Shirley guided the horse close to them.

“The dam! The dam!” she shouted, as she flashed by.

No other words were necessary. Without stopping to gather up any of their effects, they all turned their faces and rushed for higher ground.

A second, a third, and a fourth farmhouse came into view, and as she flashed by, the girl hurled her warning at each.

Half a mile below lay the little town of Stanley. It was for this that Shirley was headed, in her race with the rushing water.

The roar behind her became louder, and Shirley, leaning over her horse’s neck, urged him to further efforts with soft and coaxing words.

The noble animal, seeming to realize that he was upon a message of life or death, responded, and it seemed that he must have winged feet, so lightly and swiftly did he fly over the ground.

But the roaring wall of water came closer.

Shirley uttered a cry of relief. Before her she made out the first house in the little town. The sounds of the clattering hoofs on the hard macadamized road drew the residents from their homes. Several had gathered in a little knot as Shirley approached. Evidently they had not heard the sound of the roaring waters.

“The dam has gone!” cried the girl, as she came up to them, and rode by without checking the speed of her horse. “Fly for your lives!”

Instantly all became bustle and confusion. The word was passed like a flash and almost as one man the town poured from its homes and dashed for safety.

Clear through the town the young girl rode, calling out her warning. Then, and not until then, did she check her horse and turn his head toward the safety that lay in the east.

A man ran up to her.

“The Hendersons!” he cried. “They left here not five minutes ago in their buggy. The water will catch them on the road!”

Without a word, Shirley turned her horse and would have dashed forward had not the man caught the bridle.

“It’s death to you!” he cried.

“It’s death to them if I don’t make it!” cried Shirley.

She dug her heels into the animal’s flanks and the horse shook off the detaining hand with a quick twitch of his head. Evidently he, as well as the girl, realized his responsibility.

Once more, under the guiding hand, he dashed forward as if it were wings that carried him so lightly and swiftly over the ground. And as he flew on, Shirley patted him softly on the neck and spoke low words of encouragement.

The noble animal’s ears stood straight and there was fire in his eyes. He seemed to say: “We will save them if it is possible.”

Rounding a sudden turn in the road, Shirley made out a buggy going leisurely along. At the same moment the roar of the water came more plainly to her ears.

She raised her voice in a shout that rose above the sound of roaring water behind—rose above the sounds of clattering hoofs and above the voices of the occupants of the buggy themselves.

The buggy stopped, the man’s face peered out. As he saw Shirley dashing along the road after him, a sudden understanding of what was wrong came to him. Raising an arm, he waved it as a signal that the girl’s warning had been understood, and started his horse on a run.

Shirley breathed a great sigh of relief and dashed on after the buggy, which was now going at terrific speed, rocking crazily and threatening every moment to turn over in the road.

Coming suddenly to an open field at the left side of the road, the man sent the buggy dashing across it, and made, as fast as his horse could go, for a point where the ground rose sheer for perhaps a hundred feet.

Shirley sped after the buggy.

Coming to this abrupt rise, they were forced to search for a means of clambering up it. The woman in the buggy, at the man’s command, sprang from the seat and dashed hurriedly up the steep hill. The man in the meantime stopped to unhitch his horse, that the animal might have a chance for its life.

Turning in her saddle, Shirley cried out in sudden fear.

Behind, so close that it seemed to be right upon her and bearing down with tremendous speed, came a solid wall of water, many feet high.

With a cry to her horse, the girl turned his head squarely to the hill. With his nostrils extended and his eyes dilated with fear, the animal sprang at it. With his light burden he gained a foothold and dashed up as fast as his weary limbs could carry him. Once he came to a place that seemed too much for him; but the noble steed made a last desperate effort and succeeded in getting his forefeet on top of the level ground above.

With a single movement, Shirley flung herself from the saddle to the safety of the high ground, and in another moment seized the bridle of the horse, just as he would have slipped back into the raging flood that now swept by below.

Exerting her utmost strength—and it was by no means slight—she succeeded in helping the animal to scramble to the summit.

The occupants of the buggy had also succeeded in climbing to safety, but the second horse had been carried away by the sweeping waters. Henderson had been unable to loosen the animal, as he was forced to hurry to the support of Mrs. Henderson, who, almost in safety, had fainted and would have fallen back, had her husband’s arm not caught her.

From this refuge, the three watched the waters as they swirled by with tremendous force. Kicking animals, sheds, barns and small houses, together with ruins and débris, swept past them, and more than once the young girl cried out in despair, as she realized the damage that had been done by the water.

The three had climbed to the very top of the hill, as the water surrounded them on all sides. Gradually it rose, climbing closer and closer to them. Shirley became alarmed and turned to Henderson, who stood near her, still supporting his wife.

“Will it come this high, do you think, Mr. Henderson?”

Henderson shook his head.

“There is no telling,” he replied quietly. “All we can do is to hope for the best.”

All became silent, but their eyes were riveted upon the water as it closed in on them.

Now there was but perhaps twenty yards of dry ground, then fifteen, and still the water rose. The rise continued until all stood in water, and then it rose no higher.

“Thank God!” said Henderson, calmly, looking at his wife. “We are saved!”

“Thank God, indeed,” said Shirley softly, and she turned and stroked the horse, who thrust his cold muzzle into her hand. “But for you,” she added, patting him gently, “hundreds would have been drowned!”

CHAPTER II.—A DARING ACT.

Night came on, and still the three—a man, a woman and a young girl—stood ankle deep in the cold water, which showed no sign of receding.

Mrs. Henderson was completely worn out. At Shirley’s suggestion, Henderson placed her upon the back of the horse, where she was at least dry.

“There is no telling how long we may have to remain here,” said Henderson. “The water may not go down before morning.”

“But,” said Shirley, “we cannot remain here that long. We must do something.”

“What?” asked Henderson briefly.

“Well, we might try shouting,” said Shirley. “Some one might hear us.”

They both raised their voices to their loudest and shouted long and often. But no reply came.

Shirley glanced carefully about her in the dim light. They stood on the very top of the little hill, and all about them was water. Perhaps a quarter of a mile to the right, however, was another elevation, and this Shirley knew was not merely a similar hill, but high ground that ran back for miles—the land upon which all those in the flooded valley had sought safety.

“I have a plan,” she said quietly to Henderson.

“What is it?” he asked eagerly.

“It’s very simple,” was the reply. “I shall mount the horse, and we shall try and swim through the short expanse of water to the dry ground over there,” and she pointed across the flood.

Henderson started back aghast at the boldness of this plan. Beneath them the water still swished angrily, although it had lost much of its force.

“I’ll not hear of it,” he said shortly. “You shall not risk your life.”

“But,” protested the girl, “we are all likely to become numbed and perish here.”

She shivered slightly as she spoke, for the night air was damp, cold and penetrating.

“I think it is the best way,” she added quietly. “Besides, what danger is there? Hero,” she named the horse in that moment, “can make it all right. All I shall have to do is cling to him tightly.”

“But the current may be very strong,” protested Henderson.

“Not too strong for us, is it, Hero?” she asked the horse, and patted him gently again.

Hero whinnied in reply, and seemed as eager as the girl to make the trial. He seemed to understand the conversation, and besides, he was anxious to reach a place where there was warmth, dry straw and good oats.

“Yes, it is the best way,” said Shirley decisively.

Henderson looked at her closely, then turned away with a sigh, for that one glance was enough to tell him that the young girl would have her way.

He lifted his wife from Hero’s back, and Shirley immediately climbed into the saddle.

“I’ll send a boat for you,” Shirley called over her shoulder, as, with a tug of the reins, she headed Hero into the water.

“Good luck!” called Henderson. “Keep your head, and hold tight. Don’t be swept off the horse’s back.”

Shirley did not reply, but kept her eyes straight ahead.

Gradually Hero sank lower and lower into the water, and then went under suddenly. His feet no longer touched the bottom.

Henderson and his wife cried out in alarm as horse and girl sank beneath the water; but they rose again in a moment, and, shaking the water from his eyes with an angry snort, Hero struck out boldly for the distant shore.

The current was still strong and gradually bore them down the valley. But Hero made headway, and every stroke of his mighty legs bore them much nearer safety.

Now darkness, thick and intense, descended over the valley, and neither horse nor rider could see five yards ahead. But neither lost heart, Hero plunging straight ahead and Shirley clinging tightly to his neck and uttering low words of encouragement.

For a long, long time, as it seemed to both horse and rider, they continued their cold and wet journey; then, abruptly, Hero’s feet struck the rising ground of the high land. A moment later he stood on all feet, the water up to his knees, but with solid ground beneath him. Quickly he drew himself free of the water, and Shirley, soaking wet, and cramped from the one position she had been forced to maintain, jumped stiffly to the ground.

She threw her arms around the horse’s neck, and gave him a great hug.

“Good old Hero!” she exclaimed. “I knew you would bring us over safely. Now to find some one and send them after the Hendersons.”

She walked quickly along in the darkness, Hero following her like a dog.

At last, in the distance, she made out a dim light and hurried on toward it. Soon she was close enough to make out that she was approaching a little house, through a window of which the light twinkled. She broke into a run, and without stopping to knock, dashed inside.

A man and a woman rose to their feet, and Shirley was also conscious of other figures in the room.

A pain shot through her head, she reeled dizzily and toppled over in a dead faint; but before she lost consciousness she heard a voice that sounded many miles away exclaim:

“Why, Shirley Willing! What are you doing here, and in this condition?”

When Shirley recovered consciousness she lay upon a little bed, and several figures were bending over her. One she recognized in a moment, and addressed it in a low voice and with a smile on her face.

“Mabel!” she exclaimed. “Where am I and what is the matter with me?”

But before the other could reply, the thrilling experience she had been through came back to her like a flash; and springing from the bed, unmindful of the sharp pain that shot through her head, she exclaimed:

“The Hendersons! Quick! Have you a boat?”

“There, there,” said the girl whom she had addressed as Mabel. “You are a little overwrought. Lie down again, dearie.”

Shirley shook off the other’s hand.

“The Hendersons,” she explained, “are marooned on a little hill in the midst of the raging flood. They must be helped quickly. Mrs. Henderson is ill and unless she is given shelter at once may die from exposure.”

Immediately all in the room began to ask questions, but Shirley, raising a hand, stopped them. Then, briefly, she explained the situation.

The men in the room leaped to their feet and dashed out of the house. Shirley ran after them.

“You may not be able to find the place in the dark,” she said, “but I think I can show you the way. My sense of direction has always been good.”

In spite of the protests of the others, she went with the men while they hauled a large rowboat out of a nearby shed and dragged it to the water’s edge.

Here, launching it, they all climbed in. Shirley would have followed, but one man objected.

“You are worn out now,” he said. “You had better get to bed.”

But Shirley was not to be denied.

“This is my adventure,” she said warmly, “and besides, I can probably help you locate the Hendersons. My eyes are unusually sharp.”

She stepped into the boat in spite of all protests, and soon, under the strong arms of the men, the little craft leaped out over the water.

It was pitch dark, and almost impossible for the occupants of the boat to see their hands before them. A lantern in the prow of the boat only seemed to make the darkness more intense.

After half an hour’s rowing the men rested on their oars and listened. There was no sound. They rowed for perhaps another quarter of an hour, and again paused to listen. Just as they were about to go on again, Shirley’s ears caught the sound of a distant hail.

“Listen!” she cried, and all sat silently.

The hail came again, but at first those in the boat were unable to tell from what direction. They listened and it came again.

“Back and to the right,” said Shirley. “We must have passed them in the darkness.”

The boat was brought about and headed in the direction Shirley indicated; and still there was no sign of the Hendersons. But the next hail was clearer, and much closer.

“Come straight ahead!” came the cry over the flood.

The rowers now followed the directions shouted across the water, and after what seemed a very long time, made out, directly ahead, the figure of a man and a woman, huddled close together to keep warm. It was Henderson and his wife.

Once inside the boat, Mrs. Henderson promptly fainted. Shirley lifted the unconscious woman’s head into her lap and bathed her face with water, and she soon revived.

The boat made rapid progress on the return journey and soon all were in the warm enclosure of the little house. Mrs. Henderson was promptly put to bed, but Shirley had something else to do.

Calling one of the men to follow her, she left the house and, after some searching, came upon what she sought.

This was Hero standing at the door of the little stable, nosing it and trying his best to get in. Shirley turned to her companions.

“This,” she said, stroking the animal’s wet mane, “is the one you all have to thank for your escape from the flood. Had it not been for Hero, I would have been unable to give the warning, and now it seems to me he is entitled to a nice warm stall and some nice fresh oats. Would you like them, Hero?”

The horse whinnied in joy, and one of the men said:

“He certainly shall have both.”

He approached and took the animal by the bridle, but Hero drew back.

“Maybe you can lead him,” said the man. “He won’t come for me.”

Shirley laughed. “Come, Hero!” she called and without leading he followed her into the stable, where he was escorted to a clean stall.

“And now you go to bed,” said one of the men to Shirley.

“I’ll stay and see him fed first,” replied the girl.

“All right, have your own way!”

He produced the oats, and soon Hero was nosing and eating them contentedly.

Then, and not until then, did Shirley return to the house. Throwing off her wet garments, she crept into bed when, tired and worn out, she closed her eyes and slept.

CHAPTER III.—THE BLUE GRASS SEMINARY.

Shirley Willing was a typical product of the little town of Paris, Bourbon County, Kentucky; and at the time this story opens had just passed her fifteenth year. She was the one child of Christopher Willing, a prosperous farmer and horseman, who owned an extensive place on the Bethlehem pike some three or four miles from the little city.

Being an only daughter, she was naturally somewhat spoiled, although she and her father would have resented such an implication. Nevertheless, spoiled she was, as all were aware except these two. Shirley was slight and slender, with a wealth of auburn hair and cheeks like roses. All her life she had been athletically inclined, and for the past two years—ever since she had been attending the Blue Grass Seminary—she had indulged in outdoor sports continually.

The Blue Grass Seminary was one of those schools in which the chief object was to produce not only cultured and educated young women, but physically perfect ones as well. While the course of study was on a par with all first-class schools, the management did not believe that the students should spend all their time over their books.

“Give the girls a practical education,” was the theory of the principal, and both he and his assistants endeavored in every way to enable the girls under their care to practice in the open the theories taught in the schoolroom.

Much time was also devoted to athletics in the Blue Grass Seminary, but there were no hard and fast rules as to what branch of athletics each pupil should take up. Shirley Willing’s great hobby and chief diversion was horseback riding. She was an expert horse-woman at fifteen and could ride anything, as she had proved more than once.

Besides having a well-kept farm, Mr. Willing also owned a good “string” of blooded race horses, and there was no novelty in one of them being winner in many exciting races. It was this kind of horse that Shirley most enjoyed riding.

Shirley’s particular chum and bosom friend was Mabel Ashton, likewise the daughter of a prosperous Kentuckian. Colonel Ashton was easily the most prominent man in many respects in Bourbon County. Mabel, who was a few months older than Shirley, was equally well known among the younger set. The girls had been friends almost since they were babies, which was only natural because of the close relationship between their families.

Another bond of sympathy between the girls was that both had lost their mothers when a few months old.

When Shirley made up her mind that she would attend the Blue Grass Seminary—located in a neighboring town some twenty miles away—there was nothing more natural than that Mabel should decide to go also. At first their fathers both opposed the plan, but after Mr. Willing and Colonel Ashton had spent a day at the Seminary and had seen what an excellent school it was, they were quite willing to let the girls attend.

At the Seminary the girls had been roommates. Their closest friend was Lois Geddis, the daughter of an Illinois farmer. Several times she had gone home with Shirley to spend Sunday and had likewise spent her Christmas vacation in Paris, upon the promise that the two girls should visit her during the summer. Thus it was that we find these three Blue Grass Seminary girls in such close proximity to the great Father of Waters.

The Kentucky girls had been visiting in Illinois some two weeks when this story opens, and it was now the latter part of June. They had only intended to remain a week, but they had been having such a good time that they had overstayed the stated period. Finally they had selected a date upon which they should return and in spite of all influence that could be brought to bear, they were not to be shaken in their purpose.

Then the flood came.

To account for Mabel’s presence in the little house in which Shirley is now sleeping, it is necessary to go back a little in our story.

It was about the time that the girls had set a date to go home that heavy rains set in. The summer had been dry so far and the rain was very welcome. But for days, now, the downpour had continued without any sign of abating. From further up the river news was received of still heavier rain, and these added to the regular June rise from the Missouri caused the Mississippi at Cairo to spread until it threatened to leave its bank.

A short distance above the home of Mr. Geddis, where the girls were visiting, was a small tributary of the Mississippi on which was built a great dam, forming an immense reservoir. This was known as the Darret dam. At this point also, the river broadened into what seemed almost a small bay in which the water was very deep, so that the volume back of the dam was something enormous.

When it became apparent that there was to be no let-up in the steady rains, and as the waters of the Mississippi continued to rise, Mr. Geddis, as well as other farmers in the vicinity, moved all their livestock and household effects to higher ground that they might be safe should the dam give way; for it was a well-known fact that if the dam burst, the valley would be flooded and everything carried away.

Guards were posted near the dam to give the warning, should it threaten to burst. Vigil was kept day and night, while the residents of the countryside were prepared to flee at the first warning of imminent disaster.

But the dam had finally burst so suddenly that the warning came almost too late. Shirley, Mabel, Lois, her father and mother were at supper when the telephone jangled furiously. Lois, who was nearest, quickly put the receiver to her ear, and then turned to the others with a cry:

“The dam is gone!”

Then it was that those in the farmhouse attempted to repeat the warning down the valley, and it was discovered that the wires were down. As has been told, it was then that Shirley made her wild dash, that might have resulted fatally.

When Shirley had disappeared, the others, after seeking in vain for her, had finally given it up as hopeless.

“She is probably safe some place,” said Mr. Geddis. “Come, we must hurry.”

They started for the highlands, which they reached safely, and from there watched the mountains of water as they swept down, flooding the valley.

“I believe I know what has happened to Shirley,” said Mabel quietly.

“What?” asked Lois, eagerly.

“I believe she went down the valley to warn the people.”

Lois gave a startled cry.

“She will be drowned!” she cried.

“I’m not sure about that,” said Mabel quietly. “You see, I know Shirley a little better than you do. If there is one way by which she can reach safety, Shirley is sure to find it.”

“I do hope she will not be harmed,” said Lois, beginning to cry.

Refugees fled to the highlands in droves, leaving everything behind. Mr. Geddis and his party advanced, just on the edge of the high ground, down the valley. Here they came upon others who had been forced to flee for safety.

“How did the warning reach you?” asked Mr. Geddis of one of the men.

“Girl on horseback,” was the reply. “She came dashing down the road like wind. If it hadn’t been for her, hundreds would have perished.”

Mabel, who overheard this conversation, cried out in alarm:

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “She was headed straight for the village.”

Mabel seized Lois by the arm.

“Come,” she cried, “let’s go farther. Perhaps we can find Shirley.”

With a word to her father, Lois followed her friend. They came, at last, to a part of the ground directly behind the little village of Stanley, now lying beneath the water. Here they plied the refugees with question after question, and finally came upon the man who had seen the girl wheel her horse and dash down the road after the Hendersons.

“There is not one chance in a thousand that she escaped,” he said slowly; “nor the Hendersons, either, for that matter.”

The girls left him and continued on down the course of the raging water, for they believed that Shirley might possibly have reached safety in that direction.

It grew dusk, and still they walked on, scanning the nearby waters and the ground closely. Night fell.

“Well, we might as well go back,” said Mabel quietly. “I am afraid we shall never see her again.”

“I know we won’t,” said Lois, and fell to weeping.

“Come, come,” said Mabel, throwing her arm about her friend’s shoulders. “Crying will do no good.”

“But—but,” sobbed Lois, “if it hadn’t been for me she would be alive.”

“How do you make that out?” asked Mabel, in some surprise.

“Why, she would not have come to this part of the country.”

“Never mind,” said Mabel. “Shirley wouldn’t want you to feel badly about it. I know that.”

They turned and began to retrace their steps. It was then that Lois made a startling discovery. They had unconsciously walked further and further away from the water’s edge, in among a grove of trees.

“We are lost!” cried Lois.

“Lost!” echoed Mabel.

“Yes. I don’t know where we are. I have never been in these woods before.”

“Oh, I guess we’ll get out all right,” said Mabel confidently.

She moved forward, but in the darkness she had no means of telling whether she was going in the right direction. The girls walked quickly this way and that, but they could find no exit from the grove of trees.

Mabel raised her young voice in a cry for help, and Lois added hers to it.

From the distance came a faint response.

Encouraged, the girls renewed their efforts, and keeping it up, were finally rewarded by the sounds of footsteps coming toward them. A moment later the figure of a man appeared before them.

“What on earth are you two girls doing here?” he asked in amazement.

“We are lost,” stammered Lois, beginning to cry again, now that she felt she was safe once more.

“Who are you?” asked the man.

The girls told him.

“And we want to get back to father,” moaned Lois.

“Well,” said the man, “you can’t get back to-night. You have come farther than you realize. My name is Thompson, and I have a shack nearby. You shall both spend the night with us. Mrs. Thompson will make you at home.”

In spite of repeated requests by both girls that they be set on the road home and assurances that they were not afraid to go alone, Thompson shook his head negatively.

“You’ll do as I say,” he said. “I wouldn’t allow a daughter of mine to go prowling through the woods at this time of night. Come with me.”

The girls were forced to obey, for they had no desire to be left in the woods alone.

Mrs. Thompson made the girls comfortable, and showed them a bed in a room at the rear of the house, on the ground floor.

It was while they were sitting talking, that they became aware of clattering of hoofs. A moment later the door flew open and Shirley staggered into the room. Both girls were on their feet in an instant.

“Shirley!” they cried, and rushed forward.

It was then that Shirley had fainted.

CHAPTER IV.—A RAILROAD ACCIDENT.

“How long are we likely to be delayed, conductor?”

The speaker was Shirley, and the date was one week from the day on which the girl, by her daring ride, had saved scores in the Illinois town and in the valley from perishing in the flood.

Shirley and her friend Mabel had left their chum’s home the day before. In the morning they caught a train out of St. Louis, and now, in the afternoon, they had learned that their train would be held indefinitely in Indianapolis because of a serious wreck ahead.

“There is no telling, miss,” was the conductor’s answer to Shirley’s question. “The wreck is a bad one, and it is impossible to say just when the track will be cleared. If we wait for that, it is likely to be hours. We may, however, be routed over some other line. I shall know within a quarter of an hour.”

“Thank you,” replied Shirley, and the two girls continued to pace up and down alongside their car.

Half an hour later the conductor approached them.

“The wreck is more serious than at first reported,” he said, “and because of some unknown reason we cannot be routed over another line. Therefore, it will be at least six hours before we will leave.”

“My gracious,” said Shirley, “we can make better time than that by taking the Interurban.”

“Yes,” said the conductor, “and in that way you can reach Cincinnati in time to catch the 6 o’clock L. & N., which will put you in Paris at ten. If you wait for us you will have to remain all night in Cincinnati.”

Shirley turned to Mabel.

“Let’s get our things and hurry and catch the trolley car,” she said.

The two girls boarded the delayed train and hastily collected their belongings. The conductor was courteous enough to see them to a taxicab, which soon whirled them across the city. Here they found that they could get an electric car in fifteen minutes, which, barring accidents, would get them in Cincinnati in ample time for the six o’clock train south.

The girls climbed aboard the car, settled themselves comfortably, and fell to talking. At last the car started, and soon they were beyond the city and whirling along rapidly.

For an hour they rode, the car stopping occasionally to take on or to discharge passengers; and then, suddenly, slackening slightly to round rather a sharp curve, the car dashed forward again; and there came a sharp cry from passengers in the front seats.

At the same instant the motorman reversed his power, and there was a terrific jolt. Prompt as the motorman’s action had been it had not been prompt enough.

A terrible shock followed as the car dashed into another coming along the single track from the opposite direction. There was a crash of splintering wood and then cries of pain and terror from the passengers.

The first outcry had told all on the car that a disaster was about to occur, and the passengers had sprung to their feet even before the crash—all but Mabel and Shirley.

Glancing quickly out the window, Mabel had perceived the other car bearing down on them, and started to rise. But Shirley saw it at the same moment, and throwing out her hand quickly, she grasped her friend by the arm and pulled her back into her seat.

“Sit still!” she commanded.

When the shock came, Shirley, sitting next to the window, was hurled back over her seat with terrible force, while broken glass was showered upon her. Then, as the car crumpled, in some unaccountable manner both girls were hurled through the air some distance away, where they both lay for a moment, stunned.

Shirley was the first to come to herself, and her thought was of her friend. Although she reeled dizzily, she succeeded in pulling herself (unconsciously) to her feet, and at a first glance about her saw Mabel lying near. Shirley staggered to the side of her chum and bent down.

She raised the girl’s head to her knee and rubbed the cold face with her hand.

“Mabel! Mabel!” she called anxiously.

There was no reply, and again Shirley gave her attention to trying to revive her friend. At last her efforts were rewarded.

Mabel’s head moved slightly, and Shirley, bending closer, saw a faint color come into her face. At last she opened her eyes, and said feebly:

“What is it? What has happened?”

“Wreck,” was the brief reply, “and we are both lucky not to have been killed. How do you feel? Where are you hurt?”

“I feel a little dizzy,” said Mabel, making an attempt to get to her feet, but falling back. “I don’t believe I am hurt very much, though.”

A second time she tried to get to her feet and this time she succeeded. She took one look at Shirley’s face and then seized her friend in her arms.

“Shirley!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“Hurt?” repeated Shirley, starting back.

“Yes, your face is covered with blood.”

Shirley passed her hand over her face and it came away red.

“I—I—didn’t know I was hurt,” she said in surprise.

Looking about, Mabel saw a pool of water nearby. Quickly she ran to it and wet her handkerchief. Then she ran back and proceeded to wash her friend’s face.

“It’s not bad,” she said, after an examination. “Looks like a piece of glass had cut you. It’s stopped bleeding, though.”

“Good,” laughed Shirley, and would have said more, but that her attention was attracted by a shout from behind.

Turning, she beheld a terrible sight.

There, not twenty yards away, in a tangled heap, lay the two cars, and even as Shirley turned a small tongue of flame crept from the wreckage.

“Fire!” cried Shirley and, turning quickly, she ran toward the cars. Mabel followed her.

Beside the cars men were rushing hurriedly about, grim-faced and silent.

“Half a dozen women are pinioned beneath the wreck,” replied one man briefly to Shirley’s questioning.

Shirley shuddered, as did Mabel.

“Horrible,” said the latter.

The girls drew closer; then stopped to watch the work of rescue.

The flame had now grown from the size of a man’s hand to something large, and it was plain even to the girls’ inexperienced eyes that it was only a question of minutes until those buried beneath the wreckage would be burned alive, did not help come at once.

A sudden cry of anguish came not twenty feet from where the girls stood and, glancing in the direction of the cry, Shirley beheld the head of a little girl of perhaps ten years protruding from beneath the débris.

“Poor thing,” she cried, and dashed forward.

Mabel followed.

In vain did the tot struggle to extricate herself from beneath the wreckage. Crying and screaming, she continued her futile efforts.

At sight of the two girls dashing toward her she cried even more piteously than before.

Shirley caught hold of one arm that was extended, and pulled. Again and again she tried, but in vain; and the harder she pulled the harder the child cried.

Mabel stooped close and made an examination.

“There seems to be a wheel on her foot,” she said, “and she is not strong enough to pull herself from under it.”

Shirley let loose of the tot’s arm, and stooped over the child. Then she rose swiftly, determination written upon her face.

“You pull the child by the arm when I say, ‘Ready!’” she called.

“What are you going to do?” asked Mabel anxiously.

“Never mind,” was the reply. “Just do as I say, and hurry.”

Mabel said no more but, according to Shirley’s instructions, took the little one by the arm and stood ready to pull when Shirley gave the word.

Stooping so that her head was under the edge of the wreck, Shirley poked forth a dainty foot and by burrowing a bit with her toe, at last found the child’s foot beneath the wheel. Then, leaning forward and straining every muscle of arms and limbs, the heavy iron wheel was raised from the ground.

“Ready!” she called to Mabel.

Mabel pulled, and the little girl, still crying and screaming, came from under the wreck.

But the strain upon Shirley had been terrible, and no sooner had the child been dragged to safety, than Shirley’s strength gave out, and the wheel settled down upon her own foot.

She did not cry out, but Mabel’s quick eyes detected her friend’s plight. She uttered an exclamation of dismay and hurried to her aid.

“Shirley!” was all she could say.

With her foot pinned beneath the wheel, Shirley smiled at her.

“I’m caught,” she said simply. “How is the little girl?”

Mabel bent over, and examined her chum’s predicament. Then she laid hold of the wheel and attempted to lift it.

“I can’t move it,” she said, and continued to tug desperately at the wheel and heavy axle.

“You had better call some one to help you,” said Shirley calmly.

Mabel gave up her attempt to lift the wheel and hurried to the opposite side of the tangled wreckage, where she could hear men at work trying to pull other victims from beneath the heap.

The heat from the flames that now almost enveloped the wreck was becoming more intense. It was almost unbearable, and Shirley, imprisoned as she was, stretched as far as possible from the fire.

At Mabel’s call for aid, one of the men gave up his position with the others and followed her to where Shirley lay. It was but the work of a moment for him to lift the wheel sufficiently for Mabel to help Shirley from beneath it.

Shirley arose and tried her foot. It pained her, but hasty examination showed that it was simply bruised. Painfully, assisted by Mabel, she limped after the man, who had raised the wheel, to the opposite side of the wreck, where rescuers were even at that moment pulling the last of the victims from under the cars, away from the tongues of flame.

CHAPTER V.—HOME AGAIN.

As she walked along, the pain in Shirley’s foot became less and less, until finally she was not conscious of it. The girls soon sat down upon the grass, where they watched the men fighting the flames, that the cars might not be entirely consumed.

Shirley suddenly jumped to her feet.

“Where is the girl we pulled from under the car?” she asked Mabel.

Mabel also sprung up.

“I had forgotten all about her,” she exclaimed.

They walked to where the little one lay, still moaning with pain. Shirley picked her up gently, and bade Mabel bring some water. This the latter did, and the two girls at length succeeded in soothing the child, until she lay still in Shirley’s arms.

Suddenly there was a fluttering of skirts, a glad cry in a woman’s voice and the tot was snatched from Shirley’s arms.

“Agnes, Agnes!” said the voice.

Shirley arose and faced the woman who had taken the child from her.

“I am Mrs. Johnson,” the woman said, “and this is my daughter Agnes. The men told me you saved her from the flames. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Never mind the thanks,” said Shirley. “We simply pulled her away. That is all.”

“Why, Shirley,” exclaimed Mabel, “you almost lost your own life.”

Shirley frowned at her friend.

“It was nothing,” she said.

The little girl’s mother looked first at one and then at the other.

“I didn’t know you endangered your own life,” she said. “I wish I could thank you properly.”

“Just say no more about it then,” said Shirley, somewhat embarrassed by this conversation.

The woman smiled.

“As modest as you are brave,” she said. “Well, then, I shall say no more about it. But remember, if you ever need a friend, just call on me.”

“Thank you. I shall remember,” said Shirley, and the woman walked away, carrying her daughter in her arms.

From down the track at this moment came the buzz of an approaching car. It was the wrecking train bringing a crew to clear the track, also physicians and nurses.

Fortunately, the services of none of the latter were needed, for it was found, that besides the little girl Shirley had rescued, none of the passengers had been severely injured.

Half an hour later a car approached from the other direction, and came to a stop a few yards from the scene of the wreck. Passengers disembarked and, upon the instructions of an official, the car made ready to return toward Cincinnati.

Shirley and Mabel climbed aboard with the other passengers and soon were on their way once more. They did not wait to find their hand baggage, nor did any of the other passengers. It was hopelessly lost in the wreckage. Their trunks, they knew, would reach Cincinnati, and eventually home, without trouble.

The wreck had delayed the car for nearly two hours; so when they finally reached Cincinnati, it was too late to catch their train to Paris.

Shirley and Mabel had been in the Ohio city too many times to feel frightened, however. So, after sending a telegram to Mr. Willing explaining their reasons for not being home on time, the two girls made their way from the station to the Sinton Hotel, where they spent the night.

They were up bright and early the next morning, and caught their train soon after eight o’clock. Shortly before eleven they reached Paris.

Shirley, the first to descend the steps, was caught in the arms of a dignified, white-haired old gentleman, who squeezed her until she cried out:

“Stop, Dad, or you will squeeze the life out of me.”

The old gentleman laughed and, putting a hand on both of her shoulders, held her off at arms’ length and looked at her intently.

“Well, well,” he said, “so I have you back again. How glad I am to see you, daughter. It seems as though you had been gone ten years.”

Again he regarded her earnestly.

“Come, Dad,” said Shirley, “you are blocking the way. The people want to get off.”

“I’d like to know,” said Mr. Willing, looking about fiercely, “who is going to tell me to move.”

“I’ll tell you, Dad,” replied Shirley, smiling.

“Oh, well,” said her father, “that is a different matter. You and your mother are alike, both tyrants.”

He stepped aside, and thus allowed the first of the passengers who had been held back by this conversation to descend; and as the next one was Mabel, he caught her in his arms and held her also for a moment.

“Where is father?” asked Mabel gently, freeing herself from the elderly man’s caresses.

“He’s waiting at home for you,” replied Mr. Willing.

“Why didn’t he come to meet me?”

“Well,” said Mr. Willing, “I reckon he wasn’t feeling quite as well as he might, so he asked me to do the honors.”

“Is he sick?” asked Mabel anxiously.

“I reckon you might call it sick.”

“How sick?”

“Well, now, he’s not so sick; but if he pays much attention to some of these doctors he soon will be.”

Mabel was growing more and more anxious.

“Do let us hurry and get home,” she said.

“Now, now, dear, don’t excite yourself,” said Mr. Willing. “I reckon he will soon be all right again.”

On the opposite side of the station a large touring car waited. Mr. Willing pushed the two girls into the back seat and then took his place by the negro chauffeur.

“Home, Frank,” he said.

“Yessah,” replied the old darky, and started the car on its way.

Mabel leaned forward and spoke to Mr. Willing.

“You will take me home first, won’t you?” she asked.

“Your father,” was the reply, “has been staying with me for the last week. He is there now. You see, he was kind o’ lonely without his girl, so I just had him come to me.”

The automobile quickly covered the three miles to the Willing farm, and stopped before a broad wooden gate. This opened upon a broad blue-grass field on which a fine herd of cattle were grazing.

“I’ll open the first,” called Shirley, and jumped out of the car.

She threw it wide, and the car passed through. Mabel opened the second one into the paddock, and Shirley the third.

“There,” she said, when she was back in the car rolling through the long yard. “I’m always glad when that is done, although I don’t believe I mind opening gates now.”

“Nor I,” said Mabel. “I remember that is one reason I hated to come here sometimes, there were so many gates to open.”

“The older you get,” said Mr. Willing, who had overheard this conversation, “the less you will mind a little work.”

The car now drew up before a big red brick house, surrounded by many shade trees. The two girls jumped out lightly, and Mr. Willing followed slowly.

Mabel needed no directions as to where to find her father and, running into the house, she ran up the stairs and into the front bedroom.

She opened the door with a quick jerk, and then paused. The quiet figure in the bed caught her eye. It was her father, and he was sleeping.

Mabel tip-toed toward the bed, and bent over. Her father’s face was pale, but he seemed to be resting easily.

“Poor father,” said Mabel. “I won’t disturb him now.”

She turned and made her way toward the door. As she laid her hand upon the knob and was about to turn it, a voice called:

“Mabel!”

The girl turned. Her father was sitting up.

“Mabel!” he called again. Gladly the girl ran to him and was at once clasped in his arms.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she said.

“You know very well,” was the reply, “that, after such a long absence, your very presence was bound to awaken me. I was asleep, but I must have felt that you had returned.”

Mabel sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Now tell me all about yourself,” she said. “How long have you been sick?”

“About a month,” was the reply.

“Why didn’t you write and tell me about it?”

“I didn’t want to spoil your vacation.”

“The idea! I would have come home at once to care for you.”

“That is the reason I didn’t write.”

“What does the doctor say is the matter?”

“Well, he has not diagnosed the case satisfactorily, but he says I have some sort of lung trouble.”

Mabel sprang to her feet.

“You don’t mean——” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” interrupted her father. “I am afraid that is what it is. He says that I must go away from here at once.”

For a moment Mabel was too stunned to speak. She sat down upon the edge of the bed again.

“Run away now,” said her father. “I’ll try and sleep some more.”

She kissed her father gently, and made her way from the room.

On the porch she met Mr. Willing.

“Why didn’t you tell me Father was so very sick?” she demanded.

“Pshaw!” he replied. “I don’t think it amounts to anything.”

“You know what the doctor believes is the matter with him?”

“Yes.”

“Consumption?”

Mr. Willing bowed his head in assent.

CHAPTER VI.—A PLOT DISCOVERED.

At this moment Mabel heard Shirley calling. Accompanied by Mr. Willing, she made her way around the house, where her friend stood awaiting her.

“Let’s go and look at the horses, Mabel,” said Shirley.

In spite of a certain sadness caused by her father’s condition, Mabel agreed, and the two girls made their way to the large stable a quarter of a mile from the farmhouse.

Shirley flung open the door and dashed inside.

“We’ll call on Gabriel first,” she called back over her shoulder.

Mabel followed her.

Straight to the stall of the young animal of splendid pedigree Shirley led the way. It had been months since she had last seen this horse, but the noble creature recognized her footsteps and whinnied in delight at her approach.

Unmindful of the possibility that the horse might step upon her, Shirley ran into the stall and, reaching up, threw both arms around his glossy black neck. Gabriel trembled with happiness, and then thrust his nose into her hand.

“See,” laughed Shirley, “he wants his lump of sugar. Did you think I had forgotten you?” she asked.

Again Gabriel whinnied.

Gabriel took the lump of sugar from the girl’s hand and munched it contentedly. Then he pleaded for more.

“No, sir,” said Shirley, stepping back. “One lump is all you get; you should know better than to ask for more. If Dad knew I had given you even one, he wouldn’t like it.”

She stepped farther back and surveyed the animal with a critical eye.

“And so,” she said, speaking to Gabriel, “you are going to win the Derby for Dad and me this year.”

She patted him affectionately upon the head and stroked his mane. Gabriel rubbed his head up and down against her arm.

“Come, Shirley,” said Mabel at this juncture, “don’t stand there talking to Gabriel all day. We must pay our respects to some of the other horses.”

“All right,” her friend agreed and, giving Gabriel a parting pat, she followed her friend from the stall.

All along the length of the stable the heads of other horses appeared above their stall doors as the two girls passed along, and everywhere they were greeted with whinnies of welcome and delight; for there was not a horse there who did not love the two girls.

But of all the horses in her father’s “string,” Shirley loved Gabriel most, for he was her own personal property. Descended from a long line of distinguished and powerful racehorses, Gabriel had been presented to Shirley by Mr. Willing when the horse was nothing but a colt. His pedigree was of the best, and now, in the approaching Derby to be run in Louisville the following month, Shirley and Mr. Willing both looked to him to maintain the supremacy of the Willing stable.

Besides Jimmy Smith, Mr. Willing’s diminutive sixteen-year-old jockey, none but Shirley had ever sat upon Gabriel’s back. Many had tried, but the result had always been the same. A quick leap to the saddle, a few stiff bucks and jumps by Gabriel, and the would-be rider was rolling on the ground.

But now when Shirley decided upon a little run, Gabriel always received her with joy and was as gentle as a kitten while she rode him. They often had long gallops together, and were the best of friends.

Gabriel was now three years old, and had been entered for the Derby. There was no doubt in Shirley’s mind that he would be the first under the wire at the end of the mile-and-a-quarter run in Louisville, when the great day, August 31st, arrived.

The two girls spent perhaps an hour in the stable, and as they were about to leave, Shirley decided to see Gabriel once more, and so approached his stall.

Suddenly she halted in her tracks and laid a warning finger to her lips. Mabel also stopped.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“I thought I heard strange voices in there,” said Shirley, pointing to Gabriel’s stall.

“Impossible,” returned Mabel in a low voice. “Gabriel wouldn’t allow a stranger in there. He would kick him to pieces.”

Silently she approached closer, and stood still, listening intently.

Then only the two girls heard a voice they recognized.

“Jimmy,” said Mabel. “You were mistaken, Shirley.”

She started to go closer, but Shirley stopped her with a whispered word of caution.

“There is some one else there, too! Listen.”

“Yes,” came the voice of Jimmy Smith, “he is in fine shape, as you see. He will be in perfect condition for the Derby. He is sure to win.”

“Yes, he’ll win, all right,” was the answer, in a voice that neither Shirley nor Mabel recognized. “He’ll win unless something happens.”

“But what can happen to him?” inquired Jimmy. “He is being nursed carefully. I am attending to him myself. No other hand but mine touches him, unless it is that of Miss Shirley; and I have promised to have him perfectly fit for the big race.”

“That,” said the stranger in a hoarse whisper, “is what I have come to see you about.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jimmy.

“Well,” said the stranger, “I represent a syndicate of bookmakers. You know what bookmakers are, don’t you?”

“Yes: a bookmaker is a man who lives by betting on the races.”

“Almost that. He is a man who lives by allowing others to bet with him. Now, after looking over all the horses entered for the Derby, we have come to the conclusion that Gabriel is bound to win if the race is absolutely straight.”

“Straight,” repeated Jimmy. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I say. If Gabriel is allowed to win, we stand to lose considerable money. But if he should lose——” the stranger paused.

“But he won’t lose,” said Jimmy confidently.

“He will if you will help us,” said the stranger.

“Why should I help you?” asked Jimmy.

“Because,” said the stranger, “there will be money in it for you. What would you say to five hundred dollars?”

Both girls heard Jimmy give a slight gasp.

“Five hundred dollars,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes,” was the reply, “then your sister, who is so ill, may receive the proper medical attention.”

“How do you know of my sick sister?” asked Jimmy in surprise.

“Oh, we know many things,” was the reply. “For instance, we know that your employer is paying you very little, because he hasn’t anything to pay you with. He has lost practically everything playing the races.”

“Yes,” said Jimmy, “that is true. He told me that everything depended upon Gabriel’s winning the Derby.”

“But if Gabriel did win,” protested the stranger, “what would you get? Not much; and here I am offering you five hundred dollars!”

“But you are asking me to be a traitor to my trust,” said Jimmy.

“Not at all. I am simply showing you how to make the money you so badly need. Come, what do you say?”

“I don’t know,” said Jimmy slowly. “I don’t know.”

“Here,” said the strange voice after a pause, “is my card. I shall give you a week to consider. Write me at this address, and I will tell you where you can meet me, and we will have another talk. You will surely do that, won’t you?”

“Yes,” said Jimmy. “I will do that.”

“Good. Now I am going up to see your boss.”

There was a sound of persons moving and, taking Mabel by the arm, Shirley quickly drew her into the nearest stall, where they stooped down to be out of sight.

Footsteps passed along the outside, and a moment later the girls heard the voices of Jimmy and the stranger outside the stable.

“Quick,” whispered Shirley, “we must get out of here without being seen.”

Making sure that there was no one near, they emerged from the stall and, running the length of the stable, came out at the other end.

Hurrying to the shelter of a magnificent oak tree a hundred yards away, they sat down. For some minutes Shirley was silent, and Mabel did not interrupt her meditations. But at last Shirley spoke.

“And to think that Jimmy Smith would even consider a thing like that,” she said slowly.

“It does seem impossible, doesn’t it?” replied Mabel.

“After all Dad has done for him,” continued Shirley. “Why, I remember the day Dad found him lying beside the pike. He was ragged and dirty, and had fallen from exhaustion. He had not eaten for two days, he said. And it was true. Dad brought him home with us, and when he became stronger, offered him work, although Dad did not need him. That was two years ago, and he has been with us ever since. We have had entire confidence in him.

“I remember how pleased Dad was when he found Jimmy loved horses, and that horses loved him. He has carried our colors to victory more than once. And now to think that he would even consider selling Dad out. What shall we do?”

“I would tell your father immediately,” said Mabel.

“It would seem best, wouldn’t it?” said Shirley. “But he is so fond of Jimmy that I hate to do it.”

She was silent for some moments.

“My gracious!” she exclaimed at length. “I have it.”

“Have what?”

“A plan.”

“What is it?”

“Well, I haven’t had time to work it out yet, but when I do, I shall tell you. Now I want you to promise you will say nothing of what we have overheard to any one.”

“I promise, of course,” said Mabel, “but I wonder if I should.”

CHAPTER VII.—MR. WILLING PROMISES.

The girls were still sitting there half an hour later, when Jimmy Smith ran into them.

“Miss Shirley!” he cried eagerly, and approached with outstretched hand. “Mr. Willing told me you were back, and I have been hunting all over the place for you.”

He turned to Mabel.

“And how are you, Miss Mabel?” he asked.

Both girls returned his greeting cordially, not showing in any way that they knew of his talk with the stranger.

“We are so glad to be back, Jimmy,” said Shirley.

“Have you seen Gabriel yet?” asked Jimmy. “He has been wanting to see you.”

“How do you know that?” asked Mabel with a slight smile.

“Why, he told me so.”

“Told you?” laughed Mabel.

“To be sure,” said Jimmy quietly. “Gabriel and I have a language of our own, and when I told him Miss Shirley was coming back he just told me how anxious he had been to see you ever since you went away.”

“Well, I’m glad he missed me,” said Shirley. “Come, Mabel, I want to have a long talk with Dad.”

They left Jimmy and sought Mr. Willing. They found him a few minutes later, seated on the big front porch, deep in conversation with a stranger. Both girls felt sure that he was the man who tried to bribe Jimmy only a short time before.

They would have gone into the house but Mr. Willing called them.

“I want you to know my daughter, Mr. Jones,” he said to his visitor; “and also Miss Mabel Ashton, the daughter of my old friend, Colonel Ashton, whom you know.”

The man called Mr. Jones arose, and extended his hand, but the girls, pretending not to see it, acknowledged the introductions with the briefest of nods.

Jones noticed the unmistakable hostility in their manner, and withdrew his hand quickly. Mr. Willing also noticed it, and scowled slightly. The girls said nothing, and a moment later Mr. Willing said: “You girls run along now.”

Shirley and Mabel accepted their dismissal with gladness, and went into the house. Mr. Willing, having disposed of his visitor half an hour later, followed them. He turned to Shirley sharply.

“In the future,” he said, “you will treat your father’s friends with more respect than you did Mr. Jones.”

“I don’t like him,” said Shirley.

Mr. Willing stepped back in surprise.

“You don’t like him?” he said in some amazement. “And because you don’t like one of my friends, is that any reason you should not treat him with respect?”

“I wasn’t disrespectful,” said Shirley, with something like a pout.

“You weren’t, eh? I’d like to know what you call it.”

“Well, I don’t like him,” said Shirley again,

“Why don’t you like him?” demanded Mr. Willing.

Shirley, mindful of the task she had set for herself, found it difficult to answer this question without arousing suspicion in her father’s mind, and for Jimmy’s sake she did not wish to do this. So she answered: “I just don’t.”

Mr. Willing threw up his hands in a gesture of dismay.

“Girls and women are too much for me,” he exclaimed.

He would have walked away, but Shirley stayed him.

“I want to have a private talk with you, Dad,” she said.

Mr. Willing looked at his daughter in surprise.

“Well, well,” he said finally, “you are getting to be quite a young lady, aren’t you? Want to have a private talk with me, eh? All right. Come into my sitting room.”

He led the way, and Shirley followed, after motioning to Mabel to await her return.

Seated in his big arm chair, with Shirley on the floor at his feet, Mr. Willing drew a cigar from his pocket, lighted it, fell back in the chair and puffed luxuriously.

“Now fire away,” he said.

“Dad,” said Shirley, coming to the point at once, “is it true that you have lost all your money?”

Mr. Willing came out of his chair with a bound.

“Who has been putting such notions into my little girl’s head?” he asked, but his voice was slightly strained.

Shirley was not deceived.

“Is it true that you have lost large sums on horse races?” she demanded.

Mr. Willing looked at his only daughter long and earnestly.

“Would it please you very much if I gave up gambling?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed it would, Dad,” said Shirley, rising to her feet.

Mr. Willing considered.

“Then here is what I will do,” he said at length. “I promise that after this one time, I will never bet a cent again.”

Shirley shook her head.

“No,” she said.

“You mean,” demanded her father, “that you even want me to let this sure thing go by?”

“Yes.”

“But after the comforts you have been used to, think how hard that will make it.”

“I can do with less,” said Shirley quietly.

“Do you realize,” said Mr. Willing, “that if I do as you say, and Gabriel wins, and he must, all we shall have is the prize, when we might have four times that much?”

“Is the farm clear?” demanded Shirley.

“Yes, but I was figuring on raising some money on it to recoup my earlier losses.”

“Then,” said Shirley, “if the farm is clear, and Gabriel wins, we shall have enough. What more do we need?”

Mr. Willing hesitated, and Shirley continued.

“Come, Dad, promise me before it is too late. Mother would wish it, were she alive. You know that. We’ll get along some way. Come, Dad, will you promise?”

She stood tip and threw her arms around her father’s neck. Mr. Willing held her in a close embrace for several moments, and as he looked over her head he saw, in memory, another face that also seemed to plead with him.

He stepped back and held Shirley off at arms’ length, and for a long time gazed at her in silence.

“You are so like your mother,” he said quietly, “I can refuse you nothing.”

“Then you will promise?” asked Shirley eagerly.

“Yes,” said Mr. Willing slowly, “I promise.”

“There never was a better Daddy,” exclaimed Shirley.

Laughing happily, she threw both arms around him and squeezed him tightly.

“Stop, stop,” laughed Mr. Willing, “or you will make me sorry I promised.”

Shirley released him, and he patted her on the back affectionately.

“Run away now,” he said, “and leave your old Daddy here to think.”

With a parting kiss, Shirley left him, and rejoined Mabel on the porch.

CHAPTER VIII.—A ROAD ADVENTURE.

The morning following the girls’ arrival, Mr. Willing and Mr. Ashton, who was feeling much better, were seated with the girls around the breakfast table.

“Mabel and I are going to town this morning,” said Shirley.

“All right,” said Mr. Willing. “I’ll tell Frank to hitch up. What time will you be ready?”

“Ten o’clock will be early enough, I reckon,” said Shirley. “We probably won’t be home until late this afternoon.”

It was the first time the girls had been in the little town of Paris, except for a few minutes on their way back from Illinois, since school had closed for the summer vacation. Therefore, they called on some of their girl friends, and spent a very pleasant day.

They did some shopping and it was after five o’clock when they started for home.

“It looks as though there was going to be a storm,” said the livery-stable keeper, where they had left their horse.

Mabel glanced at the sky. Huge clouds were gathering in the west.

“They look like wind clouds,” said Mabel.

“You had better wait,” said the stableman. “You will be caught in the storm.”

“Oh, I think we’ll make it,” said Shirley. “Besides, Dad expects us in time for supper.”

“Telephone him,” said the man.

“No,” said Shirley, “we’ll run the risk.”

“Well, all right,” was the reply, “but you had better hurry.”

Shirley shook out the reins, and touched the horse lightly with her whip. The animal started off at a rapid trot.

It was a good three miles home, and Mabel, glancing once more at the sky, urged Shirley to hurry.

“We’ll get a good soaking,” she said.

“It won’t hurt us any,” said Shirley. “I’m sure I won’t melt, and I don’t think you will.”

They continued up Main Street, and finally reached the outskirts of the town.

“Guess we can go a little faster now,” said Shirley, and touched the horse with her whip.

At that moment there came a brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a terrific peal of thunder. The horse shied and broke into a gallop.

Shirley tightened her hold on the reins, and, with an effort, succeeded in pulling him down to a trot again.

“Well, here’s where we turn off, anyhow,” said Shirley. “If the rain will hold off for twenty minutes we will be all right.”

“And then, just as they turned onto the Bethlehem pike, darkness enveloped them, shutting out the sight of the road ahead. It descended so suddenly and unexpectedly that Mabel cried out in alarm.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Shirley in a low voice. “I know the road and can drive just as well in the dark.”

Nevertheless she was forced to check the horse slightly, and this required great effort, for the animal, badly frightened, was trying to bolt.

Suddenly Shirley’s hat went flying from her head, as the wind was blowing a gale. Mabel, her hands free, caught hers as it left her head.

“Mine’s gone,” cried Shirley.

“Shall we stop and get it?” asked Mabel, raising her voice to make herself heard above the roaring wind.

“I should say not,” was the reply. “We’ll get home just as quick as we can.”

Their horse, at this moment, was puffing up a steep hill. The wind was blowing fiercely. The girls felt a few drops of rain upon their faces.

And then, above the roaring of the wind, came another sound—the sound of a horse coming rapidly toward them. Mabel heard it first, and called to Shirley. Shirley pulled as far to the right as she felt was safe, being absolutely unable to see in the darkness.

A sudden flash of lightning lit the scene before them, and Mabel uttered an involuntary cry of fear.

Not fifty yards away, and bearing down on them, came a galloping horse. The one flash had permitted the girls to see that he was running wild. There was no one in the buggy.

Shirley pulled desperately upon the right rein, turning her horse sharply from the road. Her action undoubtedly saved them from serious injury, but it was not quick enough to entirely avert disaster.

There was a sudden crash, and both girls felt the left side of the buggy sink and then crash to the ground. The wheel of the other and heavier vehicle had smashed the two left-hand wheels and carried them away. The other buggy had been damaged in the same manner, but the frightened horse did not pause in his wild race, and dashed on down the road, dragging the broken buggy after him. In spite of the accident, Shirley maintained a firm grip on the reins, and when the left side of the buggy went down to the ground she managed to bring her horse to a stop almost at once.

But Mabel was not so fortunate. When the buggy had collapsed she was thrown out, and badly shaken when she came in contact with the hard ground.

She pulled herself to her feet dizzily and stood still. Some distance down the road she could hear the bumping of Shirley’s buggy, and she heard it finally come to a stop. She could not see a foot in front of her, but started slowly in the direction she knew Shirley must be.

As soon as the horse stopped, Shirley called to Mabel not to be frightened. Receiving no response, she felt along the seat beside her. Mabel was not there.

Jumping quickly from the damaged buggy, unmindful of the horse, Shirley turned and hurried in the direction from which she had come. Twice she called and received no response. The third time she thought she heard Mabel.

“Here I am,” screamed Mabel, trying to make herself heard above the howling wind.

A moment later they found each other.

“Are you much hurt?” Shirley asked her friend anxiously.

“No,” said Mabel. “I am pretty well shaken up, but I am all right. And you?”

“Perfectly safe,” replied Shirley. “The question now is what to do.”

Still the rain held off, only a few drops falling occasionally but the wind blew violently.

“We had better climb up on Cato and ride home that way,” said Mabel. (Cato was their horse.)

“A good idea,” spoke Shirley. “Come!”

She led the way to where she thought Cato would be standing, but she could not find him.

“Strange,” she told herself. “I am sure it was here that I stopped him.”

Just then there came another flash of lightning, and far down the road, they saw Cato and the broken buggy making rapidly for home.

In spite of the serious situation, Shirley laughed.

“What do you think of that?” she exclaimed. “Cato has run away and left us. I’ll speak to him about it when we get home.”

“Well, we must not stand here,” said Mabel impatiently. “We can walk home in half an hour. Let’s start.”

“I suppose that is the best way,” said Shirley.

They started down the road, walking rapidly.

And now it began to rain. Lightning flashed and terrific peals of thunder reverberated through the air. By no means of timid dispositions, both girls, nevertheless, became nervous.

“Hadn’t we better stop under one of these trees?” asked Mabel.

“No,” Shirley decided instantly. “I have heard it is dangerous in an electric storm. Lightning may strike the tree. We are safer in the middle of the pike, even if we do get soaking wet.”

The rain fell in torrents, and both girls by this time were drenched to the skin.

They hurried down a steep declivity in the road. There was one more hill to climb, and then the long walk from the pike to the house.

They reached the top of the hill ten minutes later and turned in at the first gate.

“I thought Cato would be here,” said Shirley.

But there was no sign of horse or buggy.

The two girls hurried down the road, now muddy from the downpour. It was hard walking, and they made slow progress.

“I’ll bet the creek has overflowed,” said Shirley. “If so, we will wade part of the way.”

“I am very much afraid you are right,” said Mabel.

Now they came to the second gate, and passed through it. They descended the little hill toward the creek slowly, for there was no telling how high the water might be.

It was good they had been so cautious. They had hardly walked ten paces when Shirley drew back suddenly. She had come upon water.

“My gracious,” she exclaimed. “I had no idea the water could rise so high in such a short time.”

“I doubt if we can get across,” said Mabel.

Shirley took Mabel by the hand.

“We’ll try,” she said briefly.

Very slowly they continued their way.

The water rose to their shoe tops, then to their knees, and still they went on.

“It can’t be much deeper,” said Mabel.

“I don’t know,” said Shirley. “I have never seen it this high, but I have heard Dad say that forty years ago it rose until it was impossible to cross for two days.”

The water had now reached their waists, and was still rising. Fortunately there was no current to speak of, so there was little danger so long as they kept their heads above water.

But when the water reached their armpits and continued to rise, Shirley turned back.

“It’s no use,” she said.

CHAPTER IX.—SHIRLEY GETS BUSY.

“No,” Mabel agreed, “it’s no use. But what are we going to do now?”

“We’ll have to wait, that’s all,” was the reply.

Shivering and cold, Mabel turned her face to the sky and the rain fell upon it.

“Wait here in this rain?” she demanded.

“What else is there to do?” asked Shirley. “I am just as anxious to get in as you are, and if you will suggest a plan we will act upon it.”

“I haven’t any plan,” replied Mabel mournfully.

In spite of her discomfort, Shirley was forced to smile to herself. Her friend’s tone amused her.

“I’m going to sit down,” said Shirley, and suited the action to the word.

Mabel also sat down in the mud.

“We can’t get any wetter nor any dirtier,” said Shirley, “so we may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible.”

“How long do you suppose we shall have to stay here?”

“I haven’t any idea. Perhaps all night.”

“All night?”

“Yes. Of course, it is possible that Dad will have telephoned to town inquiring about us. If he called up the stable and learns that we have started, he may come looking for us. That’s the only thing that will save us an all-night stay in the rain.”

“But how would he get across the creek?”

“If Dad starts looking for me,” said Shirley, “it will take more than this to stop him.”

The two girls became silent, and huddled as close together as they could, for in their wet garments they were chilled to the bone, and the air was very cool, in spite of the season.

How long they sat there they did not know, but they jumped at the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the opposite side of the stream.

“Who’s there?” cried Shirley, rising to her feet and pulling her chum up after her.

“Is that you, Shirley?” came a shout.

“Dad!” cried Shirley. “Yes, Mabel and I are here.”

“I’ll be across in a jiffy,” called the father.

“Be careful, Dad,” called Shirley, “the water is very deep. We tried to get across and couldn’t.”

There was no reply from the opposite side, but a moment later the splashing of water gave evidence that a horse was floundering into it. A few minutes later, dripping wet, Mr. Willing pulled up in front of the two girls, who had advanced to the edge of the water to meet him.

He dismounted quickly, and caught Shirley in his arms.

“Where is Cato?” he asked.

In a few words Shirley explained.

“You are both soaked,” exclaimed Mr. Willing. “You must get home to bed at once.”

He turned to Shirley and would have lifted her to the saddle, but she protested.

“Take Mabel first,” she said.

Mr. Willing knew his daughter, and therefore he did not question her decision. Without a word he turned to Mabel and lifted her gently to the saddle. Then he swung himself up in front of her.

The horse plunged again into the creek, and in a few moments Mabel was safe on the other side.

“Now you run to the house as quick as you can get there,” said Mr. Willing as he handed her down.

Mabel wasted no time, and set out for the house on a run, while Mr. Willing turned his horse’s face toward the stream, and went after his daughter.

The second trip was made without incident, and Shirley found herself being borne toward the house in her father’s arms. Wet and bedraggled, she snuggled close to him, and though the trip to the house took but a few minutes, she was half asleep when he called to her to jump down.

“Go to bed at once,” he commanded. “If you are not careful you will be sick. You are not strong enough for such experiences.”

But Shirley must stop and kiss him first, and then she left him with a word of caution.

“I am just as strong as you are, Dad. You, too, are soaking. Mind, you change your clothes at once.”

“Good night,” said her father, and Shirley ran into the house. There, at the foot of the steps stood Mabel, waiting for her.

The two girls ran quickly to their room. Later, when Mr. Willing looked in to see them, they were sleeping soundly.

“Poor children,” he said softly. “They have had a hard night. I shall let them sleep late to-morrow.”

But Shirley and Mabel, in spite of the hardships of the night before, were up bright and early, and down in the kitchen talking to “Aunt” Charlotte, the old colored cook, while she prepared breakfast.

Shortly after breakfast, Shirley, with an air of great importance, drew Mabel back to their room.

“Now,” she said, “I shall explain the plan I have formed to save Jimmy Smith.”

“What is it?” asked Mabel eagerly.

Shirley seated herself comfortably before she spoke and told Mabel to do the same. Her reply was a question.

“Have you ever noticed,” she asked, “how closely Jimmy Smith and I resemble each other?”

“Of course,” said Mabel. “Father and I have often spoken of it. Others also have noticed the resemblance. Why?”

“Because,” said Shirley, slowly and distinctly, “in that resemblance lies the success of my plan.”

Mabel looked at her friend in astonishment.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

Shirley smiled a little at her chum’s very evident surprise.

“I’ll tell you,” she replied, and settled herself to explain. “You remember, of course, that Mr. Jones,”—she spoke the “Mr.” with a touch of sarcasm—“told Jimmy Smith to communicate with him if he considered his proposition favorably?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the first thing I want to do is to get the address he gave Jimmy. Then I—not Jimmy—shall communicate with him. I’ll tell him I have decided to accept his offer, and that I should like to have another talk with him; and I’ll sign the letter ‘Jimmy Smith.’”

“But what good will that do?”

“It will do a whole lot of good.”

“But I can’t see——”

“It will do a whole lot of good,” explained Shirley quietly, “because when Mr. Jones has an interview with Jimmy Smith, he will have an interview with me, disguised as Jimmy Smith.”

Mabel jumped to her feet in surprise.

“You mean that you—” she began.

“Exactly,” interrupted Shirley. “Jimmy Smith will know nothing about the matter.”

Shirley sat back in her chair and beamed at her friend.

“Now what do you think of my plan?” she asked.

“I think it’s foolish,” was Mabel’s prompt response. “You are sure to get yourself in trouble. Suppose your identity should be discovered?”

“But it won’t. Jimmy and I look too much alike for that. Besides, the very boldness of the plan will work in my favor. In any event, I am going to try it, and I need your help.”

“Of course I shall help,” said Mabel, “but just the same I think you would do a whole lot better to tell your father the whole business.”

“And have Jimmy Smith thrown off the place? I should say not.”

“But if he considers doing a thing like that, he should be thrown off the place.”

“No,” said Shirley gravely. “It is his first temptation, and we should do what we can to save him.”

“But,” said Mabel, “if you write to Mr. Jones, and he answers, he will naturally address his reply to ‘Jimmy Smith,’ and Jimmy will get it.”

“Goodness gracious,” ejaculated Shirley. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

She was silent some moments and then continued:

“Well, then, when I find the address, I’ll simply write and tell him to meet me in a certain place.”

“That will be much better,” agreed Mabel. “But, honestly, Shirley, I don’t think much of the plan. You are sure to get into trouble of some kind.”

“Perhaps,” said Shirley with a shrug of her shoulders, “but I’ll get out all right. Besides, I shall be saving Jimmy; and, after all, the saving of one boy’s honor is surely worth the risk.”

Mabel was struck with a new thought.

“Perhaps Jimmy has already written.”

“I hardly think so,” was the reply. “It is too soon.”

“But he may write after you do, and thus lead to your discovery.”

“I had thought of that,” said Shirley, “and for that reason we must manage to get the address away from him at once. He is hardly likely to remember it, and when he cannot find the card he probably will forget all about the matter.”

“But——” began Mabel.

Shirley waved her right hand impatiently.

“My gracious,” she exclaimed, “don’t be looking for trouble all the time. I know there is a risk, but we shall have to take it. Now the first thing to do is to get the card from Jimmy.”

“And how do you expect to manage that?”

“Just leave that to me,” said Shirley, airily. “I’ll get it, and he won’t know anything about it.”

“All right,” said Mabel, doubtfully, “but——”

Shirley cut short these protests.

“Come with me,” she said, and led the way from the room.

CHAPTER X.—SETTING THE TRAP.

They found Jimmy Smith in the stable leaning over Gabriel’s stall and talking to him in low tones. The lad stepped back and lifted his cap from his head as the two girls approached.

“Are you telling Gabriel that he must win the Derby, Jimmy?” asked Shirley with a bright smile.

“Yes, Miss,” was the reply. “Gabriel and I have many talks, and he always promises me that he will win.”

“But, suppose he should lose?”

“He can’t lose,” said Jimmy decisively.

“Are you sure?” asked Shirley sharply.

Jimmy looked at her queerly.

“Why—I—yes—of course he can’t,” he stammered.

“But suppose something should happen?” persisted Shirley.

“What do you mean?” asked Jimmy, plainly startled.

“Oh, nothing,” said Shirley, and changed the subject abruptly.

“Jimmy,” she said a few moments later, “I wish you would go up in the loft and see how much hay there is up there.”

“All right, Miss,” said the boy, and reached for his coat, which hung over the stall door.

“You don’t need the coat,” said Shirley. “Hurry up, please. Dad is anxious to know right away.”

Without another word, but with a sidelong glance at the coat, Jimmy hastened to obey. He clambered up the ladder quickly.

Hardly had his hand disappeared when Shirley stepped quickly forward and took up the coat. Rapidly she explored the pockets, one after another, and, at last, drawing forth a small piece of paste-board, she gave a little cry of triumph.

“I have it,” she whispered to Mabel.

She slipped the card into her dress, and hastily put the coat back where she had found it. She was leaning over the stall door talking to Gabriel when Jimmy came down the ladder.

“Plenty of hay for two weeks, Miss Shirley,” said Jimmy.

He reached out cautiously and picked up his coat, which he donned with an audible sigh of relief.

“All right, then,” said Shirley. “Come, Mabel, we may as well go.”

She gave Gabriel another little pat, and led the way from the stable.

“I feel like I had picked somebody’s pocket,” Shirley confided to Mabel, as they made their way back toward the house.

“You have,” replied her friend, “and I don’t know whether you were right or not.”

“The end will justify the means,” said Shirley quietly. “It’s for Jimmy’s own good, for my father’s good, and for the good of others. I am sure I did no wrong.”

They sat down on the porch and talked for some moments.

“Look,” said Mabel suddenly, “here comes Jimmy. I wonder what is the matter with him. He seems to be looking for something.”

In truth, he did seem to be looking for something. The boy seemed greatly excited, and his eyes roved about the ground as he approached.

“It’s the card he misses,” said Shirley. “He thinks he has lost it.”

“You don’t suppose he suspects us, do you?”

“I hope not.”

Jimmy was close to them now, and Shirley called out: “What’s the matter, Jimmy? Lost something?”

Jimmy, unaware of their presence until then, looked up in confusion.

“No—no, Miss Shirley,” he stammered, and disappeared.

“Poor Jimmy,” said Shirley. “One evil leads to another. He was forced to lie, you see. Come, Mabel, let’s go upstairs and have a look at this card, and figure out a letter to Mr. Jones that will do the work.”

Mabel followed her friend up the stairs, where both sat down, and Shirley produced the card.

“Mr. A. B. Jones,” she read, “Fifth Avenue Hotel, Louisville, Ky.”

“Very well, Mr. Jones,” she said, “we shall attend to your case.”

She turned to Mabel. “What do you think?” she asked. “Would it be better to ask him to meet me in Paris, Lexington, or where?”

“I don’t know,” replied Mabel. “But it seems to me that Paris is pretty close to your home. Besides, Jimmy is well known in Lexington also.”

“True,” said Shirley. “I think I shall select Cincinnati.”

“Goodness,” said Mabel, “that is a long ways.”

“So it is,” said Shirley, “but I can make an excuse to go there. I can tell father we are going to spend a couple of days with Clara Morton. He will not object.”

“Suit yourself,” said Mabel. “I reckon it might as well be there as any place else. It probably will be safer too. We can stay with Clara while there.”

“My idea exactly,” said Shirley. “Now let’s see if I can write the proper kind of a letter.”

She drew forth some paper—and wrote long and earnestly. Sheet after sheet she tore up, but at last, with a little cry of satisfaction, she took the last sheet, upon which she had just written, and passed it to Mabel.

“I think that will do very well.”

Mabel read:

“Mr. A. B. Jones:—Dear Sir:—I have considered your offer. I shall be in Cincinnati, Palace Hotel, Friday. If offer is still open, meet me in the lobby at 6 o’clock Friday night. I am going to Cincinnati on an errand for Miss Willing.

“Jimmy Smith.”

Mabel read the letter over several times.

“I guess it is all right,” she said at last. “There is only one thing I would suggest.”

“What is it?”

“I would add a line and say, ‘Under no circumstances write me!’”

“Good,” said Shirley. “I’ll do it.”

She did, and then addressing an envelope, the two girls walked up to the mail box at the pike and waited the passing of the rural mail carrier. They did not wish the letter to remain in the box unguarded, because some one might see it.

But with the letter in the mailman’s hands, Shirley felt more comfortable. The two girls walked back to the house.

“With good luck,” said Shirley, “that is, if Dad doesn’t object, we should be able to leave here Thursday morning. We will send Clara a telegram from town telling her to meet us. Now we’ll go and see what Dad has to say.”

“So you want to go away again, eh?” said Mr. Willing, after Shirley had suggested the trip. “And how long do you want to be gone?”

“Until Sunday or Monday, Dad,” said Shirley.

“Well,” said Mr. Willing, after a long pause, “I can see no reason why you cannot go if Mr. Ashton doesn’t object.”

“I am sure he won’t,” said Mabel.

“Better go and ask him then,” said Mr. Willing.

Mabel hurried to obey, and returned in a few moments with her father’s consent.

“You want to go Thursday?” asked Mr. Willing. “Why, that’s day after to-morrow.”

“I know that,” said Shirley with a smile.

“All right,” said Mr. Willing. “I am going to town this afternoon. I’ll send Clara a telegram myself to meet you.”

The matter settled, Shirley and Mabel began their preparations for the trip.

“I don’t anticipate much trouble,” said Shirley. “Of course you never can tell just what will happen, and for that reason I am going to take my little pocket revolver.”

“Then I shall take mine, too,” said Mabel.

“That is hardly necessary,” said Shirley, “for, of course, I shall see Mr. Jones alone.”

“Aren’t you going to let me go with you?” demanded Mabel.

“No,” said Shirley, “that might spoil everything. Mr. Jones might suspect something even if he didn’t recognize either of us.”

“But I can’t let you face the danger alone,” protested Mabel.

“Who said anything about danger?” demanded Shirley.

“Why, didn’t you?” asked Mabel.

“No.”

“Then why do you take your revolver?”

“Well,” said Shirley with a smile, “it is always best to be prepared for the unexpected.”

“Well, I suppose you will have it your own way,” said Mabel.

Shirley smiled.

“In this, yes,” she replied.

The two days passed slowly for both girls, but at length the time came to go. The first thing in the morning, making sure that Jimmy was in the stable, Shirley made her way to his room and appropriated one of his old suits—one that she was sure he would not miss. This she packed in her suitcase.

“I shall have to buy a wig in Cincinnati,” she told Mabel.

Clara met the girls at the train, and they were soon whirled to her Walnut Hills home in a large automobile. There they were to remain until the following afternoon, when Mabel would accompany Shirley downtown.

The next day, shortly before five o’clock, Shirley slipped her dress on over her suit of boy’s clothes, and leaving Clara behind in spite of many protests, the two girls took the street car down town. On Fourth Street they found a little store where Shirley was fortunate enough to find a wig of the right shade.

In a secluded corner in the railroad station, when there was no one near, Shirley quickly stripped off her dress and stood revealed in her boy’s clothing. Donning wig and cap, she handed Mabel the discarded dress to put into the satchel brought for that purpose.

“Now,” said Shirley, “go back to Clara’s and, under some pretext or other, wait on the porch for me after every one has gone to bed. I’ll not come until I am sure they have all retired.”

“All right,” Mabel agreed, “and, Shirley, be very careful.”

“I shall be, never fear,” was the reply, and the young girl bade her friend good-bye and started for the rendezvous.

CHAPTER XI.—THE MEETING.

It was fifteen minutes to six when Shirley reached the hotel. At the Vine Street entrance she hesitated a few moments, for now that the time for action was at hand, she grew nervous. It took her but an instant to shake off this uneasy feeling, however, and she entered the hotel boldly.

She took a seat in a far corner of the lobby, where she could see all who came and went without being too exposed, and then she waited. Six o’clock came, but there was no sign of Jones.

“I reckon he is a little late,” said Shirley to herself.

A quarter after six; half-past six and still no Jones.

Shirley arose to go.

“I guess he didn’t get my letter in time,” she said.

She made her way to the door. But just as she would have passed out a hurrying figure bumped into her. Shirley drew back to let the man pass, and cried out suddenly:

“Mr. Jones.”

Jones, for it was indeed he, drew back sharply, and looked closely at Shirley. Then he smiled slightly.

“Smith?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Shirley briefly.

“Good. Come with me.”

Shirley followed the man back into the hotel. At the far side of the lobby was a door leading to the dining-room. Jones led the way inside, Shirley following close at his heels.

He selected a small table at the far end of the dining-room, and the two sat down.

“We can talk here undisturbed,” said Jones.

Their orders given, Jones leaned back in his chair.

“I wouldn’t have recognized you,” he said, looking at Shirley sharply.

“I was beginning to think you would not come,” said Shirley.

“My train was late,” Jones responded. “I had to hustle to get here as soon as I did.”

He was silent for some moments. Shirley said nothing, waiting for Jones to open the conversation.

“So,” said the man after the food had been set before them, “you have decided to accept my offer, eh?”

Shirley thought it good policy not to appear too anxious.

“It all depends upon what you want me to do,” she replied.

Jones looked at her long and carefully.

“Well,” he said at length, “I’ll tell you. You understand, of course, that it will not be healthy for you to repeat anything I may say?”

Shirley nodded assent.

“And that if you play me false, you will get the worst of it?”

Again Shirley nodded.

“Good. I don’t need to go into details, but what I want is this: I want you to see that Gabriel does not win the Derby. In other words, I want you to ‘pull’ him.”

“Pull him!” echoed Shirley.

This was a language she did not understand.

“Yes. Surely you know what pulling means?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” replied Shirley hesitatingly.

“What kind of a jockey do you call yourself?” sneered Jones. “By pulling I mean holding Gabriel back so that some other horse may finish ahead of him.”

“I see,” said Shirley. “And have you selected the horse that is to win the race?”

“Yes. Jupiter, owned by the bookmakers.”

“And that is all you want me to do?”

“That is all.”

“And you are willing to pay me $500 for that?”

“Yes.”

Shirley was silent, apparently considering. Jones waited perhaps five minutes for her to speak, and then said:

“Well, what do you say?”

Shirley rose from her chair.

“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “When do I get the money?”

“After the Derby.”

“Very well,” said Shirley, “you may count upon me to do my best.”

“That’s all, then,” said Jones, also rising. “I will make it a point to see you just before the race starts.”

He walked to the door with the supposed traitorous jockey. There Shirley stopped for another word.

“One thing,” she said. “Send me no messages and do not come to see me. It would be too risky.”

“Right you are,” said Jones. “Good-bye.”

He turned on his heel and left without another word. Shirley also made her way from the hotel. Her eyes fell upon a clock in a window.

“Eight o’clock,” she said. “I can’t go to Clara’s yet. They will all see me. What shall I do to pass the time?”

She debated the point at length.

“I’ll stop in this drug store and have an ice cream soda, anyhow,” she finally decided.

This refreshment disposed of, Shirley reached for her purse. For the moment she forgot she was dressed in boys’ clothes, but in an instant she remembered, and thrust her hand in her pocket; and she drew it out with a cry of dismay.

She had forgotten to put her purse in her pocket, and she had no money, and there was the ice cream soda to be paid for.

The man at the cashier’s desk was looking at her suspiciously. Shirley, glancing up, caught the look. Again she made a desperate search of her pockets, but the search was futile. There was no money there.

Shirley turned to the cashier.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “but I have misplaced my money. I’ll have to ask you to wait till to-morrow.”

“Misplaced your money, eh,” sneered the man, looking at Shirley’s shabby attire. “I suppose, when you came in here, you were sure you had money, were you?”

“Of course I was,” said Shirley indignantly.

“Well, I’m not so sure. I’ve seen your kind before. I guess I had better call an officer.”

Shirley became greatly frightened.

“Please don’t do that,” she said, in great alarm. “I’ll pay you to-morrow sure. Honestly I will.”

“That’s an old one,” said the cashier. “Either you will dig up ten cents right now or I shall call a policeman.”

“But I haven’t ten cents,” said Shirley tearfully.

“Then I shall call the officer,” said the cashier, and reached for the desk telephone.

Shirley, badly frightened, did not know what to do. She did not know that the cashier, thinking she was trying to defraud him, would not have called the police, but was simply trying to frighten her into paying.

But help came from an unexpected source.

A young man who had been an interested listener to this conversation suddenly stepped forward, and laid a dime on the counter.

“There is your ten cents,” he said quietly to the cashier. “Let the boy alone. Can’t you see he is honest?”

“About as honest as the rest of ’em,” sneered the cashier, picking up the dime.

Shirley turned to her benefactor.

“Thank you, sir,” she said earnestly. “I’ll see that you get it back.”

“Oh, all right,” said the young man with a laugh, “but I guess it won’t break me if I don’t.”

It was plain to Shirley that he never expected to have it returned, and upon that instant she decided that he should.

“If you will give me your card,” she said, “I shall see that you get it back to-morrow.”

The young man smiled at her.

“Well, if you insist,” he said, with a smile, and extracted a card from his pocket, and handed it to Shirley.

Shirley stuffed it into her pocket.

“Thank you very much,” she said quietly. “Good-bye.”

She left the store and walked down the street. It was now half-past eight, as Shirley saw by the street clock.

“I guess I might as well go home and risk being seen,” she told herself.

She stopped at the next corner and hailed an approaching car. She was just about to step aboard, when she suddenly remembered she did not have carfare. She stepped back abruptly. The conductor rang the bell angrily, and the car went on.

“My gracious,” said Shirley to herself, “it’s a long way to Walnut Hills but I guess I shall have to walk it. I wonder if I can find the way?”

She stood still for several minutes.

“Well,” she said at last, “I might as well start. There is no use standing here. I’ll just have to follow the car line, and ask if I lose my way.”

First she made her way to Fourth and Walnut Streets, and then she started off in the direction taken by a Walnut Hills car.

She was forced to ask directions several times before she got very far, but nevertheless she made fair progress. She was just congratulating herself upon her good fortune in getting out of so serious a predicament so easily, when something else happened.

Around the corner, suddenly, came a crowd of boys, their ages ranging from twelve to fifteen. This part of the city was by no means the best, and Shirley thanked her stars that she was attired in boy’s clothes.

But her attire was not to stand her in good stead now.

The crowd of boys came on at a run, and when directly in front of Shirley the leaders stopped.

“Look here, fellows,” said one of them. “Here is a poor kid all by himself. He looks big enough to fight. Shall we take him along?”

“Sure,” came from the rest.

The boy who had first spoken grabbed Shirley by the arm, and shook him.

“Can you fight?” he asked.

Shirley again was almost in tears.

“No,” she quavered.

“Well,” came the reply, “you’ll have to fight. We are going after the Eighteenth Street gang and we need reinforcements. You will help. But if you don’t fight, well, you’ll get the worst of it anyhow. Come on.”

Shirley hung back, but it was no use. A boy grabbed her by either arm, and she found herself being hurried along.

“We’ll fix ’em this time,” was the cry of the boys.

CHAPTER XII.—SHIRLEY FINDS A CHAMPION.

Shirley realized that she was in a serious predicament. Guarded as she was, she had no hope of escape, and she realized that the situation was rapidly growing worse. Every step forward took her that much nearer danger. Still she did not wish to betray that she was a girl, so she wiped the tears from her eyes with a quick brush of her sleeve and moved along with the rest without resistance.

Two blocks further on the gang came to an abrupt stop, and the two who seemed to be the leaders conferred. Then, at an order from one, the gang divided into two parts. Shirley found herself under the direction of a boy whom his companions called Dick.

“You go around that way with your fellows, Tom,” said Dick, waving his arm to the left, “and I’ll go this way. We’ll catch ’em between us and pay ’em back for what they did to Ed and Joe yesterday.”

The boys moved off in two different directions. Shirley found herself right behind Dick and she eyed him curiously. Young though he was, the girl saw that he was strong and powerful. An athlete herself, she could not but admire the easy swing of his shoulders as he trotted on ahead, his calm assurance and the confidence with which he gave his orders. Shirley decided to stay as close to him as possible.

And now turning another corner, Dick shouted:

“There they are, fellows! At ’em!”

There was a loud cheer, and from far down the street came its echo, as Tom and his crowd attacked the enemy from the rear.

And now Shirley caught her first view of the enemy.

Halfway down the block, caught between two fires as they were, the enemy, perhaps twenty of them, was preparing to give battle. Shirley could see that they had picked up whatever they could lay hands upon, and were awaiting the attackers to come within range.

Shirley shuddered, but kept close behind Dick.

“Look out!” cried Dick, and darted to one side.

Shirley did likewise, and a rock skimmed past her. There was a howl of pain from further back, and Shirley knew that one of the crowd had been hit.

“We’ll make ’em pay for that,” cried Dick, and in spite of the fusillade of missiles being hurled at them, he bore down upon the enemy at top speed.

For an instant Shirley hesitated. Here, she thought, might be a chance for her to make her escape. She turned, but as she did so the others surrounded her and she was forced to go on whether or not she wished it.

The two factions came together with great force. They were too closely entwined to permit of the hurling of rocks now. It was hard to distinguish friend from foe.

Shirley found herself in the midst of a struggling, striking mass. Wherever she turned she saw nothing but flying fists. One of the enemy struck her a glancing blow on the arm. Shirley became angry.

Stepping quickly forward she struck the boy a resounding smack with her open hand.

Dick, who happened to be close to her at that moment, noted this with a grin.

“Hit ’em with your fist,” he called. “It won’t do any good to slap ’em.”

But this Shirley could not do. So there she stood while the struggling mass fought around her. How long the street fight continued, Shirley did not know, but it came to an end suddenly.

From far down the street came the single sharp blast of a whistle. Immediately the struggling combatants dropped their fists and took to their heels.

“Police,” was the cry that went up.

Three minutes later the street was deserted. Both factions had fled, and when the guardians of the law appeared upon the scene there was nothing to give evidence of the struggle that had raged a few moments before.

Shirley had fled with the others, still keeping as close to Dick as possible. Round corner after corner she followed him, for she was keen enough to know that in this way lay safety, while, should she go her own way, she was likely to fall into the hands of the law; and, in her present attire, she had no desire to do this.

But finally the half a dozen who had fled in the same direction as Dick and Shirley came to a halt. They stood panting and gasping.

Then one boy suddenly came up to Shirley.

“I told you to fight,” he said. “You didn’t do it. I watched you. Now I am going to make you fight.”

Shirley shrank back.

“Put up your fists,” called the boy.

The others gathered round to see the fun.

“He’s a coward,” they said. “He’s afraid to fight. Hit him anyhow.”

They surrounded Shirley with angry gestures.

It was at this moment that Dick interfered.

“Let the kid alone,” he said quietly, moving into the midst of the others. “If he doesn’t want to fight, he doesn’t have to. Maybe he’s not the fighting kind. Let him alone.”

There was an angry growl from the others.

“I say he has got to fight,” said one.

“And I say he hasn’t,” cried Dick. “Who is the leader of this crowd, anyhow?”

“We wouldn’t have much trouble finding a better one,” was the reply.

“Right you are, Ned,” said several voices at once.

“Pick on me if you want to,” said Dick, “but let the kid alone.”

Shirley shrank close to him, for she knew that in him lay her hope of safety. Dick put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s all right, kid,” he said. “They won’t bother you.”

“Won’t we?” exclaimed one.

He stepped suddenly forward, and before Dick could prevent him, aimed a blow at Shirley. Unconsciously the girl ducked, and the blow barely grazed her head, carrying away her hat, and worst of all, her boy’s wig.

Her long hair came tumbling down.

The boy who had struck at her started back in surprise.

“A girl!” he exclaimed.

Shirley broke into tears.

Dick had taken in the situation at a glance. He stepped quickly forward and with a single blow of his left fist knocked the boy who had struck Shirley to the ground.

Then the others jumped upon him.

Shirley’s tears stopped instantly and she watched the fight in wide-eyed amazement. Dick, bigger and stronger than the rest, was giving a good account of himself, but it was plain to Shirley that the weight of numbers must tell in the end.

Two boys went down before their leader’s fists, but they were up again in an instant and fighting back desperately. One attacked him from behind, but with a quick kick Dick shook himself free. Picking his nearest opponent up bodily, he hurled him full in the faces of the others; and they gave ground.

But only for a minute. Then they sprang forward again. Dick found himself hard pressed on all sides. He reeled under a blow that caught him on the point of the chin, and before he could recover, two stinging blows struck him in the jaw.

He made one last desperate effort, throwing himself upon his opponents, but the effort was vain.

Stooping, one of the boys picked up a rock, and waiting an opportunity jumped in quickly and struck him in the back of the head.

Dick uttered a slight groan, stumbled and fell almost at Shirley’s feet.

The girl uttered a cry of horror. The other boys, startled for the moment at the outcome, hung back, then advanced toward their fallen leader. Believing that they were about to do him further harm, Shirley took the responsibility upon herself.

Her nervousness, fright and indecision left her instantly. She reached quickly in her coat pocket and whipped forth her little revolver, which she aimed at the crowd of young ruffians with steady hand.

“Stand back!” she cried.

The ruffians hesitated.

“Look here,” began one, advancing a step.

“Take my advice and stay where you are,” said Shirley quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if any one of you come a single step nearer I’ll shoot.”

The crowd drew back, and stood silently watching her.

Laying the revolver upon the sidewalk close beside her, Shirley raised Dick’s head to her knee. Then she sought to stop the flow of blood from the wound with her handkerchief.

Dick stirred slightly, and a faint breath shivered through his lips.

“What’s happened?” he gasped.

“Lie still!” commanded Shirley. “Your head is badly cut.”

Dick shook off her detaining hand, and rose slowly. He felt his wound, and then said:

“Which one of you fellows hit me with a rock?”

Not a sound came from the crowd. Dick stepped forward.

“Better tell me now,” he said, “for I’ll find out sometime, and when I do somebody will be well thrashed.”

A boy stepped forward.

“I did it,” he said. “But now I’m sorry!”

“Well, I’ll attend to you later,” said Dick.

He turned to Shirley.