"It's a pity we didn't save 'em," said Roger, mournfully.

"It's a grand good thing they didn't go off in the garage," returned Dave.

"Well, I saved the big cannon cracker anyway," said Phil, as he walked up at that moment.

"Where did you put it?" questioned Roger, quickly.

"Over there, in a corner of the fence. I didn't want to take any chances, otherwise I might have taken it to the barn."

"Better leave it outside, where it can't do any damage," said Dave.

While talking, the three boys had been running back to the garage. There they found their chums and the men at work, including Senator Morr, all hauling the burning brushwood away and pouring water from a small hose on the flames. The most of the fire was out, so they found little to do. Only one corner of the garage had been touched, and for this the senator was thankful.

"But it was careless of you, James, to put that brushwood there, so close to the building," he said to the gardener, "Don't do it again."

"If you please, sir, I didn't put the brushwood as close as that," replied the gardener, stoutly. "Somebody else did that."

"What!" cried the senator, in surprise.

"I said I didn't put the brushwood so close to the garage, sir," repeated the gardener. "I put it right there," and he pointed to a spot about fifteen feet from the rear wall of the building. "I was going to burn it up first thing in the morning,—that is if the young gentlemen didn't want the stuff for a bonfire at night."

"But who did put the brushwood up against the garage?" demanded Senator Morr.

"I'm sure I don't know," put in the chauffeur. "But what James says, sir, is true—he put the heap out there—I was working around the garage when he did it."

"Do you mean to insinuate that this fire was set by somebody?" cried the senator, quickly.

"I don't know about that, sir," answered the chauffeur, while the gardener merely shrugged his shoulders. He was an old man and one who had been trusted by the Morrs for years.

"If what you say is true, I'll have to look into this matter," remarked Senator Morr. "I don't propose to have my garage burnt down, with two automobiles worth five thousand dollars,—not to say anything about the danger to the rest of the place. If I find——"

Bang! It was an explosion like a cannon and made everybody jump. As Dave looked, he saw a corner of a distant fence fly apart, and bits of fire seemed to fill the midnight air. Then followed utter silence.



"The cannon cracker!" gasped Phil.

"What could have made it go off?" asked Roger.

"Some sparks from this fire—or else it was lit when Phil took it out," answered Dave.

"What are you talking about?" asked Senator Morr, and when he had been told he shook his head and smiled, grimly.

"Well, I'm glad it didn't go off in the garage," he said. "But after this you must keep your explosives in a safer place. Jake, James, bring some buckets of water and put out that fire from the explosion. It isn't much, but we want no more sparks flying around here."

The water was brought, and soon every spark had been extinguished. Then the crowd went back to the garage, to make sure that no more fire lingered in that vicinity.

"It certainly looks as if somebody had set this fire," mused Senator Morr. "Perhaps a tramp. Have you seen any such fellows around here?" he asked, looking at the others.

The boys had seen no tramps at all, and James said he had seen none for over a week.

"I saw one day before yesterday," said the chauffeur, "but I know he left town that night—I saw him board a freight train."

"Well, it is strange. Keep your eyes open," said Senator Morr, and then he returned to the house, to quiet his wife and retire once more.

"It's mighty queer about that fire," remarked Luke, when the boys were undressing. "It certainly does look as if it was set."

"Dave, do you think Merwell and Haskers would do it?" questioned Roger.

"Yes, if they were in this neighborhood. But have they been here?"

The boys looked at each other. Nobody had seen Merwell or the former teacher of Oak Hall in that vicinity.

"Let us make some inquiries down at the railroad station in the morning," suggested Dave. "If those two stopped off here somebody must have seen them."

"Phew! what a noise that cannon cracker did make!" murmured Phil. "If we had set that off in the morning—as we intended—I reckon it would have woke up the neighborhood pretty well."

"It did wake some folks up," answered Roger, for quite a few boys and men had come up to find out what the flames and noise meant.

"It was certainly some firecracker," was Luke's comment.

"Say, speaking of firecrackers puts me in mind of a story!" burst out Shadow.

"Wow! A story this time of night!" murmured Buster. "I'm going to bed."

"This is a short one," pleaded the would-be story-teller. "A man was giving a celebration one Fourth of July to a lot of children. He had ordered a lot of firecrackers, but they didn't come. So he sent a telegram to the wholesale house in the city. 'Send big and little crackers as ordered at once.' About an hour afterwards he got a return telegram which said, 'Our grocery department is closed to-day. Your order for crackers will be filled to-morrow.'"

"Call that a crackerjack joke?" asked Roger, with a grin.

"Don't crack any more like that, Shadow," added Dave.

"You might get fired if you do," contributed Phil; and then a general laugh went up, after which all of the boys again retired.

In the morning the lads inspected the vicinity of the fire once more, and spent some time in shooting off a pistol and a shotgun which Roger possessed. Then, acting on a suggestion from Dave, they took a walk to the railroad station.

Here an interesting bit of news awaited them, which was to the effect that, owing to some trouble with a bridge about a mile outside of Hemson, two passenger trains and a freight had been held up at the station for several hours.

"Most of the passengers remained in the trains," said the station agent. "But some of 'em got restless and they went over to the hotel, and some walked down to where the bridge was being repaired."

"Did you notice two people in particular?" asked Roger, and described Merwell and Job Haskers as well as he could.

"No, I don't remember seeing those fellows," said the agent.

From the railroad station the boys went to the hotel, and then walked along the country road leading to the Morr place. Presently they met a man driving a milk wagon.

"Say, you had a fire last night, didn't you?" asked the driver of Roger, as he reined up.

"Yes, Mr. Platt," answered the senator's son. "But it didn't amount to anything."

"How did it catch, do you know?" went on the driver of the milk wagon, curiously.

"No, we are trying to find out."

"Maybe it was set. I see two fellers sneakin' around your place last evening," went on Mr. Platt.



CHAPTER IX

WHAT NAT POOLE HAD TO TELL

"You saw two fellows sneaking around our place last evening?" cried Roger, with interest.

"I certainly did."

"What did they look like?" asked Dave.

"I see 'em plainly an' I was wonderin' what they was up to," said the driver of the milk wagon, and then he described the two persons quite minutely.

"Haskers and Merwell, beyond a doubt!" exclaimed Phil. "Now what do you know about that!"

"It certainly is the limit!" murmured Luke.

"Wonder if they are still around?" came from Shadow. "Say, this puts me in mind of a sto——But never mind, I'll tell it another time," he broke off, hastily, as he saw a look of disgust on the others' faces.

"I don't believe they are around," said Dave. "They probably boarded the first train that went over the bridge."

"Just what I think," returned the senator's son.

"Think them fellers set the fire?" asked Mr. Platt, curiously.

"We feel certain of it," replied Roger. "They are old school enemies of ours," he added. "It's only one more score we've got to settle with them," he continued, to his chums, and shut his teeth with a snap.

Nothing further could be learned concerning the mysterious visitors, and finally the boys went back to the Morr mansion, to get ready for the evening celebration. This came off as scheduled and proved a big success. Fully a hundred town folk were present, besides some from the lake and elsewhere. There were rockets and Roman candles and wheels galore, as well as several set pieces. Some fire balloons were also liberated. Senator Morr had engaged a local band of eight pieces, and if the music was not of a high order it was certainly patriotic, and that counted for a good deal.

Of course the other boys had to hear all about the proposed trip West and, incidentally, about the lost Landslide Mine. From his father and mother Roger got some more details concerning the missing property. A map was produced, and also some papers, and the son was advised to hunt up an old miner and prospector named Abe Blower.

"Abe Blower knew your Uncle Maurice well," said Mrs. Morr, to her son. "They were friends for years. I am sure if you can find Mr. Blower he will do all he can for you, and for me, too."

"Then I'll do what I can to find him, first of all," answered Roger.

At last came the time when Dave must leave the Morr home and return to Crumville. He was going alone, but he promised to keep in constant communication with the others.

"I wish I was going on that western trip," said Shadow, wistfully. "You'll have barrels of fun, and if you do locate that Landslide Mine—well, it will be a big feather in your cap."

"I'd like to go, too," said Buster.

"I reckon we'd all like to go," cried the others, in concert.

"Well, there is just this much about it," returned Dave. "Anybody who has the price can go on that personally-conducted tour to Yellowstone Park, and, so far as I am concerned, you can go from there into the mountains and look for the mine."

"Why, of course!" burst out Roger. "If any of you want to go, just say the word."

This brought on a discussion lasting nearly an hour. In the end several of the lads said they would see what they could do, and would write about it later, or telegraph.

"Say, but wouldn't it be grand if we could locate that lost mine!" cried Phil, enthusiastically.

"Well, we'll have a try at it," returned Dave.

At last came the time for Dave to leave. Some of the others had already gone. Roger drove his chum down to the railroad station in the runabout. The two were alone. Dave noticed that the senator's son seemed unusually thoughtful.

"What's up, Roger?" he asked, at last. "You don't seem quite like yourself."

"Oh, I don't know that I ought to say anything, Dave," was the hesitating answer.

"If there is anything I can do——"

"No, it isn't that." Roger gave a deep sigh. "I wish we could locate that mine!" he murmured.

"So you were thinking about that? Well, we may have luck. Let us hope so," and Dave smiled.

"I might as well tell you how it is," continued Roger, as he drove up to the little railroad station. He looked around, to make sure that no outsiders were listening. "You know father comes up for re-election this fall."

"Oh, does his term as senator run out?"

"Yes. Well, there is a movement on foot to put somebody else in his place. If they do that—well, he'll be out, that's all."

"What will he do then?"

"That's just it. I don't know what he can do. He used to be in an office business, but he gave that up to go into politics. Now, if he gets out, he will have to start all over again."

"Hasn't he anything at all—I mean any business?"

"Not anything regular. He dabbles a little in real estate."

"Then I hope they don't put him out, Roger."

"And—er—that isn't all, Dave. I wouldn't tell anybody but you—and maybe Phil. He has spent a lot of money while in politics—it costs a good deal to live in Washington. I heard him tell mother about it. If he goes out, it will go hard with him. Now, if we had that mine, and it was as valuable as they think it is——"

"I see, Roger. We'll have to do our level best to find the mine."

"If mother had the mine she could let dad use the money in any way he pleased. But if we haven't got the mine to fall back on, and dad gets out of politics—well, it is going to make hard sledding for us."

"Roger, if it gets too bad, don't you hesitate to come to us!" cried Dave, quickly. "I am sure my father, and my Uncle Dunston, would be only too glad to help you out."

"Thank you, Dave; but I don't think it will get to be as bad as that," answered the senator's son. And then the train came along and Dave had to bid his chum good-by.

The car was only half filled with people, so Dave had a double seat to himself. He placed his suit-case in the rack overhead and then sank down by the window, to gaze at the swiftly moving panorama and give himself up to thought.

"Hello, Dave!"

The youth looked up, to see, standing beside him, Nat Poole, the son of the money-lender of Crumville—a tall, awkward youth with a face that was inclined to scowl more than to smile. In the past Nat had played Dave many a mean trick, and had usually gotten the worst of it. Nat had been in the class with our hero, but had failed to pass for graduation, much to his chagrin.

"Hello, Nat!" cried Dave. He put as much warmth as possible in the salutation, for he felt sorry for the boy who had failed. "Bound for home?"

"Yes." The money-lender's son hesitated for a moment. "Want me to sit with you?"

"Certainly, if you like," and Dave shoved over to make room.

"Been visiting an old aunt of mine," explained Nat as he sat down. "Had a slow time of it, too, over the Fourth. Where have you been?"

Dave told him. "We had a dandy time, too," he added.

"It must have been fine." Nat gave a sigh. "I wish I had been—but what's the use? You fellows wouldn't care for me."

"What were you going to say, Nat?"

"I might have been there myself, if I hadn't—well, if I hadn't made a big fool of myself!" burst out the money-lender's son. "Yes, that's what I did, made a fool of myself! Uncle Tom told me the plain truth."

"I thought you said you'd been visiting an aunt."

"So I have, but she's married again,—married a man named Tom Allen, a merchant. He knows father, and he flocked it into the old man in great shape," and Nat actually chuckled. "Told me just what kind of a man dad was—hard-fisted and miserly—somebody nobody loved or wanted to associate with. And he warned me not to grow up the same way—not to think money was everything, and all that. He said a boy ought to be known for his real worth, not his dollars and his clothes."

"He's right there, Nat."

"Yes, he opened my eyes. And when he asked me about Oak Hall, and you fellows, and how I had missed passing, he told me the truth about myself. I—well, I resented it at first, but by and by I got to thinking he must be right, and the more I thought of it, the more I made up my mind that I had been a big fool. And then I made a resolve——" Nat stopped and gave a gulp.

"A resolve?"

"Yes. I resolved that, the first time I met you, Dave, and the others, I was going to eat humble pie and tell you just what I thought of myself." The son of the money-lender was in a perspiration now and mopped his face with his handkerchief.

Dave hardly knew how to reply. Here was Nat Poole in certainly an entirely new role.

"I am glad to know you are going to turn over a new leaf," he returned. "I hope you make a success of it."

"Do you really, Dave?" There was an eager note in Nat's voice.

"Sure I do, Nat. You'd be all right, if—if——"

"Go ahead, give it to me straight, just as Uncle Tom did."

"Well, if you wouldn't be quite so conceited and stuck-up, and if you'd buckle down a bit more to studying."

"That's what I am going to do—buckle down to study next fall. And if I show any conceit in the future, well, I want you and Ben Basswood, and Roger and Phil, and all the others, to knock it right out of me," went on the money-lender's son, earnestly. "My eyes are open and I'm going ahead, and I don't want to slip backwards."

"I'll help you all I can, Nat," and Dave held out his hand, which the other grasped vigorously.

"This talk with Uncle Tom woke me up," went on Nat, a moment later. "When I get home, I am going to try to wake dad up, too. It's going to be no easy task, but I'll do it. I know ma will be on my side—she was never after the money like dad was. I am going to prove to him that he has got to do something else besides get money."

"I wish you luck, Nat," replied Dave. He could not help but smile when he thought of the hard-fisted money-lender, and what he might say when his son went at the task of making him more kind and benevolent.

"And, by the way, Dave, now I am going to turn over a new leaf, I want to tell you about a letter I received some time ago," went on Nat, after a pause, during which the train stopped at a station to take on some passengers.

"A letter?"

"Yes. You'd never guess who it was from."

"Gus Plum?"

"No, Link Merwell."

"Link Merwell!" exclaimed our hero, in surprise. "What did he write to you about, Nat? Not that diamond robbery?"

"Oh, no, he had precious little to say about that, for he must know I knew he and Jasniff were guilty. He wrote about you. It was a long letter—nearly eight pages—and he spoke about what you had done to get him and me into trouble."

"I never tried to get you into trouble, Nat."

"I know it. But I used to think you were trying to do it. Well, Link wrote about it, and he wanted to know if I would help him in a scheme to pay you back. He said he had a dandy scheme to pay you off."

"Oh, he did?" said Dave, with interest. "What was the scheme?"

"He didn't say."

"What did you answer?"

"I didn't answer the letter. I kept it to think about. Then, yesterday, after my last talk with Uncle Tom, I made up my mind to wash my hands of Link Merwell, and I burned the letter up."



CHAPTER X

DAVE AT HOME

"I'm glad you washed your hands of Merwell, Nat," replied Dave, with warmth. "He is not the sort for any respectable fellow to associate with. But about that letter. Have you any idea what he was going to do?"

"No. All he said was, 'If you will join with me we can pay Dave Porter off good and get him in the biggest kind of a hole.' I guess you had better keep your eyes open, Dave."

"I am doing that already."

"I—I made up my mind I'd tell you—when I got to Crumville," faltered the money-lender's son. "I didn't want you to suffer at his hands."

"I've got my eyes open already," was Dave's reply. "Let me tell you something, Nat." And then he related the particulars of the affair at Lake Sargola, and told about the burning of the garage.

"And to think Job Haskers is with him!" cried Nat. "Say, they'll make a team, won't they!"

"Yes, for I'm thinking that Haskers is about as bad as Merwell," answered Dave.

After that came a pause, neither youth knowing exactly what to say. Then Nat cleared his throat.

"I—I'd like you to do me a favor," he stammered.

"All right, Nat. What is it?" returned our hero, promptly.

"If you get the chance will you tell Ben Basswood and the other fellows how I'm going to be—er—different after this? And will you tell your sister and Jessie, too? I don't want them to—to—think I'm wanting to do anything more that's mean. I want to be—be, well, friendly—if they'll let me," and Nat's face grew very red as he made the admission.

"I'll tell them all—the first chance I get," promised Dave. "And I am sure they will be pleased. Why, Nat, I know you can turn over a new leaf, if you want to. Look at Gus Plum, how mean he used to be, and what a bully! And look at him now. He's a first-rate fellow. You can do it if Plum can, can't you?"

"I'm going to try, anyway."

"And I'll help you all I can—and there's my hand on it," answered Dave, and then the two lads shook hands.

A talk lasting all the way to Crumville followed. As they rolled into the station Nat left rather hastily, going to the rear of the car, while Dave went forward. The money-lender's son knew Dave expected to meet his sister and friends and he did not, just then, wish to face the party.

"There's Dave!" cried Jessie Wadsworth, as she caught sight of him through a car window.

"Hello, everybody!" cried the youth, as he swung himself from the car steps. He gave Jessie's hand a tight squeeze and then kissed his sister. "How are you?"

"Oh, fine!" came from both girls.

"Hello, Davy!" cried a merry voice, and Dunston Porter, the lad's uncle, came striding forward from an automobile near by. "How did you leave Senator Morr and his family, and are you ready for that trip through Yellowstone Park?"

"I left the senator and his family well," was the answer. "And I am ready for the trip—that is—part of the trip," Dave added, hastily.

"Part of the trip?" cried Jessie. "Why, what do you mean?"

"I'll tell you later. Oh, I've got lots and lots to tell," went on Dave, with a smile. He caught Laura and Jessie by the arms. "See Nat Poole over yonder?" he whispered. "Well, you want to be nice to Nat after this, for he is going to reform."

"Reform?" queried his sister.

"Really?" added Jessie.

"That's what he told me. We had quite a talk on the train. I'll tell you about it later. And I've got a lot more to tell," Dave went on. "All about a lost gold mine that belongs to Mrs. Morr, Roger's mother."

"A lost gold mine!" exclaimed Dunston Porter. "Is this a joke, Dave?"

"No, sir, it's the truth. The strangest tale you ever heard. When we go out to Yellowstone Park we—that is, us boys—are going to look for the mine."

"Of all things!" burst out Laura. "Say, Dave, will you ever settle down? Here I thought you were going to take a nice little personally-conducted tour with us, and you talk of going land knows where to look for a lost gold mine!"

"Is it very far?" asked Jessie, and her face showed some disappointment.

"Oh, it's not very far from Yellowstone Park," answered the youth. "It's in Montana, and you know a corner of the Park is in that State."

All had walked toward the automobile, which Mr. Porter had been running. The girls got in the tonneau and Dave climbed into the front seat beside his uncle. Just as they were about to start, Nat Poole walked past, suit-case in hand, and tipped his hat politely. Both girls smiled and bowed and Mr. Porter nodded. Then the touring-car rolled off in the direction of the big Wadsworth mansion, where, as I have before stated, the Porters resided with the jeweler's family and old Caspar Potts.

As they passed through the main street of Crumville—now built up a great deal more than when Dave had first known it—many persons bowed and smiled to all in the car. Everybody knew the Porters and liked them, and the fact that Dave had once been an inmate of the local poor-house was almost forgotten.

To the youth himself the ride was full of interest. As he sat back in the comfortable seat of the automobile he could not help but think of the many changes that had taken place since he had been found wandering along the railroad tracks, alone and hungry. He had found a father, an uncle, and a sister, and he had made many warm friends, including Jessie Wadsworth, to him the dearest girl in all the world. Certainly he had much to be grateful for,—and he was grateful from the bottom of his heart.

A few minutes of riding, after leaving the center of the town, brought them within sight of the Wadsworth residence, a fine mansion set back from the roadway, with beautiful trees and shrubbery surrounding it. Down at the great gateway stood Professor Potts, now white-haired and somewhat bent, but with a kindly smile of welcome on his face. Dave waved his hat and the old gentleman bowed with old-fashioned courtesy. Then the touring-car swept up to the broad front piazza and Mrs. Wadsworth showed herself.

"Home again, are you, Dave," she said, pleasantly. "I am glad to see you." And then she allowed him to kiss her. There had been a time when Dave had been somewhat afraid of this stately lady of society, but that time was past now, and Mrs. Wadsworth looked on Dave almost as a son,—indeed, it had been this affection for the youth which had caused the two families to live under the same roof.

Dave was soon up in his room, putting away his things and getting ready for dinner, which would be served in half an hour. He was almost ready to go below when he saw Caspar Potts pass through the hallway.

"Well, Professor, how have you been?" he asked, pleasantly.

"Very well, David, very well," was the somewhat slow reply. "It is a very pleasant life here, very pleasant!" And the eyes of the old college professor glistened.

"Got the library in shape now, I suppose?" went on Dave, for he knew that was the old gentleman's hobby.

"Yes, David, we have every book and pamphlet catalogued. And I am adding something new," continued the professor. "I am getting the autographs of many of the writers and pasting them on the fly-leaves. And where a writer dies and I get a printed obituary notice I paste that in the back of the book. I think it adds something to a volume to know about the writer and to have his or her autograph."

"Fine, Professor!" cried Dave, and tapped him on the shoulder. "My, but it is nice here! Much better than the old farm, eh, and the poor-house that I came from!"

The old gentleman nodded several times, and the tears stood in his eyes.

"Yes! yes! It is very, very nice. I have found real friends, and I am thankful, very thankful!" And he continued on his way down the hall, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief.

On the stairs Dave met Jessie. She was in a fresh dress of white, and had a rose in her hair.

"How pretty you look!" he whispered, as he took her arm. "Just like a—a picture!" And then Jessie blushed and that made her look prettier than ever, if such a thing were possible.

Dave's father and Mr. Wadsworth had come in, and both were glad to see the boy back. Soon dinner was announced, and all sat down to the long table, Dave between his sister and Jessie. It was old Professor Potts who asked grace; and then some rapid-fire conversation followed, the girls and the others demanding to know all about what had happened at Senator Morr's home, and about the lost mine.

"It certainly sounds like a romance!" declared Dave's father, referring to the lost mine.

"But I have heard of such things before," answered his brother. "I know of several valuable mines in South America that were lost through earthquakes. Landslides have not only buried mines, they have buried cities as well."

"Oh, Dave, supposing you went to look for that mine and there was another landslide!" gasped Jessie, and turned pale.

"That's a risk we'd have to run," was his answer. "But I'd be very careful as to where I went, Jessie."

"I don't know about this," put in Mr. David Porter, with a grave shake of his head. "Better take the trip through Yellowstone Park, Dave, and let the Landslide Mine slide," and he smiled, faintly.

"Oh, I promised Roger that I'd go with him,—and Phil is going, too!" pleaded Dave. "We'll be very careful."

"I might go with you myself, only I think I ought to stay with the party to go through the Park," said Dunston Porter.

"Yes, we want you with us!" cried Laura.

"I don't like this at all!" pouted Jessie, and looked somewhat reproachfully at Dave.

"Oh, you mustn't take it that way!" cried the youth. "Why, we'll be with you on the trip to the Park, and then we'll join you on the tour a little later. You are to stay at least four weeks, remember. Well, if we spent two or even three weeks looking for that mine we'd still have a week in the Park—and one can go through in six days, so the circular says."

After that the talk became general, Dave learning more concerning the tour and who from Crumville and vicinity had signed to go, and the others asking for the details concerning the mine, and about the doings of Job Haskers and Link Merwell.

"You steer clear of that rascally teacher and young Merwell," advised Dave's father. "They are a bad lot."

"I'll steer clear if I can," answered Dave. "But if I catch them in any wrongdoing and I can manage it, I am going to have both of them arrested."

"I'd not blame you for that."

After the meal Dave spent a pleasant evening with Laura and Jessie. The three young folks went out on the porch and there, a little later, Ben Basswood joined them. All talked about the trip to Yellowstone Park, and about the Landslide Mine.

"I'd like to go after that mine myself," said Ben. "But I know I can't do it, for I promised mother and my Aunt Kate that I'd stay with them all through the trip."

"Then you'll have to stay with Laura and Jessie, too," returned Dave. "I'll leave them in your care while I am away."

"Oh, Dave, as if Uncle Dunston wasn't going along!" cried his sister.

"Well, you can't have too many protectors, in such a wild portion of our country," and Dave laughed, for he knew as well as did all of them that the trip through Yellowstone Park is a perfectly safe one.

By and by Ben walked around the garden with Laura, while Dave took Jessie. It was moonlight and perhaps some sentimental things were said. Anyway, when Dave and Jessie came back he held her arm and both looked very contented. Then Ben had to go, and Dave walked down to the gateway with him and spoke about Nat Poole.

"Well, if he reforms he's a good one," was all Ben said. He and Nat had been on the outs for a long while.

"He'll do it," answered Dave. "At least, I hope so."



CHAPTER XI

OVERHEARD IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE

"Dave, what do you think! I saw Link Merwell this morning!"

It was Laura who spoke, as she burst into her brother's room, where the youth was looking over the things he expected to take with him on his trip West.

"You saw Link Merwell!" cried Dave, dropping some collars he held in his hand. "Where?"

"Down on Main Street, near the post-office."

"Did he speak to you?"

"Oh, no, the minute he noticed that I saw him he hurried out of sight around the corner. I followed to the corner, but when I got there he had gone."

"Was Job Haskers with him?"

"I didn't see him."

"Humph! This is interesting, to say the least," mused Dave. He thought of what Nat Poole had told him, and of what Merwell and Haskers had attempted at the Morr homestead. "I'll have to look into this," he added, aloud.

"Oh, Dave, do you think he'll try to do something more round here—or at the jewelry works?"

"I'll warn Mr. Wadsworth, Laura, and he can notify the police. But it's queer Merwell should show himself, knowing there is a warrant out for his arrest. Weren't you mistaken?"

"I don't think so. Of course he had on a slouch hat, drawn down over his eyes, and an unusual suit of clothing, but I am pretty certain it was Merwell."

"Then Haskers must be here, too. They travel together." Dave heaved a sigh. "It's too bad! I wish they were in China, or at the North Pole!"

It was two days after Dave's arrival at Crumville and most of the time had been spent in getting ready for the trip to Montana. Roger and Phil were coming to the house that afternoon, and Dave had received a telegram from Shadow Hamilton that he would accompany the tourists as far as Yellowstone Park. The other lads were unable to make the necessary arrangements.

It was lunch time and Dave lost no time in going to Mr. Wadsworth, who had just come in from his jewelry works. Both of them, accompanied by Dave's father, went into the library to talk the matter over, so that Jessie and her mother might not be disturbed.

"I'll see the police about this," said Mr. Wadsworth, when he had heard about Merwell. "If possible, we must place this young scamp where that fellow Jasniff is, behind the bars."

"I wish they could arrest Haskers, too," sighed Dave.

"I don't see how we can—we have no charge against him," answered the manufacturer.

It was about three o'clock when Roger and Phil came in. As my old readers know, the senator's son and Dave's sister were on unusually good terms with each other, and the greeting between them was very cordial.

"But I don't like you for one thing, Roger," said Laura, half reproachfully. "I don't like this idea of Dave going off to look for that lost mine."

"Oh, we won't be away from you long, Laura."

"And the danger—not only to Dave but to—to you," went on the girl, and gave him a look that meant much.

"We'll be careful," answered the senator's son. "But I hate awfully to worry you," he added, in a lower tone.

For Phil, Laura had some good news, which was to the effect that Belle Endicott, the daughter of the owner of Star Ranch, where the young folks had spent such an enjoyable summer, had written that she would join the party at Livingston, for the trip through Yellowstone Park. Phil had always admired Belle, she was so dashing and so full of fun, and the news was just to his liking.

"We'll have the best times ever!" he cried. "That is, after Dave and Roger and Shadow and I get back from locating that lost mine!"

"You talk as if it was going to be the easiest thing in the world to locate the Landslide Mine!" laughed Roger. "I think it is going to be hard work—and we may not get a trace of it."

"Did you bring those papers and that map?" questioned Dave.

"I did."

"Let us go over them now," cried Phil. But this was not to be, for there were other things to attend to just then, and the girls demanded a good share of the boys' attention.

The following morning found the three youths in a summer-house attached to the Wadsworth estate. This was located down near a tiny brook and was overgrown with vines and bushes. It was a cozy retreat, especially on such a hot day in July, and the boys proceeded to make themselves at home by throwing off their coats and caps.

"Now let us get down to business on this thing," said Dave; whereupon the senator's son brought forth his papers, and the map of the mining district wherein the Landslide Mine was supposed to be located.

"That lost mine is supposed to be somewhere along this old trail," said Roger, pointing with his finger. "This trail is known as the Rodman Trail, because a fellow named Billy Rodman discovered it. As near as I can make out, the papers say the mine was on this Rodman Trail, half a mile north of Stony Cut and to the west of the Four Rocks."

"Huh! That ought to be dead easy to locate," was Phil's comment. "All we have to do is to walk along the trail half a mile beyond Stony Cut and then to the west of the Four Rocks,—and there you are."

"Exactly, except for two things," replied Roger. "The landslide wiped out Stony Cut and the Four Rocks, too."

"Oh!"

"But some one must have some idea where Stony Cut was located," said Dave.

"My idea is to hunt up that old miner, Abe Blower, and see if he can't locate Stony Cut for us, even approximately, and tell us something about Four Rocks—how it used to look before the great landslide. Then, after we've got that information, we'll start on the hunt."

"Do you think we'll find Abe Blower in Butte, Montana?" asked Phil.

"More than likely. He was there some time ago, mother heard. He and Uncle Maurice used to be great chums."

"And are you sure the mine is valuable?" queried Phil, after a pause.

"It must be, otherwise my uncle wouldn't have been so anxious about it."

Again the boys went over the papers and also the map, talking the proposed trip over from various points of view. They all agreed that locating the lost mine would be no easy task.

"Supposing somebody else locates it?" said Phil, presently. "Couldn't he lay claim to it?"

"I don't know about that—I suppose so, since the mine is now completely lost."

"I hope you can find this Abe Blower and get him to go with us," said Dave. "An old prospector like that ought to know that territory well."

"Blower does know it—so they say."

"Did you ever meet him?" questioned Phil.

"No, I never even heard of him until Uncle Maurice died and left his property to mother."

"Then you don't know what kind of a man he is?"

"Oh, he must be pretty nice, or my uncle wouldn't have had him for a friend. I've no doubt that he is rough—many of that sort are—but I feel certain——"

Roger stopped short, as a strange crashing in some bushes back of the summer-house reached his ears and the ears of the others.

"What's that?" cried Dave. "Some animal?"

"Hi, what are you doing there?" came, in the voice of the Wadsworth gardener. "Come here, I want to talk to you!"

"Somebody is in those bushes!" exclaimed Roger, and ran from the summer-house, followed by his chums.

They were just in time to find Joseph, the new gardener, running after a young fellow who was making his way through an apple orchard on the other side of the brook. Joseph was somewhat stout and not quick of foot, and the young fellow easily outdistanced him, leaped the orchard fence, and hurried down the back road.

"Who was it, Joseph?" demanded Dave, when the gardener came up, all out of breath.

"I—don't—know—sir!" gasped the man, puffing for breath. "He—was—hiding—in the bushes back of—the—summer-house."

"Hiding here!" cried Dave. He looked at his chums. "Can it have been Merwell?" he murmured.

"Would he dare come here?" asked Phil.

"He dared to come to Crumville, after he knew there was a warrant out for his arrest."

"How did that fellow look?" questioned Roger.

"I didn't see his face, sir," answered the gardener, who had now recovered somewhat. "He had on a soft hat and a brown, baggy suit."

"That's the way Merwell was togged out, so Laura said!" cried Dave. "Fellows, it must have been Link! Now what do you know about that!"

"Do you think he heard what we said?" asked Roger, much disturbed.

"He must have, if he was hiding in those bushes," answered Phil.

"Wonder how long he was there?"

None of the boys could answer that question, nor could the gardener enlighten them. Joseph had been coming along the side of the orchard when he had espied the fellow and had called to him, thinking it was some boy from Crumville who had sneaked up to steal some of the orchard fruit. He had been surprised when the fellow dashed away so quickly.

"Maybe he wasn't alone," suggested Roger. "Let us take a look around."

This was done, but nobody else seemed to be near. Much disturbed, the three lads walked all over the place, and even down the back road in the direction the intruder had fled.

"If it was Merwell he must have heard all that was said," remarked the senator's son, gravely.

"If he did, it won't do him any good," answered Phil. "I don't think he'll hunt for that mine."

"He may follow us and try to make trouble," returned Dave. "He is very bitter—and so is Job Haskers. They'd put themselves out a whole lot to give us a black eye, so to speak."

"Oh, I know that."

Much disturbed, the three youths returned to the house, where Roger put his map and papers in a safe place in his trunk—the one he was to take on the trip West. In the meantime Dave telephoned to the police, telling them that Merwell had been seen in the vicinity of the Wadsworth mansion. He was glad of the fact that Mrs. Wadsworth and the girls had gone out to do some shopping, for he did not wish to alarm them further.

In the meantime, down the hot and dusty road in the rear of the orchard ran the young fellow who had leaped the fence. It was indeed Link Merwell, sour-faced, and with that same cunning look as of old in his eyes.

He kept on for fully a quarter of a mile, then suddenly plunged into a strip of woodland. There, beside a large stream of water, were the ruins of an old stone house.

Link Merwell stopped running and after a stealthy look around, emitted a clear, short whistle. This he repeated twice.

From behind the ruins of the stone house a man appeared, with a soft hat drawn well down over his forehead. The man was Job Haskers.

"Back again, eh?" snapped the former teacher of Oak Hall. "Did you do it?" he questioned, curiously.

"No, I didn't get the chance," answered Link Merwell. He sank on a log and fanned himself with his hat.

"Humph! Better let it go then. If they see you, they'll be after you."

"They are after me, Haskers."

"They are! Then let us get out at once!" And the former teacher plainly showed his nervousness.

"I'm willing," returned Link Merwell. "I've changed my mind about doing something here," he went on. "We can do something somewhere else—something that will pay us both big."

"What do you mean?"

"We can go after a fortune that is coming to Roger Morr's mother. It's the Landslide Mine, and it's lost. Haskers, if we can locate that mine, our fortunes are made! Come on, and I'll tell you all about it while we are getting away from this place. We must go West just as fast as we can make it!"



CHAPTER XII

ON THE WAY WEST

"Off at last!"

"Hurrah for the West!"

"And the Landslide Mine, Roger, don't forget that!"

"What a splendid day for beginning the trip!"

"Say, we make quite a crowd, don't we?"

"Wonder if the train will be on time, Dave?"

"I suppose so. Special excursions are supposed to start on time. Is everybody here, and have we all our baggage?"

"I've got all of mine," returned Laura. "How about you, Jessie?"

"I've got my hand-bag. The trunk went with the other trunks."

"Say, seeing this crowd, puts me in mind of a story," burst out Shadow Hamilton. "Once some tourists—"

"Oh, Shadow!" came from several in concert.

"Better keep the story until after we are on the way," cried Dave, gayly. "We'll have plenty of time on the train. It's a four-days' trip to Yellowstone Park, remember."

"Here comes the train!" was the cry.

The scene was the Crumville station. The little platform was crowded with the folks who were going on the personally-conducted tour to that place of many wonders, Yellowstone Park. Mr. Basswood was on hand, wearing a blue and gold badge, and so was one of the local ministers, and these two had charge of the tour, these and a railroad official who had to look after connections and meals. In the crowd were the boys and girls, and also Mrs. Wadsworth, Mr. Dunston Porter, and about forty others from Crumville and vicinity. The tour was being run at a very reasonable rate, considering the accommodations afforded, and many were taking advantage of this fact to see Yellowstone Park, with its wonderful geysers, its curious boiling "paint pots," and its bears and buffaloes. The minister had once given a lecture on the Park and this had stimulated curiosity to go and see this land of such natural wonders. It is a great national reservation that every American ought to be glad to visit.

As the train rolled into the station the crowd got aboard and the porters showed the tourists to their seats. All of the "Porter tribe," as Phil dubbed them, were together. Mrs. Wadsworth and another lady had a stateroom, and next to this Laura and Jessie had a section, with Dave and Roger opposite. Then came the other boys, and Mr. and Mrs. Basswood and Dunston Porter. The Crumville contingent filled two cars, and there were three more cars from neighboring towns. To the front were a baggage and a dining-car and to the rear an observation car.

"All aboard!" was the cry.

"Good-by!"

"Don't forget to write!"

"Here, Tom, don't forget your valise!"

"Be sure to look for Brother Jack in Chicago!"

"Be sure to get some good pictures!"

"Don't forget some souvenirs!"

Then came more cries, and the waving of numerous handkerchiefs; and off rolled the excursion train, on its long western trip, Dave waving his cap to his father and Mr. Wadsworth, who had come down to the depot to see the party off.

It took some little time to settle down on the train. They had left Crumville at half-past ten and almost before the young folks knew it, it was time for lunch. Quite naturally Dave escorted Jessie to the dining-car, while Roger took Laura, and Mr. Dunston Porter looked after Mrs. Wadsworth.

"I hope the good weather continues," said Jessie, as she sat down with Dave. "It will add so much to the trip."

"Oh, I've ordered nothing but the best of weather," he replied, with a smile.

"Tell me, Dave," she whispered, "did you hear anything more about that Link Merwell?"

"Not a word, Jessie."

"You are sure it was he who was behind the summer-house that day?"

"Fairly sure. Of course, we might have been mistaken. But we know he was in Crumville—Laura was sure of that—and it would be just like him to sneak up to our place to see what he could do to annoy or injure us."

"Oh, if only they would leave you alone, Dave!" and the girl sighed deeply.

"Don't you worry, Jessie; I can take care of myself."

The lunch was a delightful one, and with so little to do, the young folks took their time over the repast. Then they drifted back to the observation car, and the boys saw to it that the girls and the ladies got good seats, where they might see all that they passed.

The afternoon found them rolling in the direction of Buffalo, which they were to reach before it was time to retire for the night. Then the train would pass through Cleveland while they slept, on its way to Chicago.

"I'll be glad to get a look at Chicago," said Ben Basswood, who had not done much traveling.

"We are to take a tour in a rubber-neck wagon," he added.

"A rubber-neck wagon!" cried his mother. "Benjamin, what language!"

"Well, that is what they usually call the touring automobiles," he answered, with a grin.

To some of the folks on the trip, going to bed on a train was much of a novelty, and they watched with interest while the porters made up the berths.

"Do you remember the time we had Billy Dill along, and what he thought of sleeping on a train?" remarked Dave, to Phil and Roger.

"I sure do," answered the shipowner's son, with a chuckle. "When he saw the seats converted into beds he wanted to know if they didn't have a ballroom aboard, or a church, or a farm," and at the recollection of the old tar's questions all in the party had to laugh.

"Where is this Billy Dill now?" asked Shadow.

"Safe in an old sailors' home," answered Dave. "He took a trip or two to sea, but he couldn't stand it, so we had him put in the home."

"You've got him to thank for a good deal, Dave," remarked the senator's son, in low tones.

"Yes, and I'll never forget Billy Dill," answered our hero, as he remembered how the old tar had helped him to find his Uncle Dunston, as related in detail in "Dave Porter in the South Seas."

Mr. Dunston Porter had found some congenial spirits in the smoking-compartment of the car and spent a good deal of his time there. He met a man who had done considerable hunting in the West, and the two "swapped yarns," as Mr. Porter said afterwards.

Only a short stop was made at Buffalo, just long enough to allow the boys and some of the men to stretch their legs on the depot platform, and then the excursion train started on its trip along the shore of Lake Erie towards the great Windy City, as Chicago is sometimes called.

Morning found the party well on the way to Chicago, and that metropolis of the Great Lakes was reached about noon. Lunch had already been served, and at the depot all hands found a string of touring automobiles awaiting them, to take them around to various points of interest, including the business section, the finer residential district, and Lincoln Park, with its Zooelogical Garden. Some of the party went in a different direction, to visit the Stock Yards, that great place where hundreds of cattle are slaughtered daily.

"By the great tin dipper!" cried Phil, suddenly, when waiting for the automobile in which he and some others sat to start off. "Look who's here!"

"Jim Murphy!" cried Dave and Roger, in a breath.

"So it is!" came from Shadow. "Hi, Jim!" he called out. "Don't you know us any more?"

The young man they addressed, a tall fellow of Irish parentage, who stood on the sidewalk, turned swiftly. Then his face broke into a grin, and he rushed forward.

"Sure, an' what do you think of this now!" he exclaimed. "Dave Porter, an' Phil Lawrence, an' Roger Morr, and Shadow Hamilton, an', sure enough, Ben Basswood! Say, what is this, a tour o' Oak Hall boys!" and the former monitor of that institution of learning smiled more broadly than ever.

"We are on an excursion," explained Dave, and gave some details. "What are you doing in Chicago, Jim?" he went on.

"Sure I got a job here, after I left Oak Hall."

"What are you doing?" questioned Roger.

"I'm one of the gatemen in the train shed. But I expect to get a better job than that in a week or two—it's promised to me," added the former monitor. "An', by the way, lots of Oak Hall boys passing through Chicago now," he continued.

"What do you mean?" asked Phil, quickly. "Whom did you see?"

"Saw Teddy Fells about a week ago, and two days ago I saw Link Merwell."

"Merwell!" came from several of the youths.

"Was he alone?" questioned Dave.

"No, he had Mr. Haskers with him. Haskers lost his job at the Hall, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"I thought so, for the minute he and Merwell spotted me they got out of sight in a hurry."

"Where were they going?" asked Phil.

"I'm sure I don't know. They got off the Eastern Express, and left the depot in a hurry. They acted as if they didn't want anybody to notice 'em."

"All ready!" came the cry of the man in charge of the touring automobiles, and then one after another the turnouts rolled away from the depot.

"Shall we stay here and look into this?" asked Dave, of Roger and Phil.

"What's the use?" returned the shipowner's son. "It isn't likely they are here now." And then the boys waved a good-by to big Jim Murphy, and the automobile passed out of the former monitor's sight.

Laura and Jessie had heard what was said and they were as much disturbed as the boys themselves, if not more so.

"Oh, Dave, do you think Haskers and Merwell are following you?" asked his sister, anxiously.

"They can't be following us if they are ahead of us," he replied, with a faint smile.

"Well, you know what I mean."

"I don't know what to think, Laura. Merwell may be going West to join his folks. They are somewhere out there."

"But Haskers——"

"He may be sticking to Link because Link has money—he gets it from his parents, who don't want to see him caught and sent to prison, as was the case with Jasniff. I think Job Haskers was always a good sponge when it came to getting something out of other people."

"Maybe you are right. Oh, I hope we don't meet them on this trip!" And Laura shuddered; she could not exactly tell why.

The touring trip took the Crumville folks first to the business section of Chicago, and the man in front, with a megaphone, bawled out the various points of interest. Then the touring-cars, in a sort of procession, moved to a residential section, fronting Lake Michigan, with its palatial homes.

"Just as fine as Riverside Drive, New York," was Dave's comment.

"Every large city in the United States has its beautiful section," remarked Dunston Porter.

They were soon in Lincoln Park, and here a stop was made to look at the animals in the Zoo. The young people had a good deal of fun with the monkeys, and with a couple of bears that stood up to box each other.

Five o'clock found the party back to the depot, ready to board the train once more. As they stood near the car steps talking, a porter of the car touched Roger on the arm.

"Excuse me, Mr. Morr," he said, "but did you send a man here for your suit-case?"

"I certainly did not!" cried the senator's son.

"You didn't!" gasped the colored porter, and at once showed his excitement. "Well, one came here, with a written order for your suit-case, and I done gave it to him!"



CHAPTER XIII

DAVE SEES SOMETHING

"You gave somebody my suit-case!" cried the senator's son, while a number of tourists gathered around, to learn what was going on.

"Yes, sah!" returned the colored porter of the car. Plainly he was much distressed. "He had an order, sah," he added, and fumbled in one pocket after another, at last bringing out a crumbled bit of writing paper. "Here it is, sah!"

Roger took the slip and read it, with Dave and Phil looking over his shoulders. The sheet read as follows:

"Porter, Car Medora: Deliver to bearer my suit-case. Roger A. Morr."

"This is a forgery—I never wrote it!" cried the senator's son. "It's some swindler's trick!"

"I—I didn't know you didn't write it," faltered the porter. "I axed the man where you was and he said you was visitin' his house and wanted to show him something you had in the case."

"Do you know what I think?" exclaimed Dave. "I think this is the work of Link Merwell!"

"Yes, and Job Haskers," added Phil. "They are working together."

"But why did they steal my suit-case?" asked Roger. "Do you suppose——?" He stopped short, for strangers were about. He was on the point of mentioning the map and instructions he carried for locating the Landslide Mine. Dave and Phil, as well as Ben and Shadow, understood.

"Did you have anything in the case outside of your clothing?" whispered the shipowner's son.

"Only a few things of no importance," answered Roger. He tapped his breast pocket. "Those papers are here, and my money is here, too."

"Good!" murmured Dave. "Then Merwell and Haskers will be sold—outside of getting your clothing."

The porter was closely questioned, but could give no very good description of the man who had presented the order for the suit-case.

"I was busy—waitin' on an old lady wot was sick," he explained. "I jess read that order and got the suit-case, and he went off in a hurry. I'm mighty sorry I let him have the bag. But he had the order, all signed," and the porter rolled his eyes mournfully.

"I can't say that I blame you," answered Roger. "But after this——"

"I won't give away nuffin to nobody," cried the porter, quickly.

The matter was talked over for several minutes, and then it was time for the train to leave Chicago. The paper looked as if it might be in Link Merwell's handwriting and the boys concluded that he was the guilty party. Probably he had come to the train, knowing our friends were away on the sight-seeing tour, and possibly he had been disguised, maybe with a false mustache, or wig, or both. The porter was almost certain the man had worn a heavy black mustache.

"Well, all I lost was one suit of clothes, some shirts and collars, a few neckties and some underclothes, and a comb and brush, and toothbrush," remarked Roger, when the train was once more on its way. "It's a total loss of about sixty dollars."

"Maybe you can make the railroad pay it," suggested Shadow.

"Perhaps. But I am thankful that those rascals didn't get what they were after. They must have thought I carried those papers in the suit-case." Such was indeed the truth, and it was Merwell who had forged Roger's signature and gotten the traveling bag. It may be added here that, later on, the railroad company offered to pay for the loss of the suit-case and its contents, doing this very promptly when it was learned that the loser was the son of a United States senator.

On and on rolled the excursion train, and after the excitement attending the loss of the suit-case was over, the boys and girls settled down to enjoy themselves. Dave and the other lads loaned Roger such things as he needed, until he could get at his trunk in the baggage-car.

The next morning found the train in St. Paul, and there the tourists spent a day, riding around the city and visiting Minneapolis, which is but a short distance away. By nightfall they were on board once more and bound for Livingston, a small place, where a branch-line runs a distance of about fifty miles southward to Gardiner, the northern entrance to Yellowstone Park. At Livingston, Dave and his chums were to separate from the others and keep on westward to Butte, where they hoped to fall in with Abe Blower, the old miner and prospector.

"Oh, Dave, it won't be long now before we separate!" said Jessie with a sigh. It was the second day of the trip after leaving St. Paul, and the two were by themselves on the observation end of the train.

"Well, I don't think it will be for long," he said, as cheerfully as possible. "We'll soon join you in the Park."

"I—I wouldn't mind it so much if it was not for that Link Merwell—and that old Haskers!" continued the girl. "Oh, Dave, you must be careful!" and she caught him by the arm.

"I'm going to keep my eyes open for them," Dave answered, and, as nobody was looking, he caught her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "Will you miss me, Jessie, while I am gone?" he continued, in a low tone.

"Terribly!" she whispered.

"I'll miss you, too. But it sha'n't be for long that I'll be away—I promise you that."

"Oh, you must find the mine if you can, Dave. I rather think the Morrs are depending on it. Laura said Roger looked very much worried when he got that letter in St. Paul."

"Yes, matters are not going well with the senator's affairs—I know that, Jessie. If he gets out of politics he'll have to do something else. Finding this lost gold mine would be a big lift for the whole family."

Then Laura came out, in company with Roger, and soon the others followed. It was a perfect day, as clear as could be, and off in the distance could be seen the mountains.

"Going to shoot any bears out there in the Park?" asked Shadow, of Dunston Porter, with a grin.

"Hardly, Shadow, since outsiders are not allowed to carry firearms," replied Dave's uncle. "Only the United States soldiers are armed in the Park."

"Somebody told me the bears were tame enough to eat out of your hand," said Phil.

"Maybe they are, but I shouldn't advise anybody to feed them that way," answered Mr. Porter. "A bear isn't naturally a sociable creature."

It had been decided that Dunston Porter should go into the Park with the ladies and the girls, letting the boys shift for themselves in the search for Abe Blower and the lost Landslide Mine. An hour before the time for parting came Dunston Porter called Dave, Roger, and Phil to him, in a car that was practically vacated at the time.

"Now, I want to caution all of you to be careful," said the old hunter and traveler. "This isn't the East, remember. It's the West, and in some places it is as wild and woolly as can be. But I don't think you'll have any trouble if you mind your own business and keep your eyes open. Don't rely too much on strangers, and I think it will be wise for all of you to keep together as much as possible. Don't show any more cash than you have to. And remember, you can always reach us in the Park, by telegraph or long-distance telephone."

"We'll try to take care of ourselves," said Dave; and then his uncle continued to give the youths advice, on one subject or another, until it was time to get ready to leave the train.

"Livingston!" was the cry presently, and the excursion train rolled into the long depot. It was to stop there for fifteen minutes and then proceed to Gardiner.

"There is Belle!" cried Laura.

"I see her!" put in Phil, and was the first to reach the platform and shake the girl from Star Ranch by the hand. Belle Endicott looked the picture of health, and was glad to greet them all.

"Sorry we can't visit awhile," said Roger.

"We'll do that after we come back," added Phil.

"Well, good-by everybody!" cried Dave, shaking hands with many, an example followed by those who were to go with him.

"Wish I was going on that hunt for the mine with you," said Ben, who had to remain with his folks.

"So do I," added Shadow, who was to stay with Ben.

"Never mind, we'll rely on you to look after the girls," answered Dave.

"Oh, we can do that," said Ben, with a grin.

"Say, that puts me in mind of a story," cried Shadow. "No reflection on the girls here," he added, hastily. "Once on a time a young minister paid a visit to some relatives in the country. He got a letter stating they'd be glad to have him come and would he attend a picnic in the woods and help to take care of four girls. He wrote back that he would be delighted. When he arrived and started for the picnic he found the four girls waiting for him—four old maids from thirty to forty years of age!" And at this joke a smile went around, in which the girls joined.

Soon the last of the good-bys had been said. The girls were on the observation end of the last car, and as the train rolled onward towards Yellowstone Park they waved their handkerchiefs and the boys on the platform swung their caps. Then the train slowly disappeared from view.

"Well, here we are," said Phil, with something like a sigh.

"We've got an hour to wait before that train comes along for Butte," said Roger, consulting his watch.

"How far is Butte?" went on the shipowner's son.

"About a hundred miles, as the crow flies," answered Dave. "But I guess it is longer by the railroad, and we'll have some climbing to do—to get into the Rockies."

"Say, supposing we ask the men around here if they saw anything of Merwell and Haskers?" suggested the senator's son.

"It won't do any harm," answered Dave.

Inquiries were made of the baggage-master, a ticket-seller, and half a dozen other men around the depot. But none of them remembered having seen the pair mentioned.

"They probably kept out of sight," was Dave's comment. "They would be afraid we were on their trail, or that we had telegraphed ahead about them."

From the station-master they learned that their train was two hours behind time, and would not reach Butte until late that night. This being so, they left their baggage on check at the depot and took a stroll around, looking at the sights. Then they found a small restaurant and got what they called supper, although it was not a very good meal.

When the train came along it proved to be crowded, for there had been a sale of public and private lands not far away and many of the disappointed would-be buyers were on board.

"We can't take any through passengers," said the conductor, and waved the boys back.

"We only want to go to Butte," answered Roger.

"Oh, all right then. Take the forward car, next to the baggage-car. But I don't think you'll find any seats. We are swamped because of the land sale."

The boys ran forward, after making sure that their baggage was tumbled into a baggage-car. As the conductor had said, the cars were overcrowded, and they had to stand up in the aisle. A number of the men were smoking and they continued to do so, even though it was against the rules.

"Pretty rough-looking crowd," whispered Phil, after the train had started.

"Not all bad," was Dave's comment. "But some of them are certainly the limit," and he nodded towards one crowd that were talking loudly and using language that was anything but choice. In this crowd one fellow in particular, a tall, thin, leathery individual, called by the others Sol Blugg, seemed to be a leading spirit.

About half an hour had passed, and the conductor had just gone through collecting tickets, when the man called Blugg pushed up alongside another man who sat on the arm of a rear seat.

"Say, do you know what Staver jest told me?" he exclaimed.

"No, what?" demanded the other man.

"He says as how he is almost sure Abe Blower put this crimp in our land deal," responded the man called Blugg.

"Abe Blower!" exclaimed the other. "Say, maybe thet's right. Blower ain't got no use fer our crowd. Well, if he did it, he better look out!"



CHAPTER XIV

IN BUTTE

Dave overheard the conversation between the two rough-looking men in the crowded car, and so did Phil and Roger. All glanced at each other suggestively.

"Do you think they are talking about the Abe Blower we want to find?" asked Roger of Dave, in a whisper.

"More than likely, Roger," was the answer. "It is not likely that there are two Abe Blowers in this part of the country. It's not a common name, like Smith."

"Listen," whispered Phil, for the two men had begun to talk again.

"I lost a lot of money by havin' thet land deal fall through," growled the fellow called Blugg.

"So did I," responded the man on the arm of the car seat. "We all did."

"If Abe Blower knows we are on his trail he'll keep out o' sight."

"Maybe; although Blower wa'n't never the fellow to take backwater," responded the other, doubtfully.

"We'll git him yet; see if we don't," was the savage response. And then followed some conversation in such a low tone that the boys could not hear what was said.

But it was easy to surmise one thing, which was that these men hated Abe Blower most cordially. And because of this, and because they had heard that Blower was a strictly upright, honest man, the chums concluded that these fellows in the car had been trying in some manner to put through some land deal that was not strictly fair, and that Abe Blower had foiled their designs.

Presently a third man, a fellow named Larry Jaley, joined the others. All were very bitter against Abe Blower, and each vowed that he would "git square" with the old prospector sooner or later. From their talk the boys learned that the men, along with some others of the crowd, were stopping in Butte at the Solid Comfort House, a place that, so they afterwards learned, bore a very shady reputation. Nothing was said about where Abe Blower was stopping, and the youths did not dare to inquire, for fear of making the men suspicious.

"They might think we were friends of Blower sent to spy on them," said Phil. "They must know we have heard some of their talk."

"If Abe Blower is so well known in Butte it ought to be an easy matter to find him," returned Dave. "We can look for him in the directory and the telephone book, and ask for him at the hotels and mining offices."

"And remember, I have one of his old addresses," said Roger. "Maybe the folks at that place know where he has gone."

It was dark when they rolled into the railroad station at Butte, a typical western mining city, with a population of about thirty-five thousand souls.

"No use in trying to do anything to-night," said Roger, who was tired and knew his chums must be the same. "We'll go to some first-class hotel and start on our hunt for Blower in the morning."

"Yes, I'm dead tired," answered Phil, who had been yawning for the last hour.

The boys had the address of a good hotel, and were soon on the way to the place. They saw the man called Sol Blugg start off down a side street with his companions.

"I wish we would run into Link Merwell and Job Haskers," remarked Dave, as they hurried towards the hotel.

"What good would that do?" demanded the senator's son.

"Then I'd know they hadn't left Butte to look for that lost mine."

"Humph! you don't suppose they are going to find it all in a minute, do you, Dave?" asked Phil.

"No, but an idea just struck me."

"What?" asked both of the others.

"Supposing Merwell and Haskers should hunt up Blower and see what he had to say about the lost mine."

"Phew!" cried Roger. "Do you think they'd dare?"

"They might. They have done some pretty bold things lately. Link is real reckless."

Roger came to a halt on the pavement.

"Maybe we had better hunt for Abe Blower right away," he declared.

"Oh, come on, and get to bed," yawned Phil. "Where are you going to look for him this time of night?"

"I don't know, exactly. But we could make some inquiries."

"Let us go to the hotel first," said Dave. "Then, after we have secured rooms, we can hunt around, if we want to."

A little later they found themselves at the hotel, where they secured two rooms with a bath. At the desk they asked the clerk if he knew an old miner and prospector named Abe Blower.

"Seems to me I've heard the name," replied the clerk. "But I can't just place it. You might ask Tom Dillon, over yonder. He knows all the old-timers in Butte," and the clerk pointed to a man who sat in a corner of the hotel lobby, reading a newspaper.

Tom Dillon, round-faced and white-haired, put down his paper and smiled as the boys came up and addressed him. He was an old-time miner, who had "struck it rich," and who had known how to take care of his wealth.

"Sure, I know most of the old-timers!" he exclaimed, genially, in reply to Roger's question. "Who are you looking for?"

"Let me introduce myself first," said Roger. He gave his name and also those of his chums. "I am the nephew of the late Maurice Harrison, of this place."

"You don't tell me! Maurice's nevvy, eh? Then you must be the son o' Senator Morr, o' the East?"

"Yes."

"Glad to know ye! Put her there, young man!" And Tom Dillon shook hands cordially all around. "Yes, I knowed your uncle well—we did a bit of prospectin' together onct. It broke me all up to hear how he died—so many o' the old-timers droppin' off."

"It was a great shock to our family," replied Roger. "Perhaps you know what brought me to Butte," he continued, looking at the old miner, questioningly.

"To settle up the estate, I reckon."

"In a way, yes. I suppose you have heard about that lost mine?"

"What, the Landslide? Sure. An' she's gone fer good, lad; don't bank on ever findin' it ag'in, for if you do, well, I think ye'll be disapp'inted." And Tom Dillon shook his head slowly.

"You really think it can't be found?" asked Dave.

"I ain't sayin' that. But chances are all ag'in it. Whar that mine was located, the big landslide changed the hull face o' nature, an' all kinds o' landmarks have been teetotally lost."

"Well, I am going to do what I can," put in Roger. "And my two chums are going to help me. But I was going to ask you a question. The clerk suggested that we ask you. Do you know an old miner named Abe Blower?"

"Sure."

"Can you tell me where he is now?"

"He lives with an old lady named Carmody, on the other side o' town. She is some kind o' a relative of his, and came on from the South to keep house fer him. But he ain't home much. He spends most of his time prospectin'. Seems like he can't give it up."

"I wish you'd give me his address," said the senator's son, and, having received it, put it down in a note-book.

As late as it was, it was decided to walk across town to where Abe Blower resided, and the three boys set out without delay.

"I'd get a cab, if any was around," said Roger, who saw how tired Phil was.

"Maybe, Phil, you had better go to bed and let Roger and me go to Blower's home," suggested Dave.

"No, if you go, I'll go too," declared the shipowner's son, who never cared to be left behind when anything was going on.

The place where Abe Blower resided was down at the end of a side street, which, at this hour of the night, was dark and deserted. They had some little difficulty in finding the right number. The house stood back from the street, and not a single light shone within it.

"Everybody gone to bed," announced Dave. "It seems like a shame to wake them up."

"I'll wait till morning," announced the senator's son. "Now we know just where the place is, we can come here directly after breakfast." And so it was settled.

At the hotel Phil found himself so tired that he pitched into bed with scant ceremony. After the long trip on the train, Dave felt that he needed a bath and took it, followed by Roger. Then all went sound asleep, not to awaken until daylight. Then Phil took a good "soak," as he called a bath, and all dressed for an early breakfast. In the dining-room they met Mr. Dillon.

"Find Abe last night?" asked the old miner, with a smile.

"We located the house and are going over there right after we eat," answered the senator's son. "And by the way, Mr. Dillon," he continued. "Do you know any men named Blugg, Jaley, and Staver?"

"Do I!" cried Tom Dillon. "Sure I do, an' so do lots of other folks in these diggin's. What do you know about 'em?"

"We met them on the train."

"Don't ye have nothin' to do with that crowd, lads. They ain't the sort you want to train with, nohow."

"We are not going to train with them," said Dave.

"We thought they were pretty hard customers," added Phil.

"They mentioned Abe Blower and one of them said he thought Blower had queered some sort of a land deal they were trying to put through," continued Roger.

"Is that so! Well, if Abe did that I give him credit for it, I sure do. Those fellers are swindlers, pure an' simple. But they generally work in sech a way that the law can't tech 'em. I ain't got no use for 'em—and I reckon Abe ain't neither," went on the old miner, vigorously. And then he sat down to breakfast with the boys, telling them much about Butte, and the mining country around it, and about what dealings he had had with Roger's uncle.

"A square man he was," he said. "And a great pity the way he dropped off and had his mine lost by a landslide."

The meal over, the three boys lost no time in walking over to the other side of the city, where Abe Blower lived. They found the front windows of the house open and an elderly woman was sweeping off the front stoop with a broom.

"Good-morning," said Roger, politely. "Is this Mrs. Carmody?"

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Carmody," was the reply, and the old lady looked questioningly into Roger's face. "I don't seem to remember you," she went on.

"We never met before, Mrs. Carmody," answered Roger, and introduced himself and his chums. "I came to see Mr. Abe Blower."

The woman looked quite bewildered, so much so that the boys were astonished. She dropped her broom.

"Did you say you was Roger Morr?" she gasped, looking at the senator's son.

"Yes."

"Then what brought you here—lookin' fer Abe?"

It was now Roger's turn to be surprised.

"Why do you ask that?" he questioned. "I came because I want to have a talk with him, and maybe get him to help me look for a lost mine."

"Well, I never!" gasped Mrs. Carmody, and looked more bewildered than ever.

"Isn't Mr. Blower here?" asked Dave. A sudden idea had sprung into his mind.

"Of course he isn't here. I—I—don't understand this at all—really, I don't."

"Don't understand what?" asked Roger.

"Your bein' here, after the letter Abe sent yesterday afternoon. Didn't you say your name was Roger Morr?"

"Yes."

"Then you went off with Abe, didn't you?"

"Me?" cried Roger. "Why, I have never seen him as yet."

"Never seen him!" gasped Mrs. Carmody. "Well, I never! Of all the queer things! What can it mean?" And she walked to a chair on the stoop and sank down heavily.



CHAPTER XV

AT ABE BLOWER'S HOME

The boys saw at once that something was wrong. Mrs. Carmody was completely bewildered, and being old, had no easy time of it to collect her wits.

"Do you feel faint?" asked Dave, kindly. "Can I get you a glass of water?"

"No, I'll be all right in a minute. But this beats all, it sure does!" replied the old lady. "Abe wrote that he was going off with a Roger Morr to look for a lost mine, and here you are lookin' for Abe. It sure is a puzzle."

"He wrote that he was going off with me?" ejaculated the senator's son.

"He said Roger Morr. If that's your handle——"

"It certainly is."

"This must be Link Merwell's work!" cried Dave. "Perhaps he met Blower——"

"And impersonated Roger," finished Phil.

"Would he do that?" questioned the senator's son. "Would he dare?"

"He would, if he thought he could get away with the trick," replied Dave. He turned to Mrs. Carmody. "Would you mind letting us see the letter Mr. Blower sent you?"

"Sure. I'll get it. I left it on the table," was the answer, and, getting up, the old lady went into the house. "Come in," she invited. In her younger days she had been used to the rough life of a pioneer and she did not stand on ceremony.

The boys went in, and presently Mrs. Carmody brought forth a letter written in lead pencil on a half-sheet of note paper. It ran as follows:

"DEAR KATE:

"You remember I tole you about Maurice Harrisons sister, who was married to a seanatour of the government. Well, his son, Roger Morr has come on to look for that lost mine—wants for me to go on a hunt with him to onse—so as it is good money I am going—start to nite in a hour—you git Nell Davis to stay with you her an Ben I wont be gone morn a weak or to. ABE."

"That's the letter Abe sent me yesterday," announced Mrs. Carmody. "You see he says Roger Morr, the son of the senator. If that's you, what does it mean?" and she looked at Roger.

"I'll tell you what it means," answered Dave. "It means that somebody else has pretended he is Roger here—an enemy who wants to locate the lost mine first, if he can."

"O dear! Did you ever hear the like! Who was it, do you suppose?"

"We've got a pretty good idea," said Roger. "Nobody you know. But tell me, where did this letter come from?"

"You mean who brought it?"

"Yes."

"Billy Lane."

"Who is he?"

"Oh, a feller around town, who does all sort o' odd jobs."

"Then you don't know where Mr. Blower was when he sent it?"

"No, I don't. But I guess he wasn't very near, otherwise he would have come here hisself, instead o' writin'—for writin' comes hard to Abe—he never had no chanct for much education. And he would want some o' his clothes."

The boys read the letter a second time. All were convinced that Link Merwell had gotten ahead of them and had perpetrated the fraud by impersonating Roger.

"It was certainly a bold stroke," was Phil's comment.

"Yes, and a clever one too, in a way," replied Dave. "From our talk in the summer-house Link must have learned that Blower and the late Mr. Harrison were warm friends, and, that being so, Blower would be willing to do almost anything for Mr. Harrison's nephew. And Link rushed Blower away in a hurry, so that we wouldn't get at him."

"I wonder if Haskers is with him?" mused Roger.

"I shouldn't wonder. If the mine is found, Link can't claim it, for he would be arrested on sight. But he could let Haskers claim it, and then turn it over to somebody else and thus mix it up, so that you would be out of it," answered Dave.

"What do you think I had best do next?" asked the senator's son. The unexpected turn of affairs had bewildered him almost as much as it had bewildered Mrs. Carmody.

"I don't see what you can do, Roger, excepting to start on a hunt for the Landslide Mine without Blower."

"Yes, let us do that!" cried Phil. "Who knows but that we'll run across Blower and Merwell? And if we do, we can easily prove that Link is a fraud."

"Well, we'll have to get some sort of a guide," answered Roger. "It would be utterly useless for us to start out alone in such a country as this."

"We might ask Mr. Dillon to recommend somebody," said Dave. "He appeared to be a reliable man."

The boys talked to Mrs. Carmody for a few minutes longer. They were on the point of leaving the house when there came a loud rap on the front door.

"Perhaps Blower has come back!" cried Phil.

"I don't think he'd knock," answered Dave.

"No, it isn't Abe," said Mrs. Carmody. "I'll go and see who it is."

She went to the door and opened it,—to find herself confronted by a tall, leathery-looking individual whose breath smelt strongly of liquor.

"Is Abe Blower home?" demanded the man, in a thick voice.

"No, he isn't," replied Mrs. Carmody, stiffly. She did not like the appearance of the visitor.

"When will he be home?" went on the man, and tried to force his way into the house.

"I don't know. You can't come in here, Sol Blugg!" And Mrs. Carmody tried to shut the door in the man's face.

"I am a-comin' in," stormed the newcomer. "I'm a-comin' in to wait fer Abe Blower, an' when I meet him—well, we'll have an account to settle," and the man lurched heavily against the door-frame.

"It's one of the fellows we met on the train!" whispered Phil. "The fellow called Sol Blugg!"

"Yes, and that other man, Larry Jaley, is waiting on the sidewalk for him," announced Dave, after a glance through a window. "And neither of them seem to be very sober."

"You get right out of here, Sol Blugg!" cried Mrs. Carmody, with sudden energy. "Abe ain't home, an' I won't have you hangin' around. You get right out!" And she caught up her broom, which chanced to be behind the door.

"Drop the broom, old woman!" snarled Sol Blugg, and it was plain to see that he was befuddled by liquor. "I'm a-comin' in, and you sha'n't stop me!"

He made a sudden grab and caught Mrs. Carmody by the arm. But as he did this, Dave leaped into the little hallway and shoved him back.

"Let go of this lady!" he said, sternly. "Let go, or I'll knock you down!"

Surprised and bewildered, Sol Blugg dropped his hold on Mrs. Carmody's arm and glared uncertainly at our hero.

"Who—who are you?" he faltered.

"Never mind who I am," replied Dave. "You let this lady alone and go about your business."

"I wanter see Abe Blower."

"He has gone away."

"Say, where have I seen you?" demanded the leathery-looking man, suddenly. "Oh, I remember now, on the train, comin' from the land sale. Say, was you there?"

"No."

"I know better! I saw you on the train—you an' them other fellers, too!" And Sol Blugg pointed unsteadily at Phil and Roger. "I know how it is," he went on, ramblingly. "You went there in place o' Abe—queered the hull thing fer us, you did! I know! You're in with Abe, an' Abe's in with you! Thought you'd do us out o' our little game, eh? Say, Larry!" he called to the man on the sidewalk. "Look at these three fellers—same ones was on the train last night. They are in with Abe—and they queered us—put a crimp in the hull game. Now they say Abe ain't here. Wot are we going to do, tell me that now, what are we goin' to do?"

"Them fellers!" exclaimed Larry Jaley, catching sight of the boys. "I remember 'em. Say, maybe they heard us talkin'!"

"Sure—they must have," mumbled Sol Blugg.

"Do you know these men?" asked Mrs. Carmody.

"We saw them on the train last night, that is all," answered Roger. "They said something about Mr. Blower queering a land deal for them."

"Yes, he told me about that, too. They were going to swindle some folks, and Abe heard about it and gave the thing away. Abe won't stand for anything that ain't strictly honest."

"Say, I want you to know——" commenced Sol Blugg, and tried to catch hold of Mrs. Carmody again. But this time Dave was too quick for him. He pushed the man back, turned him around, and sent him flying down the steps to the street.

"Now, you go on!" he cried. "If you don't, you'll get into trouble!"

"That's what!" said Roger.

"Perhaps you'd like to be arrested," added Phil.

"Come on!" said Larry Jaley, in a low voice. "Come on, Sol. I told you it wouldn't do any good to come here."

"I didn't expect to see them young fellers," growled the leathery-looking man. "But I'm a-goin' to git square with Abe Blower, jest wait an' see," he added, thickly; and then he and his companion started up the street and around the first corner.

"The beasts!" murmured Mrs. Carmody, as she gazed after them. "I do wish I had used the broom over Sol Blugg's head! Maybe it would have done him good!"

"You know these men, then?" asked Dave.

"Oh, yes, and Abe knows 'em, too! It seems that, years ago, before I came here, Abe used to train with those men, in the mining camps. But they were a hard crowd, used to drinkin' and gamblin', and Abe gave 'em up and went with men like Mr. Harrison, and Tom Dillon. That made Sol Blugg and his crowd sore, and they often tried to do Abe harm. Now that Abe queered that land swindle for 'em I suppose they are more sore than ever. But I don't think they would have come here, only they have been drinkin'."

"You had better keep on the lookout—they may come back," said Dave.

"I'll keep on guard, don't fear. I've got one of Abe's pistols in the house, and a club, too. And I'll get that neighbor Abe spoke about to stay with me," returned Mrs. Carmody. "But, say," she added, suddenly. "You better keep on guard, too. 'Tain't no nice thing to run up against that bunch, I can tell you that!"

"Yes, we'll have to be on the watch from the very moment we leave this house," said Roger.

The boys talked for a few minutes longer with the old lady, getting what information they could, and then hurried back to their hotel. On the way they kept a sharp lookout for the leathery-looking man and his cronies, but they did not show themselves.

It was an easy matter for them to find old Mr. Dillon, who was reading a mining journal in the smoking-room. He listened with much interest to what they had to tell. As they felt they could trust such a man, they withheld nothing from him.

"It certainly is some game—this trying to locate that lost Landslide Mine," said the old miner. "I've been thinkin' it over again since you told me about it, and it interests me mightily. So you want somebody to go with you, and help you find the right trail, and find Abe Blower? Well, if you don't think I'm too old, I'll go myself!" And he smiled broadly at the boys.



CHAPTER XVI

ON TO BLACK CAT CAMP

"You go!" cried Dave.

"I thought you had given up prospecting," exclaimed Roger.

"Not but that we'd be glad to have you along," put in Phil, hastily.

"Well, I have given up prospecting," answered Mr. Dillon, with that broad smile still on his face. "But I like to go out once in a while, just for the sake of old times. Besides that, I was interested in the Landslide Mine myself in a way."

"How so?" asked the senator's son.

"Well, when Maurice Harrison staked the claim I came along and staked a claim a bit further up the trail. It wasn't near so good a prospect as was the Landslide, but it was pretty fair, and I was sorry to see that landslide come along an' knock us all out. So, if we find the lost Landslide Mine maybe we'll locate my mine, too."

"Come by all means, and welcome, Mr. Dillon!" cried Roger. "If you had that mine you speak about you must know as much about that district as Abe Blower—maybe more."

"I think I know as much, but not any more, lads. Abe is a good prospector, and he knows Montana from end to end, an' Idaho, too, as well as other gold fields. He has made money, too, but he allers spent the cash lookin' fer bigger things, while I salted a good bit o' mine away!" And Tom Dillon chuckled broadly.

The matter was talked over for the best part of an hour, and it was decided to begin the hunt for the Landslide Mine on the following morning.

"There ain't no ust bein' in too much o' a hurry," said Mr. Dillon. "That mine ain't goin' to walk away, and Abe Blower an' those with him ain't goin' to find it right plumb to onct, believe me! I guess the only reason those others hurried so was because they feared you would come along and queer their game with Abe."

"I think that myself," said Roger.

"Abe had a prospectin' outfit all ready—he allers has—up to Black Cat Camp. That's the startin'-point for the Rodman trail, on which the Landslide Mine an' my mine was located. Now we haven't any outfit, so we'll have to git one right here in Butte."

"We'll get whatever you say," answered Roger. "Of course, I don't want to make this too expensive," he added, thinking of something his father had told him—that just at present finances in the Morr family were not at their best.

"We can hire hosses—I know where to git just the right animals," said Tom Dillon. "And we won't pay no fortune for 'em either. And then you'll want some different clothes," and he looked critically at the well-dressed youths.

"Oh, we know that—we have roughed it before," returned Dave. And he mentioned their trip to Star Ranch, to Cave Island, and to the South Sea Islands, Norway, and other out-of-the-way places.

"Well, you sure have traveled some!" exclaimed Tom Dillon. "You'll do for this trip. I'm glad you know how to rough it. I onct had a bunch of tenderfeet along—young fellers from the East, who had never roughed it before—and, believe me, what those chaps didn't know would fill a boomer's wagon twict over. Why, they couldn't wash less'n they had a basin to do it in an' a towel to dry on, an' it mixed 'em all up to try to sleep on the ground rolled in a blanket. An' when it come to grub, well, they was a-lookin' for napkins an' bread-an'-butter plates, an' finger bowls, an' I don't know what all! It jest made me plumb tired, it sure did!" And the old miner sighed deeply.

"We won't give you any trouble that way," said Dave, with a grin. "Regular camp food is good enough for us, and I can sleep almost anywhere if I am tired enough."

"And you can't beat Dave riding," broke in Roger. "When he was at Star Ranch he busted the wildest bronco you ever saw."

"Is that so! Well, I don't like no wild broncos. I like a good, steady hoss, one as can climb the mountain trails and is sure-footed on the edge o' a cliff. That's the kind we'll git," concluded Tom Dillon.

The remainder of the day proved a busy one. The boys went out with the old miner to secure the horses and such an outfit as he deemed necessary. Then they spent part of the evening in writing letters to the folks in Yellowstone Park and at home. Only one letter came in for them—one from Senator Morr to his son—and this made Roger look very sober.

"No bad news, I hope," said Dave, kindly.

"It's about dad's private affairs," was the reply. "Things have taken something of a turn for the worse financially." Roger gave a sigh. "Oh, I do hope we can locate that lost mine!"