"It's well ernough fer you-uns ter remember her, but ye'd best take car' how ye speak o' her. She's got friends in ther maountings—true friends."

Frank was startled, and he felt the hot blood rush to his face. Then, in a moment, he cried:

"Friends! Well, she has no truer friends than the boys she saved to-night! I hope you will not misconstrue our words, Mr. Muriel."

A sound like a smothered laugh came from behind that baffling mask, and Muriel said:

"Yo're hot-blooded. I war simply warnin' you-uns in advance, that's all. I thought it war best."

"It was quite unnecessary. We esteem Miss Kenyon too highly to say anything that can give a friend of hers just cause to strike against us."

"Wal, city chaps are light o' tongue, an' they're apt ter think that ev'ry maounting girl is a fool ef she don't have book learnin'. Some city chaps make their boast how easy they kin 'mash' such gals. Anything like that would count agin' you-uns."

Frank was holding himself in check with an effort.

"It is plain you do not know us, and you have greatly misjudged us. We are not in the mountains to make 'mashes,' and we are not the kind to boast of our conquests."

"Thot's right, me jool!" growled Barney, whose temper was started a bit. "An' it's mesilf thot loikes to be suspected av such a thing. It shtirs me foighting blud."

The Irish lad clinched his fist, and felt of his muscle, moving his forearm up and down, and scowling blackly at the cool chief of moonshiners, as if longing to thump the fellow.

This seemed to amuse Muriel, but still he persisted in further arousing the lads by saying, insinuatingly:

"I war led ter b'lieve that Kate war ruther interested in you-uns by her manner. Thar don't no maounting gal take so much trouble over strangers fer nothin'!"

Frank bit his lip, and Barney looked blacker than ever. It seemed that Muriel was trying to draw them into a trap of some sort, and they were growing suspicious. Had this young leader of mountain ruffians rescued them that he might find just cause or good excuse to put them out of the way?

The boys were silent, and Muriel forced a laugh.

"Wal, ye won't talk about that, an' so we'll go onter somethin' else. I judge you-uns know yo're in a po'erful bad scrape?"

"We have good reasons to think so."

"Begorra! we have thot!" exclaimed Barney, feeling of his neck, and making a wry face, as if troubled by an unpleasant recollection.

"It is a scrape that you-uns may not be able ter git out of easy," Muriel said. "I war able ter save yer from bein' hung 'thout any show at all, but ye're not much better off now."

"If you were powerful enough to save us in the first place, you should be able to get us out of the scrape entirely."

"You-uns don't know all about it. Moonshiners have laws an' regulations, an' even ther leader must stan' by them."

Frank was still troubled by the unpleasant suspicion that Muriel was their enemy, after all that had happened. He felt that they must guard their tongues, for there was no telling what expression the fellow might distort and turn against them.

Seeing neither of the lads was going to speak, Muriel went on:

"Yes, moonshiners have laws and regulations. Ther boys came nigh breakin' one o' ther laws by hangin' you-uns ter-night 'thout givin' ye a show."

"Then we are to have a fair deal?" eagerly cried Frank.

"Ez fair ez anybody gits," assured Muriel, tossing back a lock of his coal-black hair, which he wore long enough to fall to the collar of his coat. "Ain't that all ye kin ask?"

"I don't know. That depends on what kind of a deal it is."

"Wall, ye'll be given yore choice."

"We demand a fair trial. If it is proven that we are revenue spies, we'll have to take our medicine. But if it is not proven, we demand immediate release."

"Take my advice; don't demand anything o' ther Black Caps. Ther more ye demand, ther less ye git."

"We have a right to demand a fair deal."

"Right don't count in this case; it is might that holds ther fort. You-uns stirred up a tiger ag'in' ye when you made Wade Miller mad. It's a slim show that ye escape ef we-uns lets yer go instanter. He'd foller yer, an' he'd finish yer somewhar."

"We will take our chances on that. We have taken care of ourselves so far, and we think we can continue to do so. All we ask is that we be set at liberty and given our weapons."

"An' ye'd be found with yer throats cut within ten miles o' hyar."

"That would not be your fault."

"Wal, 'cordin' to our rules, ye can't be released onless ther vote ur ther card sez so."

"The vote or the cards? What do you mean by that?"

"Wal, it's like this: Ef it's put ter vote, one black bean condemns you-uns ter death, an' ev'ry man votes black ur white, as he chooses. I don't judge you-uns care ter take yer chances that way?"

"Howly Sint Patherick!" gurgled Barney Mulloy. "Oi sh'u'd soay not! Ixchuse us from thot, me hearty!"

"That would be as bad as murder!" exclaimed Frank. "There would be one vote against us—one black bean thrown, at least."

Muriel nodded.

"I judge you-uns is right."

"Pwhat av th' carruds?"

"Yes, what of them?"

"Two men will be chosen, one ter hold a pack o' cards, and one to draw a card from them. Ef ther card is red, it lets you-uns off, fer it means life; ef it is black, it cooks yer, fer it means death."

The boys were silent, dumfounded, appalled.

It was a lottery of life and death.

Muriel stood watching them, and Frank fancied that his eyes were gleaming with satisfaction. The boy began to believe he had mistaken the character of this astonishing youth; Muriel might be even worse than his older companions, for he might be one who delighted in torturing his victims.

Frank threw back his head, defiance and scorn written on his handsome face.

"It is a clean case of murder, at best!" he cried, his voice ringing out clearly. "We deserve a fair trial—we demand it!"

"Wal," drawled the boy moonshiner, "I warned you-uns that ther more yer demanded, ther less yer got. Ye seem ter fergit that."

"We're in fur it, Frankie, me b'y!" groaned Barney.

"If we had our revolvers, we'd give them a stiff fight for it!" grated Frank, fiercely. "They would not murder us till a few of them had eaten lead!"

Muriel seemed to nod with satisfaction.

"You-uns has stuff, an' when I tell yer that ye'll have ter sta' ter vote ur take chances with ther cards, I don't judge you'll hesitate. It's one ur t'other."

"Then, make it the cards," said Frank, hoarsely. "That will give us an even show, if the draw is a fair one."

"I'll see ter that," assured Muriel. "It shall be fair."

Without another word, he turned and swiftly slipped out of the room. They heard him bar the door, and then they stood looking into each other's faces, speechless for a few moments.

"It's a toss-up, Barney," Frank finally observed.

"Thot's pwhat it is, an' th' woay our luck is runnin' Oi think it's a case av heads they win an' tails we lose."

"It looks that way," admitted Frank. "But there is no way out of it. We'll have to grin and bear it."

"Pwhat do yez think av thot Muriel?"

"He's an enigma."

"Worse than thot, me b'y—he's a cat's cradle toied in a hundred an' sivintane knots."

"It is impossible to tell whether he is friendly or whether he is the worst foe we have in these mountains."

"Oi wonder how Kate Kenyon knew where to foind him so quick?"

"I have thought of that. She must have found him in a very short time after we were taken from the cabin."

"An' she diskivered thot we hed been taken away moighty soon afther we wur gone, me b'y. Thot is sure."

"Remember one of the horses neighed. It may have aroused Kate and her mother, and caused them to investigate."

"Loikely thot wur th' case, fer it's not mesilf thot would think she'd kape shtill an' let ther spalpanes drag us away av she knew it."

"No; I believe her utterly fearless, and it is plain that Wade Miller is not the only one in love with her."

"Who ilse?"

"Muriel."

"Mebbe ye're roight, Frankie."

"It strikes me that way. The fellow tried to lead me into a trap—tried to get me to boast of a mash on her. I could see his eyes gleam with jealousy. In her eagerness to save us—to have him aid her in the work—she must have led him to suspect that one of us had been making love to her."

Barney whistled a bit, and then he shyly said:

"Oi wunder av wan of us didn't do a bit av thot?"

"Not I," protested Frank. "We talked in a friendly manner—in fact, she promised to be a friend to me. I may have expressed admiration for her hair, or something of the sort, but I vow I did not make love to her."

"Well, me b'y, ye have a thrick av gettin' all th' girruls shtuck on yez av ye look at thim, so ye didn't nade ter make love."

"It's not my fault, Barney."

"It's nivver a fault at all, at all, me lad. Oi wish Oi wur built th' soame woay, but it's litthle oice I cut wid th' girruls. This south av Oireland brogue thot Oi foind mesilf unable to shake counts against me a bit, Oi belave."

"I should think Miller and Muriel would clash."

"It's plain enough that Miller is afraid av Muriel."

"And Muriel intends to keep him thus. I fancy it was a good thing for us that Kate Kenyon suspected Wade Miller of having a hand in our capture, and told Muriel that we had been carried off by him, for I fancy that is exactly what happened. Muriel was angry with Miller, and he seized the opportunity to call the fellow down. But for that, he might not have made such a hustle to save us."

"Thin we should be thankful thot Muriel an' Miller do not love ache ither."

The boys continued to discuss the situation for some time, and then they fell to examining the room in which they were imprisoned. It did not seem to have a window anywhere, and the single door appeared to be the only means of entering or leaving the place.

"There's little show of escaping from this room," said Frank.

"Roight ye are," nodded Barney. "This wur built to kape iverything safe thot came in here."

A few minutes later there was a sound at the door, and Muriel came in, with two of the Black Caps at his heels.

"Ther boys have agreed ter give ye ther chance o' ther cards," said the boy moonshiner. "An' yo're goin' ter have a fair an' squar' deal."

"We will have to submit," said Frank, quietly.

"You will have ter let ther boys bind yer hands afore ye leave this room," said Muriel.

The men each held the end of a stout rope, and the boys were forced to submit to the inconvenience of having their hands bound behind them. Barney protested, but Frank kept silent, knowing it was useless to say anything.

When their hands were tied, Muriel said:

"Follow."

He led the way, while Frank came next, with Barney shuffling sulkily along at his heels. The two men came last.

They passed through a dark room and entered another room, which was lighted by three oil lamps. The room was well filled with the black-hooded moonshiners, who were standing in a grim and silent circle, with their backs against the walls.

Into the center of this circle, the boys were marched. The door closed, and Muriel addressed the Black Caps.

"It is not often that we-uns gives our captives ther choice uv ther cards or ther vote, but we have agreed ter do so in this case, with only one objectin', an' he war induced ter change his mind. Now we mean ter have this fair an' squar', an' I call on ev'ry man present ter watch out an' see that it is. Ther men has been serlected, one ter hold ther cards an' one ter draw. Let them step forrud."

Two of the Black Caps stepped out, and Frank started a bit, for he believed one of them was Wade Miller.

A pack of cards was produced, and Muriel shuffled them with a skill that told of experience, after which he handed them to one of the men.

Miller was to draw!

Frank watched every move, determined to detect the fraud if possible, should there be any fraud.

An awed hush seemed to settle over the room.

The men who wore the black hoods leaned forward a little, every one of them watching to see what card should be drawn from the pack.

Barney Mulloy caught his breath with a gasping sound, and then was silent, standing stiff and straight.

Muriel was as alert as a panther, and his eyes gleamed through the holes in his mask like twin stars.

The man who received the pack from Muriel stepped forward, and Miller reached out his hand to draw.

Then Frank suddenly cried:

"Wait! That we may be satisfied we are having a fair show in this matter, why not permit one of us to shuffle those cards?"

Quick as a flash of light, Muriel's hand fell on the wrist of the man who held the cards, and his clear voice rang out:

"Stop! Unbind his hands. He shall shuffle."

Frank's hands were unbound, and he was given the cards. He shuffled them, but he did not handle them with more skill than had Muriel. He "shook them up" thoroughly, and then passed them back to the man who was to hold them.

"Bind him!"

Muriel's order was swiftly obeyed, and Frank was again helpless.

"Draw!"

The cards were extended. Wade Miller reached out, and quickly made the draw, holding the fateful card up for all to see.

It was the ace of spades!



CHAPTER XLIII.

SAVED!

"Death!"

From beneath the black hoods sounded the terrible word, as the man beheld the black card which was exposed to view.

The boys were doomed!

Frank's heart dropped like a stone into the depths of his bosom, but no sound came from his lips.

Barney Mulloy showed an equal amount of nerve. Indeed, the Irish lad laughed recklessly as he cried:

"It's nivver a show we had at all, at all, Frankie. Th' snakes had it fixed fer us all th' toime."

"Hold on thar!"

The words came from Muriel, and the boy chief of the moonshiners made a spring and a grab, snatching the card from Miller's hand.

"Look hyar!" he cried. "This won't do! Let's give ther critters a fair show."

"Do you mean ter say they didn't have a fair show?" demanded Wade Miller, fiercely. "Do you say that I cheated?"

"Not knowin' it," answered Muriel. "But ther draw warn't fair, jes' ther same."

"Warn't fair!" snarled Miller, furiously. "Why not?"

"Because two cards war drawed!" rang out the voice of the masked youth. "Look—hyar they be! One is ther ace o' spades, an' ther other is ther nine o' hearts."

Exclamations of astonishment came from all sides, and a ray of hope shot into Frank Merriwell's heart.

"Did I draw two cards?" muttered Miller, as if surprised. "Wal, what o' that? Ther black card war ther one exposed, an' that settles what'll be done with ther spies."

"It don't settle it!" declared Muriel, promptly. "Them boys is goin' ter have a squar' show."

It was with the greatest difficulty that Miller held himself in check. His hands were clinched, and Frank fancied that he longed to spring upon Muriel.

The boy chief was very cool as he took the pack of cards from the hand of the man who had held them.

"Release one of the prisoners," was his command. "The cards shall be shuffled again."

Once more Frank's hands were freed, and again the cards were given him to shuffle. He mixed them deftly, without saying a word, and gave them back to Muriel. Then his hands were tied, and he awaited the second drawing.

"Be careful an' not get two cards this time," warned Muriel as he faced Miller. "This draw settles ther business fer them-uns."

The cards were given to the man who was to hold them, and Miller stepped forward to draw.

Again the suspense became great, again the men leaned forward to see the card that should be pulled from the pack; again the hearts of the captives stood still.

Miller hesitated. He seemed to feel that the tide had turned against him. For a moment he was tempted to refuse to draw, and then, with a muttered exclamation, he pulled a card from the pack and held it up to view. Then, with a bitter cry of baffled rage, he flung it madly to the floor.

It was the queen of hearts!

Each man in the room seemed to draw a deep breath. It was plain that some were disappointed, and some were well satisfied.

"That settles it!" said Muriel, calmly. "They-uns won't be put out o' ther way ter-night."

"Settles it!" snarled Miller, furious with disappointment. "It war settled afore! I claim that ther first draw counts."

"An' I claim that it don't," returned the youthful moonshiner, without lifting his voice in the least. "You-uns all agreed ter ther second draw, an' that lets them off."

"Oh, you have worked it slick!" grated the disappointed Black Cap. "But them critters ain't out o' ther maountings yit!"

"By that yer mean—jes' what?"

"They're not liable ter git out alive."

"Ef they-uns is killed, I'll know whar ter look fer ther one as war at ther bottom o' ther job—an' I'll look!"

Muriel did not bluster, and he did not speak above an ordinary tone, but it was plain that he meant every word.

"Wal," muttered Miller, "what do ye mean ter do with them critters—turn 'em out, an' let 'em bring ther officers down on us?"

"No. I'm goin' ter keep 'em till they kin be escorted out o' ther maountings. Thar ain't time ter-night, fer it's gittin' toward mornin'. Ter-morrer night it can be done."

Miller said no more. He seemed to know it was useless to make further talk, but Frank and Barney knew that they were not yet out of danger.

The boys seemed as cool as any one in the room, for all of the deadly peril they had passed through, and Muriel nodded in a satisfied way when he had looked them over.

"Come," he said, in a low tone, "you-uns will have ter go back ter ther room whar ye war a bit ago."

They were willing to go back, and it was with no small amount of relief that they allowed themselves to be escorted to the apartment.

Muriel dismissed the two guards, and then he set the hands of the boys free.

"Thar ye are," he said. "Yo're all right fer now."

"Thanks to you," bowed Frank. "I want to make an apology."

"Fer what?"

"Suspecting you of double-dealing."

"You-uns did suspect me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It looked that way once. It seemed that you had saved us from being hanged, but that you intended to finish us here."

"Ef that war my scheme, why did I take ther trouble ter save ye at all?"

"It looked as if you did so to please Miss Kenyon. You had saved us, and then, if the men disposed of us in the regular manner, you would not be to blame."

Muriel shook back his long, black hair, and his manner showed that he was angry. He did not feel at all pleased to know his sincerity had been doubted.

"Wal," he said, slowly, "ef it hadn't been fer me you-uns would be gone coons now."

"Begobs! we know thot!" exclaimed Barney.

"You-uns know I saved ye, but ye don't know how I done it."

There was something of bitterness and reproach in the voice of the youthful moonshiner. He continued:

"I done that fer you I never done before fer no man. I wouldn't a done it fer myself!"

Frank wondered what the strange youth could mean.

"Do you-uns want ter know what I done?" asked Muriel.

"Yes."

"I cheated."

"Cheated?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"When I snatched ther first card drawn from ther hand o' ther man what drawed it. It war ther ace o' spades, an' it condemned yer ter die."

"But there were two cards drawn."

"No! Thar war one card drawed, an' that war all!"

"But—but you showed two!"

Muriel nodded.

"That war whar I cheated," he said, simply. "I had ther red card in my hand ready ter do ther trick ef a black card war drawed. In that way I knowed I could give yer two shows ter escape death."

The boys were astounded by this revelation, but they did not doubt that Muriel spoke the truth. His manner showed that he was not telling a falsehood.

And this strange boy—this remarkable leader of moonshiners—had done such a thing to save them!

More than ever, they marveled at the fellow.

Once more Muriel's arms were folded over his breast, and he was leaning gracefully against the door, his eyes watching their faces.

For several moments both boys were stricken dumb with wonder and surprise. Frank was not a little confused, thinking as he did how he had misunderstood this mysterious youth. Even now Frank could not understand him. It seemed most unaccountable that he should do such a thing for two lads who were utter strangers to him.

A sound like a bitter laugh came from behind the sable mask, and Muriel flung out one hand, with an impatient gesture.

"I know what you-uns is thinkin' of," declared the young moonshiner. "Ye wonder why I done so. Wal, I don't jes' know myself, but I promised Kate ter do my best fer ye."

"You have kept your promise!" cried Frank, "kept it nobly! Muriel, you may be a moonshiner, you may be the leader of the Black Caps, but I am proud to know you! I believe you are white all the way through!"

"Thar!" exclaimed the youth, with a show of satisfaction, "that makes me feel better. But it war Kate as done it, an' she's ther one ter thank; but it ain't likely you-uns'll ever see her ag'in."

"Then, tell her," said Frank, swiftly, "tell her for us that we are very thankful—tell her we shall not forget her. I'll never forget her."

Muriel moved uneasily. He seemed about to speak, and then checked himself.

"You will tell her?" said Frank, appealingly.

"I'll tell her," nodded Muriel, his voice sounding a bit strange. "Is that all you-uns want me ter tell her?"

"Tell her I would give much to see her again," came swiftly from Frank's lips. "She's promised to be my friend, and right well has she kept that promise."

"That's all?" questioned the boy moonshiner.

"That is all."

"Then I'll have ter leave you-uns now. Take it as easy as yer kin. Breakfast will be brought ter ye, and when another night comes, a guard will go with yer out o' ther maountings. Good-by."

He was going.

"Wait!" cried Frank. "Will you shake hands before you go?"

He held out a hand, and Muriel seemed to hesitate. After a few moments, the masked lad shook his head, and, without another word, left the room.

"Begorra!" cried Barney, scratching his head, "thot felly is worse than Oi thought! Oi don't know so much about him now as Oi did bafore Oi met him at all, at all!"

The boys were given much food for conversation. They made themselves as comfortable as possible, and talked over the thrilling events of the night.

"If Kate Kenyon had not told me that her brother was serving time as a convict, I should think this Muriel must be her brother," said Frank.

"Av he's not her brither, it's badly shtuck on her he must be, Oi dunno," observed Barney. "An' av he be shtuck on her, pwhoy don't he git onter th' collar av thot Miller?"

That was a question Frank could not answer. Finally, when they had tired of talking, the boys lay down and tried to sleep.

Frank was beginning to doze when his ears seemed to detect a slight rustling in that very room, and his eyes flew open in a twinkling. He started up, a cry of wonder surging to his lips, and being smothered there.

Kate Kenyon stood within ten feet of him!

As Frank started up, the girl swiftly placed a finger on her lips, warning him to be silent.

Frank sprang to his feet, and Barney Mulloy sat up, rubbing his eyes and beginning to speak.

"Pwhat's th' matter now, me b'y? Are yez—— Howly shmoke!"

Barney clasped both hands over his mouth, having caught the warning gestures from Frank and the girl. Still the exclamation had escaped his lips, although it was not uttered loudly.

Swiftly Kate Kenyon flitted across the room, listening with her ear to the door to hear any sound beyond. After some moments, she seemed satisfied that the moonshiners had not been aroused by anything that had happened within that room, and she came back, standing close to Frank, and whispering:

"Ef you-uns will trust me, I judge I kin git yer out o' this scrape."

"Trust you!" exclaimed Frank, softly, as he caught her hand. "We have you to thank for our lives! Kate—your pardon!—Miss Kenyon, how can we ever repay you?"

"Don't stop ter talk 'bout that now," she said, with chilling roughness. "Ef you-uns want ter live, an' yer want ter git erway frum Wade Miller, git reddy ter foller me."

"We are ready."

"Begorra! we're waitin'!"

"But how are we to leave this room? How did you enter?"

She silently pointed to a dark opening in the corner, and they saw that a small trapdoor was standing open.

"We kin git out that way," she said.

The boys wondered why they had not discovered the door when they examined the place, but there was no time for investigation.

Kate Kenyon flitted lightly toward the opening. Pausing beside it, she pointed downward, saying:

"Go ahead; I'll foller and close ther door."

The boys did not hesitate, for they placed perfect confidence in the girl now. Barney dropped down in advance, and his feet found some rude stone steps. In a moment he had disappeared, and then Frank followed.

As lightly as a fairy, Kate Kenyon dropped through the opening, closing the door behind her.

The boys found themselves in absolute darkness, in some sort of a narrow, underground place, and there they paused, awaiting their guide.

She came in a moment. Her hand touched Frank as she slipped past, and he caught the perfume of wild flowers. To him she was like a beautiful wild flower growing in a wilderness of weeds. The touch of their hands was electric.

"Come."

The boys heard the word, and they moved slowly forward through the darkness, now and then feeling dank walls on either hand.

For a considerable distance they went on in this way, and then the passage seemed to widen out, and they felt that they had entered a cave.

"Keep close ter me," directed the girl.

"Here, give me your hands. Now you-uns can't git astray."

At last a strange smell came to their nostrils, seemingly on the wings of a light breath of air.

"What is that?" asked Frank.

"Ther mill whar ther moonshine is made."

"Oh!"

Now the boys recognized the smell.

Still she led them on through the darkness. Never for a moment did she hesitate; she seemed to have the eyes of an owl.

All at once they heard the sound of gently running water.

"Is there a stream near?" asked Frank.

"Lost Creek runs through har," answered the girl.

"Lost Creek? Why, we are still underground."

"An' Lost Creek runs underground. Have ye fergot that?"

So the mysterious stream flowed through this cavern, and the cave was near one of the illicit distilleries.

Frank cared to know no more, for he did not believe it was healthy to know too much about the makers of moonshine.

It was not long before they approached the mouth of the cave. They saw the opening before them, and then, of a sudden, a dark figure arose there—the figure of a man with a gun in his hands!



CHAPTER XLIV.

FRANK'S SUSPICION.

"It's all right."

Kate uttered the words, and the boys began to recover from their alarm, as she did not hesitate in the least.

"Who is it?" asked Frank.

"Dummy."

"Who is Dummy?"

"A cousin o' mine. He'll do anything fer me. I put him thar ter watch out while I war in hyar."

They went forward. Of a sudden, Kate struck a match, holding it so the light shone on her face, and the figure at the mouth of the cave was seen to wave its hand and vanish.

"Ther coast is clear," assured the girl. "But it's gittin' right nigh mornin', an' we-uns must hustle away from hyar afore it is light. We won't lose any time."

The boys were well satisfied to get away as quickly as possible.

They passed out of the dark cavern into the cool, sweet air of a spring morning, for the gray of dawn was beginning to dispel the darkness, and the birds were twittering from the thickets.

The phantom of a moon was in the sky, hanging low down and half-inverted as if spilling a spectral glamour over the ghostly mists which lay deep in Lost Creek Valley.

The sweet breath of flowers and of the woods was in the morning air, and from some cabin afar on the side of a distant mountain a wakeful watchdog barked till the crags reverberated with his clamoring.

"Thar's somethin' stirrin' at 'Bize Wiley's, ur his dorg wouldn't be kickin' up all that racket," observed Kate Kenyon. "He lives by ther road that comes over from Bildow's Crossroads. Folks comin' inter ther maountings from down below travel that way."

The boys looked around for the mute who had been guarding the mouth of the cave, but they saw nothing of him. He had slipped away into the bushes which grew thick all around the opening.

"Come on," said the girl, after seeming strangely interested in the barking of the dog. "We'll git ter ther old mill as soon as we kin. Foller me, an' be ready ter scrouch ther instant anything is seen."

Now that they could see her, she led them forward at a swift pace, which astonished them both. She did not run, but she seemed to skim over the ground, and she took advantage of every bit of cover till they entered some deep, lowland pines.

Through this strip of woods she swiftly led them, and they came near to Lost Creek, where it flowed down in the dismal valley.

There they found the ruins of an old mill, the moss-covered water-wheel forever silent, the roof sagging and falling in, the windows broken out by mischievous boys, the whole presenting a most melancholy and deserted appearance.

The road that had led to the mill from the main highway was overgrown with weeds. Later it would be filled with thistles and burdocks. Wild sassafras grew along the roadside.

"That's whar you-uns must hide ter-day," said Kate, motioning toward the mill.

"Why should we hide?" exclaimed Frank. "We are not criminals, nor are we revenue spies. I do not fancy the idea of hiding like a hunted dog."

"It's better ter be a live dorg than a dead lion. Ef you-uns'll take my advice, you'll come inter ther mill thar, an' ye'll keep thar all day, an' keep mighty quiet. I know ye're nervy, but thar ain't no good in bein' foolish. It'll be known that you-uns have escaped, an' then Wade Miller will scour ther country. Ef he come on yer——"

"Give us our arms, and we'll be ready to meet Mr. Miller."

"But yer wouldn't meet him alone; thar'd be others with him, an' you-uns wouldn't have no sorter show."

Kate finally succeeded in convincing the boys that she spoke the truth, and they agreed to remain quietly in the old mill.

She led them into the mill, which was dank and dismal. The imperfect light failed to show all the pitfalls that lurked for their feet, but she warned them, and they escaped injury.

The miller had lived in the mill, and the girl took them to the part of the old building that had served as a home.

"Har," she said, opening a closet door, "I've brung food fer you-uns, so yer won't starve, an' I knowed ye'd be hongry."

"You are more than thoughtful, Miss Kenyon."

"Yer seem ter have fergot what we agreed ter call each other, Frank."

She spoke the words in a tone of reproach.

"Kate!"

Barney turned away, winking uselessly at nothing at all, and kept his back toward them for some moments.

But Frank Merriwell had no thought of making love to this strange girl of the mountains. She had promised to be his friend; she had proved herself his friend, and as no more than a friend did he propose to accept her.

That he had awakened something stronger than a friendly feeling in Kate Kenyon's breast seemed evident, and the girl was so artless that she could not conceal her true feelings toward him.

They stood there, talking in a low tone, while the morning light stole in at one broken window and grew stronger and stronger within that room.

Frank was studying Kate's speech and voice. As he did so a new thought came to him—a thought that was at first a mere suspicion, which he scarcely noted at all. This suspicion grew, and he found himself asking:

"Kate, are you sure your brother is still wearing a convict's suit?"

She started, and looked at him closely.

"Sure o' it?" she repeated. "No, fer he may be dead."

"You do not know that he is dead—you have not heard of his death?"

"No."

"Is he bold and daring?"

Her eyes flashed, and a look of pride swept across her face.

"Folks allus 'lowed Rufe Kenyon wa'n't afeard o' ary two-legged critter livin', an' they war right."

"Perhaps he has escaped."

She clutched his arm, beginning to pant, as she asked:

"What makes you say that? I knowed he'd try it some day, but—but, have you heard anything? Do you know that he has tried it?"

The suspicion leaped to a conviction in the twinkling of an eye. If Rufe Kenyon was not at liberty, then he must be right in what he thought.

"I do not know that your brother has tried to escape. I do not know anything about him. I did think that he might be Muriel, the moonshiner."

Kate laughed.

"You-uns war plumb mistooken thar," she said, positively. "Rufe is not Muriel."

"Then," cried Frank, "you are Muriel yourself!"

Kate Kenyon seemed astounded.

"Have you-uns gone plumb dafty?" asked the girl, in a dazed way. "Me Muriel! Wal, that beats all!"

"But you are—I am sure of it," said Frank, swiftly.

The girl laughed.

"Well, that beats me! Of course I'm not Muriel; but he's ther best friend I've got in these maountings."

Frank was far from satisfied, but he was too courteous to insist after this denial. Kate laughed the idea to scorn, saying over and over that the boy must be "dafty," but still his mind was unchanged.

To be sure, there were some things not easily explained, one being how Muriel concealed her luxurious red hair, for Muriel's hair appeared to be coal-black.

Another thing was that Wade Miller must know Muriel and Kate were one and the same, and yet he preserved her secret and allowed her to snatch his victims from his maws.

Barney Mulloy had been more than astounded by Frank's words; the Irish youth was struck dumb. When he could collect himself, he softly muttered:

"Well, av all th' oideas thot takes th' cake!"

Having seen them safely within the mill and shown them the food brought there, Kate said:

"Har is two revolvers fer you-uns. Don't use 'em unless yer have ter, but shoot ter kill ef you're forced."

"Begorra! Oi'm ready fer th' spalpanes!" cried Barney, as he grasped one of the weapons. "Let thim come on!"

"I feel better myself," declared Frank. "Next time Wade Miller and his gang will not catch us napping."

"Roight, me b'y; we'll be sound awake, Frankie."

Kate bade them good-by, assuring them that she would return with the coming of another night, and making them promise to await her, and then she flitted away, slipped out of the mill, soon vanishing amid the pines.

"It's dead lucky we are ter be living, Frankie," observed Barney.

"I quite agree with you," laughed Merriwell. "This night has been a black and tempestuous one, but we have lived through it, and I do not believe we'll find ourselves in such peril again while we are in the Tennessee mountains."

They were hungry, and they ate heartily of the plain food that had been provided for them.

When breakfast was over, Barney said:

"Frankie, it's off yer trolley ye git sometoimes."

"What do you mean by that, Barney? Is it a new sell?"

"Nivver a bit. Oi wur thinkin' av pwhat yez said about Kate Kenyon being Mooriel, th' moonshoiner."

"I was not off my trolley so very much then."

"G'wan, me b'y! Ye wur crazy as a bidbug."

"You think so, but I have made a study of Muriel and of Kate Kenyon. I am still inclined to believe the moonshiner is the girl in disguise."

"An' Oi say ye're crazy. No girrul could iver do pwhat thot felly does, an' no band av min loike th' moonshoiners would iver allow a girrul loike Kate Kenyon ter boss thim."

"They do not know Muriel is a girl. That is, I am sure the most of them do not know it—do not dream it."

"Thot shows their common sinse, fer Oi don't belave it mesilf."

"I may be wrong, but I shall not give it up yet."

"Whoy, think pwhat a divvil thot Muriel is! An' th' color av his hair is black, whoile the girrul's is red."

"I have thought of those things, and I have wondered how she concealed that mass of red hair; still I am satisfied she does it."

"Well, it's no use to talk to you at all, at all."

However, they did discuss it for some time.

Finally they fell to exploring the old mill, and they wandered from one part to another till they finally came to the place where they had entered over a sagging plank. They were standing there, just within the deeper shadow of the mill, when a man came panting and reeling from the woods, his hat off, his shirt torn open at the throat, great drops of perspiration standing on his face, a wild, hunted look in his eyes, and dashed to the end of the plank that led over the water into the old mill.

Frank clutched Barney, and the boys fell back a step, watching the man, who was looking back over his shoulder and listening, the perfect picture of a hunted thing.

"They're close arter me—ther dogs!" came in a hoarse pant from the man's lips. "But I turned on 'em—I doubled—an' I hope I fooled 'em. It's my last chance, fer I'm dead played, and I'm so nigh starved that it's all I kin do ter drag one foot arter t'other."

He listened again, and then, as if overcome by a sudden fear of being seen there, he suddenly rushed across the plank and plunged into the mill.

He ran fairly upon Frank Merriwell.

In the twinkling of an eye man and boy were clasped in a close embrace, struggling desperately.

"Caught!" cried the fugitive, desperately. "Trapped!"

He tried to hurl Frank to the floor, and he would have succeeded had he been in his normal condition, for he was a man of great natural strength; but he was exhausted by flight and hunger, and, in his weakened condition, the man found his supple antagonist too much for him.

A gasp came from the stranger's lips as he felt the boy give him a wrestler's trip and fling him heavily to the floor.

The man was stunned for a moment. When he opened his eyes, Frank and Barney were bending over him.

"Wal, I done my best," he said, huskily; "but you-uns trapped me at last. I dunno how yer knew I war comin' har, but ye war on hand ter meet me."

"You have made a mistake," said Frank, in a reassuring tone. "We are not your enemies at all."

"What's that?"

"We are not your enemies; you are not trapped."

The man seemed unable to believe what he heard.

"Why, who be you-uns?" he asked, in a bewildered way.

"Fugitives, like yourself," assured Frank, with a smile.

He looked them over, and shook his head.

"Not like me," he said. "Look at me! I'm wore ter ther bone—I'm a wreck! Oh, it's a cursed life I've led sence they dragged me away from har! Night an' day hev I watched for a chance ter break away, and' I war quick ter grasp it when it came. They shot at me, an' one o' their bullets cut my shoulder har. It war a close call, but I got away. Then they follered, an' they put houn's arter me. Twenty times hev they been right on me, an' twenty times hev I got erway. But it kep' wearin' me weaker an' thinner. My last hope war ter find friends ter hide me an' fight fer me, an' I came har—back home! I tried ter git inter 'Bije Wileys' this mornin', but his dorg didn't know me, I war so changed, an' ther hunters war close arter me, so I hed ter run fer it."

"Begorra!" exclaimed Barney; "we hearrud th' dog barruckin'."

"So we did," agreed Frank, remembering how the creature had been clamoring on the mountainside at daybreak.

"I kem har," continued the man, weakly. "I turned on ther devils, but when I run in har an' you-uns tackled me, I judged I had struck a trap."

"It was no trap, Rufe Kenyon," said Frank, quietly.

The hunted man started up and slunk away.

"You know me!" he gasped.

"We do."

"An' still ye say you-uns are not my enemies."

"We are not."

"Then how do you know me? I never saw yer afore."

"No; but we have heard of you."

"How?"

"From your sister Kate."

"She tol' yer?"

"She did."

"Then she must trust you-uns."

"She saved us from certain death last night, and she brought us here to hide till she can help us get out of this part of the country."

Rufe Kenyon looked puzzled.

"I judge you-uns is givin' it ter me straight," he said, slowly; "but I don't jes' understan'. What did she save yer from?"

"Moonshiners."

The man seemed filled with sudden suspicion.

"What had moonshiners agin' you-uns? Be you revernues?"

"No. Do we look like revenue spies?"

"Yer look too young."

"Well, we are not spies; but we were unfortunate enough to incur the enmity of Wade Miller, and he has sworn to end our lives."

"Wade Miller!" cried Rufe, showing his teeth in an ugly manner. "An' I s'pose he's hangin' 'roun' Kate, same as he uster?"

"He is giving her more or less trouble."

"Wal, he won't give her much trouble arter I git at him. He is a snake! Look har! I'm goin' ter tell you-uns somethin'. Miller allus pretended ter be my friend, but it war that critter as put ther revernues onter me an' got me arrested! He done it because I tol' him Kate war too good fer him. I know it, an' one thing why I wanted ter git free war ter come har an' fix ther critter so he won't ever bother Kate no more. I hev swore ter fix him, an' I'll do it ef I live ter meet him face ter face!"

He had grown wildly excited, and he sat up, with his back against a post, his eyes gleaming redly, and a white foam flecking his lips. At that moment he reminded the boys of a mad dog.

Woe to Wade Miller when they met!

When Kenyon was calmer, Frank told the story of the adventures which had befallen the boys since entering Lost Creek Valley. The fugitive listened quietly, watching them closely with his sunken eyes, and, having heard all, said:

"I judge you-uns tells ther truth. Ef I kin keep hid till Kate gits har—till I see her—I'll fix things so you won't be bothered much. Wade Miller's day in Lost Creek Valley is over."

The boys took him up to the living room of the old mill, where they furnished him with the coarse food that remained from their breakfast. He ate like a famished thing, washing the dry bread down with great swallows of water. When he had finished and his hunger was satisfied, he was quite like another man.

"Thar!" he cried; "now I am reddy fer anything! But I do need sleep."

"Take it," advised Frank. "We will watch."

"And you'll tell me ef thar's danger?"

"You may depend on it."

"You-uns will watch close?"

"Never fear about that."

So the hunted wretch was induced to lie down and sleep. He slept soundly for some hours, and, when he opened his eyes, his sister had her arms about his neck.



CHAPTER XLV.

THE GREATEST PERIL.

"Rufe!"

"Kate!"

He sat up and clasped her in his arms, a look of joy on his face.

It is quite unnecessary to describe the joys of that meeting. The boys had left brother and sister alone together, and the two remained thus for nearly an hour, at the end of which time Rufe knew all that had happened since he was taken from Lost Creek Valley, and Kate had also been made aware of the perfidy of Wade Miller.

"I judge it is true that bread throwed on ther waters allus comes back," said Kate, when the four were together. "Now looker how I helped you-uns, an' then see how it turned out ter be a right good thing fer Rufe. He found ye har, an' you-uns hev fed him an' watched while he slept."

"An' I hev tol' Kate all about Wade Miller," said the fugitive.

"That settles him," declared the girl, with a snap.

Rufe explained.

"Kate says ther officers think I hev gone on over inter ther next cove, an' they're arter me, all 'ceptin' two what have been left behind. They'll be back, though, by night."

"But you are all right now, for your friends will be on hand by that time."

"Yes; Kate will take word ter Muriel, an' he'll hev ther boys ready ter fight fer me. Ther officers will find it kinder hot in these parts."

"I'd better be goin' now," said the girl. "Ther boys oughter know all about it soon as possible."

"That's right," agreed Rufe. "This ain't ther best place fer me ter hide."

"No," declared Kate, suddenly; "an' yer mustn't hide har longer, fer ther officers may come afore night. I'll take yer ter ther cave. It won't do fer ther boys ter go thar, but you kin all right. Ther boys is best off har, fer ther officers wouldn't hurt 'em."

This seemed all right, and it was decided on.

Just as they were on the point of descending, Barney gave a cry, caught Frank by the arm, and drew him toward a window.

"Look there, me b'y!" exclaimed the Irish lad. "Phwat do yez think av it now?"

A horseman was coming down the old road that led to the mill. He bestrode a coal-black horse, and a mask covered his face, while his long, black hair flowed down on the collar of the coat he wore. He sat the horse jauntily, riding with a reckless air that seemed to tell of a daring spirit.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Frank Merriwell, amazed. "It is Muriel!"

"That's pwhat!" chuckled Barney. "An' it's your trate, me lad."

"I will treat," said Frank, crestfallen. "I am not nearly so smart as I thought I was."

"Muriel?" cried Kate, dashing to the window. "Where is he?"

She did not hesitate to appear in the window and signal to the dashing young moonshiner, who returned her salute, and motioned for her to come out.

"He wants ter see me in er hurry," said the girl. "I sent word ter him by Dummy that ther boys war har, an' that's how he happened ter turn up. Come, Rufe, go out with me. Muriel will be glad to see yer."

"And I shall be glad ter see him," declared the escaped convict.

Kate bade the boys remain there, telling them she would call them if they were wanted, and then, with Rufe following, she hurried down the stairs, and hastened to meet the boy moonshiner, who had halted on the bank at some distance from the old mill.

Watching from the window, Frank and Barney saw her hasten up to Muriel, saw her speak swiftly, although they could not hear her words, saw Muriel nod and seem to reply quite as swiftly, and then saw the young leader of the Black Caps shake her hand in a manner that denoted pleasure and affection.

"Ye're a daisy, Frankie, me b'y," snickered Barney Mulloy; "but fer wance ye wur badly mishtaken."

"I was all of that," confessed Frank, as if slightly ashamed. "I thought myself far shrewder than I am."

As they watched, they saw Rufe Kenyon suddenly leap up behind Muriel, and then the doubly burdened horse swung around and went away at a hot pace, while Kate came flitting back into the mill.

"The officers are returnin'," she explained. "Muriel will take Rufe whar thar ain't no chance o' their findin' him. You-uns will have ter stay har. I have brung ye more fodder, an' I judge you'll git along all right."

So she left them hurriedly, being greatly excited over the return of her brother and his danger.

The day passed, and the officers failed to appear in the vicinity of the mill, although the boys were expecting to see them.

Nor did Wade Miller trouble them.

When night came Frank and Barney grew impatient, for they were far from pleased with their lot, but they could do nothing but wait.

Two hours after nightfall a form suddenly appeared in the old mill, rising before the boys like a phantom, although they could not understand how the fellow came there.

In a flash Frank snatched out a revolver and pointed it at the intruder, crying, sternly:

"Stand still and give an account of yourself! Who are you, and what do you want?"

The figure moved into the range of the window, so that the boys could see him making strange gestures, pointing to his ears, and pressing his fingers to his lips.

"Steady you!" commanded Frank. "If you don't keep still, I shall shoot. Answer my question at once."

Still the intruder continued to make those strange gestures, pointing to his ears, and touching his lips. That he saw Frank's revolver glittering and feared the boy would shoot was evident, but he still remained silent.

"Whoy don't th' spalpane spake?" cried Barney. "Is it no tongue he has, Oi dunno?"

That gave Frank an idea.

"Perhaps he cannot speak, in which case he is the one Kate calls Dummy. I believe he is the fellow."

It happened that the sign language of mutes was one of Frank's accomplishments, he having taken it up during his leisure moments. He passed the revolver to Barney, saying:

"Keep the fellow covered, while I see if I can talk with him."

Frank moved up to the window, held his hands close to the intruder's face, and spelled:

"You from Kate?"

The man nodded joyfully. He put up his hands and spelled back:

"Kate send me. Come. Horses ready."

Frank interpreted for Barney's benefit, and the Irish lad cried:

"Thin let's be movin'! It's mesilf that's ready ter git out av thase parruts in a hurry, Oi think."

For a moment Frank hesitated about trusting the mute, and then he decided that it was the best thing to do, and he signaled that they were ready.

Dummy led the way from the mill, crossing by the plank, and plunging into the pine woods.

"He sames to be takin' us back th' woay we came, Frankie," said the Irish lad, in a low tone.

"That's all right," assured Frank. "He said the horses were waiting for us. Probably Kate is with them."

The mute flitted along with surprising silence and speed, and they found it no easy task to follow and keep close enough to see him. Now and then he looked back to make sure they were close behind.

At last they came to the termination of the pines, and there, in the deep shadows, they found three horses waiting.

Kate Kenyon was not there.

Frank felt disappointed, for he wished to see the girl before leaving the mountains forever. He did not like to go away without touching her hand again, and expressing his sense of gratitude for the last time.

It was his hope that she might join them before they left the mountains.

The horses were saddled and bridled, and the boys were about to mount when a strange, low cry broke from Dummy's lips.

There was a sudden stir, and an uprising of dark forms on all sides. Frank tried to snatch out his revolver, but it was too late. He was seized, disarmed, and crushed to the earth.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed a hateful voice. "Did you-uns think ye war goin' ter escape? Wal, yer didn't know Wade Miller very well. I knowed Kate'd try ter git yer off, an' all I hed ter do war watch her. I didn't waste my time runnin' round elsewhar."

They were once more in Miller's clutches!

Frank ground his teeth with impotent rage. He blamed himself for falling into the trap, and still he could not see how he was to blame. Surely he had been cautious, but fate was against him. He had escaped Miller twice; but this was the third time, and he feared that it would prove disastrous.

Barney had not a word to say.

The hands of the captured boys were tied behind their backs, and then they were forced to march swiftly along in the midst of the Black Caps that surrounded them.

They were not taken to the cave, but straight to one of the hidden stills, a little hut that was built against what seemed to be a wall of solid rock, a great bluff rising against the face of the mountain. Thick trees concealed the little hut down in the hollow.

Into this hut the boys were marched.

Some crude candles were lighted, and they saw around them the outfit for making moonshine whiskey.

"Thar!" cried Miller, triumphantly; "you-uns will never go out o' this place. Ther revernues spotted this still ter-day, but it won't be har ter-morrer."

He made a signal, and the boys were thrown to the floor, where they were held helpless, while their feet were bound.

When this job was finished Miller added:

"No, ther revernues won't find this still ter-morrer, fer it will go up in smoke. Moonshine is good stuff ter burn, an' we'll see how you-uns like it."

At a word a keg of whiskey was brought to the spot by two men.

"Let 'em try ther stuff," directed Miller.

"Begorra! he's goin' ter fill us up bafore he finishes us!" muttered Barney Mulloy.

But that was not the intention of the revengeful man.

A plug was knocked from a hole in the end of the keg, and then the whiskey was poured over the clothing of the boys, wetting them to the skin.

"Soak 'em!" directed Miller.

The men did not stop pouring till the clothing of the boys was thoroughly saturated.

"Thar!" said Miller, with a fiendish chuckle, "I reckon you-uns is ready fer touchin' off, an' ye'll burn like pine knots. Ther way ye'll holler will make ye heard clean ter ther top o' Black Maounting, an' ther fire will be seen; but when anybody gits har, you-uns an' this still will be ashes."

He knelt beside Frank, lighted a match, and applied it to the boy's whiskey-soaked clothing!



CHAPTER XLVI.

THE MYSTERY OF MURIEL.

Not quite! The flame almost touched Frank's clothing when the boy rolled over swiftly, thus getting out of the way for the moment.

At the same instant the blast of a bugle was heard at the very front of the hut, and the door fell with a crash, while men poured in by the opening.

"Ther revernues!" shouted Wade Miller.

"No, not ther revernues!" rang out a clear voice; "but Muriel!"

The boy chief of the Black Caps was there.

"An' Muriel is not erlone!" thundered another voice. "Rufe Kenyon is har!"

Out in front of Muriel leaped the escaped criminal, confronting the man who had betrayed him.

Miller staggered, his face turning pale as if struck a heavy blow, and a bitter exclamation of fury came through his clinched teeth.

"Rufe!" he grated. "Then it's fight fer life!"

"Yes, it's fight!" roared Kate Kenyon's brother, as a long-bladed knife glittered in his hand, and he thrust back the sleeve of his shirt till his arm was bared above the elbow. "I swore ter finish yer, Miller; but I'll give ye a squar' show! Draw yer knife, an' may ther best man win!"

With the snarl that might have come from the throat of a savage beast, Miller snatched out a revolver instead of drawing a knife.

"I'll not fight ye!" he screamed; "but I'll shoot ye plumb through ther heart!"

He fired, and Rufe Kenyon ducked at the same time.

There was a scream of pain, and Muriel flung up both hands, dropping into the arms of the man behind.

Rufe Kenyon had dodged the bullet, but the boy chief of the Black Caps had suffered in his stead.

Miller seemed dazed by the result of his shot. The revolver fell from his hand, and he staggered forward, groaning:

"Kate!—I've killed her!"

Rufe Kenyon forgot his foe, dropping on one knee beside the prostrate figure of Muriel, and swiftly removing the mask.

The face of Kate Kenyon was revealed!

"Sister!" panted her brother, "be ye dead? Has that rascal killed ye?"

Her eyes opened, and she faintly said:

"Not dead yit, Rufe."

Then the brother shouted:

"Ketch Wade Miller! Don't let ther critter escape!"

It seemed that every man in the hut leaped to obey.

Miller struggled like a tiger, but he was overpowered and dragged out of the hut, while Rufe still knelt and examined his sister's wound, which was in her shoulder.

Frank and Barney were freed, and they hastened to render such assistance as they could in dressing the wound and stanching the flow of blood.

"You-uns don't think that'll be fatal, do yer?" asked Rufe, with breathless anxiety.

"There is no reason why it should," assured Frank. "She must be taken home as soon as possible, and a doctor called. I think she will come through all right, for all of Miller's bullet."

The men were trooping back into the hut.

"Miller!" roared Rufe, leaping to his feet. "Whar's ther critter?"

"He is out har under a tree," answered one of the men, quietly.

"Who's watchin' him ter see that he don't git erway?" asked Rufe.

"Nobody's watchin'."

"Nobody? Why, ther p'izen dog will run fer it!"

"I don't think he'll run fur. We've tied him."

"How?"

"Wal, ter make sure he wouldn't run, we hitched a rope around his neck an' tied it up ter ther limb o' ther tree. Unless ther rope stretches, he won't be able ter git his feet down onter ther ground by erbout eighteen inches."

"Then you-uns hanged him?"

"Wal, we did some."

"Too bad!" muttered Rufe, with a sad shake of his head. "I wanted ter squar 'counts with ther skunk."

Kate Kenyon was taken home, and the bullet was extracted from her shoulder. The wound, although painful, did not prove at all serious, and she began to recover in a short time.

Frank and Barney lingered until it seemed certain that she would recover, and then they prepared to take their departure.

After all, Frank's suspicion had proved true, and it had been revealed that Muriel was Kate in disguise.

Frank chaffed Barney a great deal about it, and the Irish lad took the chaffing in a good-natured manner.

Rufe Kenyon was hidden by his friends, so that his pursuers were forced to give over the search for him and depart.

One still was raided, but not one of the moonshiners was captured, as they had received ample warning of their danger.

On the evening before Frank and Barney were to depart in the morning, the boys carried Kate out to the door in an easy-chair, and they sat down near her.

Mrs. Kenyon sat on the steps and smoked her black pipe, looking as stolid and indifferent as ever.

"Kate," said Frank, "when did you have your hair cut short? Where is that profusion of beautiful hair you wore when we first saw you?"

"That?" she smiled. "Why, my har war cut more'n a year ago. I had it made inter a 'switch,' and I wore it so nobody'd know I had it cut."

"You did that in order that you might wear the black wig when you personated Muriel?"

"Yes."

"You could do that easily over your short hair."

"Yes."

"Well, you played the part well, and you made a dashing boy. But how about the Muriel who appeared while you were in the mill with us?"

She laughed a bit.

"You-uns war so sharp that I judged I'd make yer think ye didn't know so much ez you thought, an' I fixed it up ter have another person show up in my place."

"I see. But who was this other person?"

"Dummy. He is no bigger than I, an' he is a good mimic. He rode jes' like me."

"Begorra! he did thot!" nodded Barney. "It's mesilf thot wur chated, an' thot's not aisy."

"You are a shrewd little girl," declared Frank; "and you are dead lucky to escape with your life after getting Miller's bullet. But Miller won't trouble you more."

Mrs. Kenyon rose and went into the hut, while Barney lazily strolled down to the creek, leaving Frank and Kate alone.

Half an hour later, as he was coming back, the Irish lad heard Kate saying:

"I know I'm igerent, an' I'm not fitten fer any educated man. Still, you an' I is friends, Frank, an' friends we'll allus be."

"Friends we will always be," said Frank, softly.

After this little more was said.

It was not long before our friends left the locality, this time bound for Oklahoma, Utah and California. What Frank's adventures were in those places will be told in another volume, entitled, "Frank Merriwell's Bravery."

"We are well out of that," said Frank, as they journeyed away. "Am I not right, Barney?"

"Sure, Frankie, sure!" was Barney's answer. "To tell the whole thruth, me b'y, ye're nivver wrong, nivver!"

And Barney was right, eh, reader?

THE END.