Merry dropped his rifle and flung off his coat in a twinkling. Stooping, he caught up Red Ben's knife just as his foe rushed upon him.

With a quick, sidestepping movement, Merry flung up his hand and deftly parried the blow of Del Norte's blade, steel clashing against steel.

"Ha!" panted Del Norte, as he was flung back by a surge of Merry's powerful arm. "Next time, gringo—next time!"

He was at Frank again in a twinkling, but once more the young American met and baffled him.

Out of the shadows stalked Red Ben, holding his rifle in both hands and standing near as if ready to use it in a twinkling. The moonlight fell full on his dusky face, showing there an expression of savage satisfaction in the battle he was witnessing.

"Best man shall have gal," he muttered. "Ben he see fair play. Merriwell him best man, Ben stand by him."

The ground was somewhat rough. Over its broken surface the men dashed, and leaped, and turned, and circled. Once Del Norte uttered an exclamation of satisfaction as he struck, but Merry leaped away and the keen blade of Del Norte's knife simply cut a long slit in his shirt front.

"Near it that time, gringo dog!" panted the Mexican.

"A miss is as good as a mile," retorted Frank.

As the blades clashed together again Frank's knuckles were slightly cut and the blood flowed freely.

"First blood!" exulted Del Norte.

"A scratch," was the retort.

But soon that scratch began to prove troublesome, for the flowing blood covered the haft of the knife and made it slippery. This came near proving fatal for the American youth. Again the blades clashed, and, with a twisting movement, the Mexican wrenched Merry's knife from his grasp.

The weapon rattled on the rocks ten feet away.

"Now you die, gringo!" snarled Frank's enemy, with a wolfish laugh.

He launched himself at the defenseless youth with frightful fury, but Frank managed to clutch the wrist of his foe and check the stroke that would have been fatal. With a surge he flung the Mexican aside, at the same time springing toward the spot where Red Ben's hunting knife lay. The moonlight revealed it plainly, and Merry had it in a twinkling.

Del Norte had followed him up, and was at him with a madness that was almost irresistible. He sent Frank staggering from the shock, and Merry tripped over a stone, nearly falling.

Seeing this, the Mexican uttered another cry of exultation, which turned into a curse as he saw the youth regain his footing like a cat.

"Much good fight!" muttered Red Ben.

"I'll get you yet, gringo!" panted the Mexican. "I have sworn to leave you dead, with my knife in your heart. Then the beautiful Senorita Inza will be mine—all mine! With you dead and gone, I'll have your mine and your sweetheart."

In this manner he sought to infuriate Frank and lead him to some act of rashness.

Although Frank's blood was burning like lava in his veins, outwardly he was wonderfully cool. As always happened in a time of great danger, he laughed outright.

"You boaster!" he exclaimed.

Del Norte was beginning to breathe heavily from his exertions. Again and again he struck at Frank, but each time the strokes were parried, blocked, or avoided. At last he began to realize that the American was a wonderful fighter with a knife, and, to his dismay, he saw Merriwell appeared almost as fresh and vigorous as when the fight began.

"Must end it quick," thought Del Norte.

But when he lunged again Frank leaped aside and struck him in the shoulder, from which the blood flowed swiftly, staining the Mexican's white shirt.

"The fiends must protect you, gringo!" hissed the wounded man.

"Fair fight!" muttered Red Ben. "Merriwell him win, he git gal."

For a few moments Del Norte's injury seemed to make him fiercer and more dangerous. A little while he kept Frank on the defensive, and then he was slashed in the forearm.

Clapping his free hand to the wound, he leaped backward, Spanish oaths flowing from his lips.

"Him beaten!" whispered the watching Indian. "Merriwell kill him soon now."

Frank followed Del Norte up.

"Stand up to it, greaser," he urged. "The fight has just begun. You have threatened to leave your knife in my heart. I could have split yours a dozen times, but I have spared you. When you are well cut up, I'll wring from your lips the secret of Inza's hiding place."

"Never!" vowed the Mexican. "If die I do, I'll tell nothing. But I'll not die! I'll yet kill you!"

Fancying he saw an opening, as Frank's hands were both hanging by his sides, Del Norte leaped in. He was sent reeling back with another wound, this time in the ribs.

Frank followed up his failing foe, forcing him to the edge of the cleared space. He kept close, fearing Del Norte might attempt to flee. Instead, the man danced round Merry till his back was toward the centre of the cleared space, while the dark shadows of the scraggy timber was behind Frank.

Again Del Norte rushed, but this time his wrist was seized and given a wrench that brought him, with a gasping groan of pain, to his knees.

"Fight done now!" muttered Red Ben, as he saw Merriwell lift his blood-stained blade.

"You're at my mercy, Del Norte," said Merry. "I can kill you with a single stroke. I'll spare you if you speak the truth. Where is Inza Bur——"

Out of the shadows behind Merriwell darted a figure. A heavy club crashed on Frank's head.

Thus treacherously struck down, the brave youth dropped his knife and fell senseless to the ground.



CHAPTER X.

THE LANDSLIDE.

When Frank regained consciousness and opened his eyes he found he was lying on the rocky floor of a cave, his arms being bound at his sides. The place was lighted by two flaring torches thrust in crevices of the rocks.

Near at hand were three men. One was Del Norte, pale from loss of blood, yet with a murderous light gleaming in his eyes. Another man was Red Ben, who stood with folded arms, silently watching. The third man was unknown to Merry.

The Mexican uttered an exclamation of satisfaction as he saw Frank's eyes unclose.

"At last he is conscious," said Del Norte. "I wished him to have his reason when he died. Look you, dog of a gringo, your time has come. I bear many wounds on my body and limbs made by the knife in your hand. You have only one scratch on your knuckles. But soon you will have this knife of mine in your heart!"

He displayed the weapon, stooping to sweep it flashing in the torchlight before the eyes of the helpless youth.

Frank did not shrink in the least.

"Oh, you're defiant, I see, Senor Gringo!" snarled Merry's enemy. "Soon I will make you groan with agony. Your sweet senorita is near in this very cave, but you shall not see her. She is guarded by one of my faithful ones. When I take her from here we'll leave your lifeless carcass behind. Have you still a grain of hope in your soul? Cast it away. Even though thousands of your friends were near they could not find you in this place. You are doomed."

He took savage pleasure in taunting Frank thus. Again he swept the knife before the eyes of the helpless youth, repeating his threats.

"Beg, gringo dog!" he exclaimed—"beg for your worthless life!"

"A thousand greasers could not make me do that!" declared the defiant captive.

"Do you think so? We'll see! Remember that once I vowed to cut from your mouth your stinging tongue? That was when we stood face to face in New York. You thought my opportunity to keep that oath would never come, did you? It has come at last! Before I kill you I shall cut out your tongue! Ha! ha! ha! How like you the prospect, brave gringo?"

Again Frank looked around. Surely he could expect no assistance from either of the mad Mexican's companions. The white man stood looking on with an air of indifference. Red Ben was motionless, his rifle leaning against the wall at his side.

"You see there is no escape," laughed Del Norte. "At last you begin to understand. You have triumphed over others, but in me you meet your master."

"My master—no! I had you at my mercy when I was treacherously struck down from behind. This Indian knows it, for he saw it all. Porfias del Norte, of all vile things in human form you are the vilest! The mongrel dog that bites the hand that feeds it is your superior. You are——"

With a furious oath, the taunted man flung himself on the speaker, clutching him by the throat.

"Out with your tongue!" he cried. "I'll choke you till it protrudes from your mouth, and then I'll cut it off!"

A feminine shriek rang through the cave, and out of the darkness into the light of the flaring torches rushed Inza Burrage, followed by the man who had been guarding her. She sprang at Del Norte with both hands outthrust and flung him from the prostrate form of her lover, sending him rolling over and over on the rocky floor of the cave, snarling forth profanity in Spanish.

He dropped the knife, and she caught it up, ready to stand over Frank and defend him to the last.

But to the aid of the frenzied girl came most unexpectedly another. Red Ben grasped his rifle and with the butt of the weapon struck down the man who had pursued Inza. Quickly reversing the weapon, he held it ready to shoot, at the same time saying:

"Red Ben him say he see fair play an' best man git gal. Merriwell him best man, but he no have fair play. Now Ben see him git it! I shoot first man who touch him or touch gal!"

They knew he meant it. Del Norte sat up, his pale face contorted with fury.

"Um better stay still," said the redskin, turning the muzzle of the rifle on the Mexican.

"Quick, Inza!" urged Frank—"cut these ropes! Set me free! It's our opportunity!"

Immediately she stooped and obeyed. Frank rose as quick as possible.

"Red Ben," he declared, "you'll not lose by this act of manhood! I'll remember you."

"Take gal that way," urged the Indian, with a jerk of his head. "Git out of cave that way! Quick! Ben him foller."

Merry did not delay. Grasping Inza, he hurried her into the darkness. The cave narrowed, the walls closed in, and the roof came down. Crouching and feeling their way, they pressed on. Almost on hands and knees they crept out into the open air amid a thick screen of brush and shrubbery that concealed the mouth of the cave.

"Thank Heaven!" murmured Inza, on the verge of collapsing.

"Where is that Indian?" cried Frank. "I cannot leave him alone to face those men."

"No leave him," said a voice, as Red Ben came leaping out from the cave. "Him here. Back up, keep um odders front of gun all time. They come now prit' quick. Go, Merriwell, with gal. Ben stop um here."

He sought cover near the mouth of the cave, urging Merry to get Inza away. Then came one of the baffled villains hurrying from the cave. A spout of flame leaped from Red Ben's rifle and the report awoke the mountain echoes and started a few loose pebbles rolling on the steep slope above them.

The pursuer dropped just outside the mouth of the cave. If others were close behind him, they halted instantly, not caring to show themselves and share his fate.

Frank had lifted Inza and carried her through the brush and shrubbery. As he emerged he found himself face to face with several men, and his heart bounded when the voice of Hodge joyously shouted his name. With Hodge was Bruce Browning, Belmont Bland, and others.

"Merry, you've found her—you've rescued her!" burst delightedly from Hodge.

"Listen!" gasped Belmont Bland. "What is that sound?"

On the steeps above there was a murmuring movement, and, looking upward, they seemed to see the mountain stirring slightly in the moonlight. The rushing murmur grew louder, and pebbles began to rattle amid the bowlders and ledges near at hand.

"A landslide!" shouted Frank, horrified. "Flee for your lives!"

As he uttered the words he saw Red Ben come leaping like a deer from the shrubbery.

"Follow!" cried the Indian as he passed them, and fled along the side of the mountain.

What ensued was like a terrible nightmare to Merriwell. He remembered lifting Inza bodily and running for their lives with her in his arms. Pebbles and small stones rained about him, while the rushing murmur grew louder and louder. Beneath his feet at one time the whole mountain side seemed sliding into the valley. A great bowlder, weighing many tons, went bounding and crashing past them like a living thing seeking escape from the awful peril. Small trees were slipping and moving toward the valley.

On and on Frank raced, straining every nerve. Not one of his companions was burdened like him, yet not one of them made greater speed in the effort to escape. His exertions were almost superhuman. It seemed that the knowledge of Inza's awful peril actually lifted him over every obstacle.

Finally some one clutched and stopped him. He found it was Red Ben, who said:

"All right now. Mountain him no run down hill here."

It was true Frank had escaped from the track of the landslide and had brought his sweetheart to safety. Behind them the avalanche of earth, and stones, and timber was heaping itself on the tiny plateau and pouring over the brink of the cliff in a cascade that thundered into the valley below. All around the rocky slopes and wooded steeps were roaring back the sounds like monsters awakened from peaceful slumber and enraged at being thus disturbed.

All this had been brought about by the shot fired by Red Ben. That small concussion had started rolling a single pebble that was the keystone. Recent rains had loosened that pebble. Others followed it, and a bit of earth began to slip downward. This dislodged larger stones, and soon the landslide was under way.

It ceased almost as quickly as it began. The grumbling, roaring mountains continued raging for a few moments, and then they, too, became silent. The bright moonlight revealed the change wrought by the landslide, and it told those who had escaped that the mouth of the cave that had been the hiding place of Del Norte and his companions was closed forever by tons of earth, burying the wretches in a living tomb.

Slowly Frank's friends gathered around him. They were all there; all had escaped. Of the entire party Belmont Bland was the only one missing. One remembered having seen Bland running blindly toward the brink of the precipice, apparently having forgotten its existence. No human eye ever beheld him afterward. If he did not rush blindly over the precipice, it is likely he halted on the brink and turned to escape in another direction when it was too late, being swept over by the rushing landslide.

At the foot of that precipice the body of Pat O'Toole was also buried where Frank had left it when he lost no time in climbing the mountain side.



CHAPTER XI.

BURIED ALIVE!

As Frank and his party left the mountain side there remained two men buried alive in the cave whose mouth was closed by the landslide!

"Where are you, Del Norte?" cried one of the imprisoned men, in a gasping, frightened voice when the roar and rumble of the landslide had ceased, and they began to realize their terrible position.

"I am here," answered the other. "What can we do, Ridgeway?"

"Do? Why, we can die like dogs! There is nothing else for it. You're sure there is no other way out of this cave?"

"No other way. Perhaps we can dig out."

"Not in a thousand years! What have we to dig with—our bare hands?"

"I have my knife—the knife with which I was going to cut out the tongue of that cursed gringo, Merriwell! Why didn't I do it?"

"You know why. Red Ben went back on us, may the fiends take the redskin cur! He helped Merriwell get away with the girl. When Sears tried to follow the Indian shot him, and he's buried out there somewhere beneath that landslide. But he's better off than we are, for he is dead, and we must die! I can't die, Del Norte! I'm not ready to die! I'm not fit to die!"

Then the poor wretch began to weep and pray in the utmost anguish of soul.

Del Norte seemed cowed. He had burned many matches in order that by their faint glow he might examine the great mass of earth and stone that was piled on and crushed into the place that had once been the entrance to the cave. He had seen that a mighty bowlder was blocking the greater part of the former entrance. That stone alone would be enough to imprison them hopelessly, but the sounds of the landslide which had made the mountain roar and shake had satisfied him that the bowlder was held in place by a mass of earth and timber through which, with the best implements, it would be impossible to dig in a week.

"Merriwell has triumphed!" muttered the Mexican. "He will have no more trouble from me."

"Fiends take you!" snarled Ridgeway. "Why did you ever cross my path, and tempt me to such a death with your money? For the love of Heaven, light another match!"

"I have but three more."

"Can't you find a brand from the fire? Let's have some light! We had torches. Where are they?"

"They were extinguished by the rush of air when the slide took place. I've tried to find them, but failed. I'll try again."

"I'm going mad—mad!" groaned Ridgeway.

Del Norte began to search for the extinguished torches. After a time, during which his companion wept, prayed, and cursed by turns, he discovered one of them.

Then he carefully struck one of his matches. The extinguished torch was a piece of resinous pine, and it burned up quickly, giving a flaring light and sending up a wavering stream of black smoke.

By the light the two men gazed into each other's ghastly faces. Their eyes were distended with horror. Their mouths were dry and their lips drawn back from their gleaming teeth. They looked like beasts.

"Curse you, Porfias del Norte!" snarled Ridgeway. "It was you who brought me to this!"

"Bah! It was your greed for the money I paid you that brought you here."

"Had I not met you——"

"You might have been hanged for some crime. Dying this way will save you from hanging."

"Don't talk of hanging!" panted Ridgeway. "If ever a man deserved it you are that man!"

"But I was not born to be hanged."

"Better that than this kind of a death! At least, you would be out in the open air, with a chance to breathe. I am stifling! I feel these walls crowding in upon me! They are going to crush me! Keep them off! keep them off!"

The wretch flung himself on the ground and writhed with agony and fear.

With the torch in his shaking hands, Del Norte stepped forward and kicked his abject and fear-tortured companion.

"Get up, here!" he snarled. "We will take one more look. We will see once more if there is any chance of escape."

Although Ridgeway declared there was no hope, he got up. With the Mexican leading, they passed back into the cave, being forced several times to bend low in a crouching position to avoid striking their heads against the rocky roof.

There were three chambers and only one straight passage from chamber to chamber. It was a simple matter to explore the entire cave. When they came at last into the third chamber they soon found themselves at the end of it, with the dank wall of stone before them.

For some moments they stood quite still, staring helplessly at this wall.

Suddenly a shriek burst from the lips of Ridgeway.

"Doomed!" he cried. "No escape! I feel the mountain collapsing! The walls are crowding in upon us! It's the end! Oh, for just one more breath of free air! For just one more sight of the world outside!"

With that cry, he dropped flat on his face and lay still, as if death had come to claim him, also.

"Get up!" harshly ordered Del Norte, again kicking the man. "Get up, or I'll leave you here alone. I am going back."

Why he desired to return to what had once been the mouth of the cave he could not tell, for there he would be no nearer liberty than in his present position.

The smoke from the torch was filling the place and making the air foul.

"We'll smother in a little while!" thought the Mexican. "It's a wonder we have not smothered already."

Again he kicked his companion and called for him to rise.

Ridgeway lifted his head and stared with terrible eyes at his comrade in misery.

"Did you have a mother?" he asked.

"Of course I did!"

"Did you promise her you would be good?"

Del Norte swore in Spanish.

"I'll not stay here a minute longer!" he declared. "If you stay, you'll remain in the dark."

"Hold on!" commanded Ridgeway, lifting himself on one hand and stretching the other out to the Mexican. "Don't you dare leave me! You're the man who brought this on me! Some one fired a bullet through your head, but it did not kill you. I wish it had! You thought you bore a charmed life; you thought nothing could kill you. Lead failed to do it, but God sent the landslide, and you are as good as dead. Ha! ha! ha!"

Del Norte started away.

"Stand where you are!" yelled Ridgeway, leaping up with amazing quickness. "You were not killed by the bullet, and now, for all of the landslide, you still live. You're a fiend, and you ought to die! I am commanded to kill you! I must do it!"

The Mexican did not dare turn his back on the raving man. Again he started away, but this time he moved backward, keeping his eyes on Ridgeway, who came creeping after him, crouching a little and seeming ready to spring.

Suddenly Ridgeway leaped. His arms shot out and his fingers closed on Del Norte's neck.

"I must kill you!" he yelled. "I am the one chosen to do it! Your time has come!"

The torch fell to the floor and lay there, spluttering and flaring. By this dim and flickering light a fearful struggle took place.

Ridgeway had obtained a powerful clasp on Del Norte's throat, and the Mexican could not hurl him off. They staggered against the wall, which seemed to fling them off. They swayed from side to side, once staggering over the spot where the torch lay.

Then the Mexican succeeded at last in drawing something from his bosom. It flashed brightly in the dim torchlight as he struck with it. There was the impact of a muffled blow, and Ridgeway gave a great start, seeming to grow suddenly straight and tall.

Again the Mexican struck, but now, instead of growing straighter, the other man seemed suddenly to collapse. His breath escaped from his lips in a husky groan, and he dropped in a sprawling heap on the ground at Del Norte's feet.

The man who remained erect backed off a little, staring at the other.

"I had to do it!" whispered Del Norte. "The fool drove me to it! He was mad! He had me by the throat, and he would have killed me! I had to do it!"

Over and over he kept repeating those words:

"I had to do it!"

He felt himself shaking from his head to his feet. On his forehead were great, cold beads of perspiration. His heart seemed choking him.

The man on the ground moved and groaned.

"I had to do it!" whispered Del Norte.

The torch was going out. The man on the ground lay stretched squarely across the floor of the cave, which was not more than eight feet wide at that point. In order to reach the torch it would be absolutely necessary to step over him.

Del Norte started and then stopped. His teeth were chattering, and his cheeks were fully as pale as those of the poor wretch at his feet.

The torch burned dimmer.

At last the Mexican summoned all his courage and stepped over the body, catching up the torch. He swung it until it blazed up brightly.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Ridgeway; but you forced me!"

He stepped back over the body and turned with the torch in his hand to take a last look. The eyes of the stricken man were staring straight up at the rocky ceiling, and there was on his face a strangely altered expression, at which Del Norte wondered. In truth, his look was one of peace and happiness, and he smiled a little. His lips moved, and faintly he whispered:

"Mother—it is—your boy—Jack!"

Then those lips were hushed forever.



CHAPTER XII.

IN THE CAVE OF DEATH.

With the smoking torch gripped in one shaking hand and the knife that had done the terrible work in the other, Porfias del Norte hurried from the scene of that frightful underground tragedy.

"I'm the only one left," he muttered thickly. "I can't last long in this infernal hole."

He stopped in the central chamber.

"Where does all the smoke go to?" he exclaimed. "By this time the torch should have filled the place to suffocation."

There was smoke enough in the chamber, but, as he stood there, he could see it creeping across the roof above his head, striking the lower arch of the passage, and passing on in a slow, gentle current.

"It finds an outlet somewhere!" he whispered, feeling his heart giving a sudden leap in his breast. "What sort of an outlet?"

The faintest ray of hope had shot into his soul. Still he realized that smoke might go where a human being could not pass. Nevertheless, with a burning sensation of eagerness creeping over his hitherto chilled body, he bent low and hastened onward into that low passage.

All the time he kept staring upward at the smoke.

Suddenly he stopped.

He had found the place where the smoke escaped!

It was directly over his head, a long crack across the roof, scarcely wider than a man's hand. Into this the smoke was pouring in the same slow, deliberate manner.

He stared at that crack in bitter, heart-crushed disappointment.

Smoke might escape through that narrow fissure, but a human being—never!

The agony of disappointment that he felt nearly robbed him of his strength and caused him to collapse. He fell back against the wall, a groan coming from his parched throat.

"No chance!" he said hoarsely. "Ridgeway was right! We were both doomed when the landslide came! But he is the better off, for his agony is over!"

Then he thought of his pistol. As a last resort he could blow out his brains and have it ended.

He thrust the deadly knife back into the bosom of his shirt, straightened up, and thrust his fingers into the crack. He tried to force his hand through, to reach up appealingly to the free world far above.

A few pebbles and a little dirt came rattling down and rained over him, bounding from his head and shoulders. Some of the tiny particles of stone struck him on the face.

Then suddenly he began clawing like a madman at the crack, as if he would pull the whole mountain down upon him.

His efforts brought down more stones and earth.

He found a niche into which he set the torch, and then he fell on his knees, calling on the saints.

When he rose again to his feet he bethought himself of the knife and once more took it from the place where it was hidden. With that knife he began digging at the crack. He was compelled to stand in a cramped, crouching position, but he worked fiercely, furiously.

More and more the earth rattled over him and the tiny pebbles rained upon him. His eyes were filled and half blinded, his mouth and nostrils inhaled the dust and caused him to cough. The smoke of the torch choked him.

Still he worked on. It seemed a mad, hopeless task, for he knew that above his head the slope of the mountain extended far upward. Should he make an opening large enough for his body as far as he could reach, what then could he do?

Even though he knew that the chances were a million to one against him, he continued to labor at the roof of the cave, digging out the rocks and earth with his knife. The stuff thus set free began to heap itself in a little circular rim about his feet.

Once he stopped. The torch was dying down, and a glance showed him that it was almost burned out.

The thought of being again left in that frightful darkness made him quickly catch up the bit of burning wood that remained and hasten back to seek for more of the extinguished torches. With its aid he found two of them. He lighted one and returned to the spot where he had been at work.

It seemed that already he had spent many days in that cave of death. He wondered that he was not overcome with hunger, and he felt an awful longing for water. Oh, for a drink, for a swallow, for a drop!

"There's plenty of water outside," he snarled. "There are streams, and rivers, and lakes! I'd give my everlasting soul to drink from one of them now!"

Dig! dig! dig! He was working in the same frantic manner as before. His strength still held out, and he was glad of that. Even if he could not escape, this was something to occupy his mind for the time and prevent him from going mad.

Suddenly a considerable mass of earth, set free by his efforts, fell into the cave. A stone, the size of a man's fist, struck him on the shoulder, but he did not mind the pain.

"I'm dragging the mountain down upon me!" he grated. "I don't care! I am glad! Let it come! Let it fall!"

He stood with one shoulder against the roof, reaching up into the hole he had made, still cutting away with this once keen knife, which was now dulled and blunted.

Suddenly something snapped—something fell on the heap of stones and earth at his feet.

It was the blade of the knife, which had been broken in the middle!

As he stood staring at the broken blade he found the light again growing dimmer, and then he saw that the second torch had burned to the point of expiring.

He lighted the last torch.

When that was burned out he could not escape the dreadful darkness that would close over him.

But the broken knife—the only tool with which he could work was useless!

He dropped in a sitting posture on the ground and covered his distorted, terror-drawn face with his hands. For some time he sat thus, without moving, without making a sound.

The silence was broken by a pattering sound like hail. He lowered his hands and saw that earth was still falling from the hole he had made. It came in little starts and spurts.

The captive of the cave sprang up once more. He thrust both arms up into that hole and tore with his fingers. This he continued until the nails were worn away to the quick and his hands were cut and sticky with blood and dirt.

Finally he stopped from sheer exhaustion. Even his frantic energy was beginning to fail.

Then he heard something like a soft movement above him. He rolled his eyes upward and beheld the roof of the cave directly above him moving the least bit. At first he thought this movement was not actually taking place, but that he imagined it.

Only an instant; then he saw that a part of the roof was settling and seemed about to fall.

He leaped backward to escape from beneath it.

Barely in time.

It fell, and a portion of it hurled him down and caught his feet and legs, pinning him fast.

The torch was extinguished.

At first Del Norte thought the end had come. As he lay with the weight of earth holding his legs fast, he fully expected another mass to follow the first and end his life without delay.

A sudden feeling of indifference came over him, and calmly he waited for the end.

"Come, death!" he urged. "Get it over quickly!"

But no more of the roof fell.

After a little he found himself looking upward into the opening, and far, far away, seemingly miles distant, he imagined he could detect a ray of light.

Lifting the upper part of his body, he began dragging away, with his hands, the earth and stones which had fallen on his legs. It did not take him long to clear his feet.

Next he sought for the torch, but it was buried and lost beneath the fallen mass.

This mass had made a great mound almost as high as the roof of the passage.

He crawled upon it and finally succeeded in straightening up in the opening left when it fell. This opening was plenty large enough for his body; he could move his arms freely; and with his outstretched elbows he was able to touch either side.

Standing there, he tipped back his head and looked upward.

His heart gave a fearful throb as if bursting, and through it shot a sharp pain.

It was no fancy, no hallucination of his deranged brain; away up there he could see light!

"If I could climb up there I might escape!" he whispered. "But how can I do it—how?"

With his hands he felt of the rocky sides of the place where he stood. The walls were rough, with many niches and protrusions.

He resolved at once to make the attempt, well knowing it might cause another fall of earth and rocks, which would crush him to death.

He found a niche on one side for one foot and a protruding bit of ledge on the other side for the other foot. He fastened his fingers in a cleft and slowly succeeded in dragging himself up into the crack, which was now quite wide enough for him to accomplish this.

He felt about and found other cracks and protrusions. Little by little he climbed higher.

Once his foothold gave way and he came near falling. By bracing across the cleft he succeeded in preventing such a calamity.

Then he found the cleft was growing narrower and narrower. It closed in until it threatened to stop him.

He choked as he thought of the possibility. It was the most fearful thing thus almost to get a taste of liberty and then have it denied him.

At last he was checked. For the time being he could force his way no higher.

He felt his strength leaving him. A dizziness came upon him, and he knew he was on the verge of falling. But he maintained his hold and began to feel about. By working his way cautiously some distance along the cleft, he finally came to a point where the walls were wide enough apart for him to slowly drag his body through. Above that point was a narrow ledge, on which he paused to rest.

Still that rift of light was far above his head. Could he ever reach it?

For some time he rested on the ledge, seeking to summon back all the natural strength he possessed. Finally he resumed his almost superhuman efforts.

Occasionally he paused to look up at the cleft of light. At first it had seemed very narrow, but now it was growing wider. Each time he looked it appeared wider than before.

"I'll reach it!" he told himself, with absolute confidence. "Porfias del Norte still lives, Senor Merriwell, as you shall have good cause to know!"

Now the air seemed sweeter and purer. He realized how stagnant and stifling it had been away down there in the cave of death. He turned his face up to it and drew in deep breaths.

Finally he came to a place where the cleft widened on either hand until it was impossible to mount higher by clinging to opposite sides.

At that point he seemed baffled.

Was it possible he could fail and perish with life and liberty almost in his very grasp?

There was but one course for him to pursue. He would have to abandon the attempt to climb with the assistance of both walls; he must take to one wall and make his way up that in some manner.

A little light came down to him from the opening, enabling him to choose the holds for his feet and hands.

At last he came to another ledge, where he lay at full length and rested, although the fear of slipping from it and falling back through that fissure into the heart of the mountain caused him to suffer intense torture. His fancy led him to imagine himself slipping, sliding, falling, seeking to grasp the walls with his torn hands, but failing utterly and dropping at last into the cave, where he found the dead man laughing at him.

Above the ledge at that point he could creep no farther. He aroused himself and crawled slowly along it. It led him out to a place where the light shone in and the cleft was wide above his head.

"Almost free!" he panted.

Had it not been for his life that he was struggling he could never have made that last ascent. In some mysterious manner he accomplished it, dragging himself at last by the aid of some bushes on the brink over the edge and dropping unconscious on the rocky mountain side.

In a little time the air revived him. He lifted his head and looked around. A cry of joy burst from his lips, and he managed to stagger to his feet. Around him on every side lay the beautiful world, the mountains, the autumn-tinted woods and the blue lakes. Above him was the sapphire sky and the gloriously golden sun, for the night had passed and another day was well advanced. He drew in deep breaths of the clear, sweet air, and his blood leaped in his veins.

Yet a marvelous change had taken place. At the time when he entered that cave his hair was as black as a raven's wing; now his face was like that of an old man, and his hair was snowy white!

"Free!" he cried. "I have escaped! But how I have suffered! That dog of a gringo, Frank Merriwell, caused it all! He thinks me dead and out of his path forever. I am alive, and I swear to make Merriwell suffer even as I have suffered! I'll not kill him at one blow, but I'll rob him of all he holds dear, his sweetheart, his beauty, his strength, his wealth, and then I will find a way to destroy him at last!

"This is the oath of Porfias del Norte!"



CHAPTER XIII.

HOW RAILROADS ARE BUILT.

Four men of great power and influence in the financial world had gathered in the offices of Scott & Rand, brokers, New York City.

Of course, old Gripper Scott himself was one of the four. Two more were Sudbury Bragg and Warren Hatch.

The fourth was a slender, smooth-faced, cold-eyed, thin-lipped man of uncertain age, whose name was Basil Jerome. The latter had just appeared, and had been greeted by the others assembled.

It was several days after the landslide that had brought the stirring events in the Adirondack Mountains to a close—events that were directly traceable to the great business consolidation that these capitalists were now discussing.

"Mr. Jerome, gentlemen," said Watson Scott, "has expressed his willingness to come into our railroad project in case he is satisfied that it will be carried through in a manner that will insure success and profit to us all. You have expressed your willingness to take him in if he will enter on the same terms as the rest of us. Mr. Merriwell should be here now, and——"

"He is," said a voice, and Frank Merriwell, himself, entered the office. "I hope I have not kept you waiting, gentlemen. My cab got into a jam on Broadway, and I was delayed full fifteen minutes."

"You are in good season, Merriwell," said Old Gripper. "Let me introduce to you Mr. Basil Jerome, the gentleman I spoke to you about last evening. Jerome has been concerned in the organization of many a big project, and he stands ready to take a corner in the Central Sonora Railroad deal."

"Providing," said Jerome, "that I become satisfied that the deal is to be carried through properly and there are no serious obstructions in its way."

Frank did not like the man's look, nor the cold voice that corresponded so well with his frigid eyes and face.

"Just what do you mean, sir," he questioned, "when you state you are ready to come in if the deal is carried through properly?"

Jerome sat down, and Frank followed his example. They faced each other, and something told Merriwell there was to be a clash between them.

Jerome surveyed Merry from head to feet, taking him all in. Without at once answering the question, he observed:

"You are a very young man to be the promoter of a project of such magnitude."

Frank flushed, for there was something most annoying in the manner and words of the fellow.

"I fail to see what my age has to do with it."

"Youth lacks experience and judgment. It is liable to be flighty and build great projects on moonshine."

"I think you will admit, sir, that Watson Scott is not a man to be dazzled or deceived by moonshine. He is actively concerned in this business."

"Mr. Scott seldom makes mistakes," admitted Jerome.

"Besides," added the youth, "I object to the word 'promoter' as you applied it to me. I am not a promoter. I propose to put a good, round sum of hard cash into the combined fund of the syndicate."

"Oh, you do?"

"Yes, sir."

"Which goes to prove that what I have just said is correct—youth lacks experience and judgment."

Frank was surprised.

"I fail to see how you make that out. If the plan is a promising one, and I am satisfied that the railroad will be a paying venture, why should I not invest my money in it? If I were not confident that it would pay, I'd not be advocating it."

Jerome made a slight gesture.

"No such project can be absolutely assured of success at the outset," he asserted. "It is a great venture, and the men who get in on the ground floor are certain to protect themselves from loss in any case."

Merriwell frowned, a puzzled expression on his face.

"How is that possible?" he asked. "If we are assembled here to organize and build that railroad, how is it possible for us to be protected against loss if the railroad does not prove a paying piece of property?"

A cold smile flitted across the face of Jerome.

"I knew you were inexperienced. Young man, there are several ways of doing it; but undoubtedly the simplest way is to organize a stock company and sell stock to the public. Let the public in general build the railroad, while we reap the profits, if there are any."

"But if the public owns the stock, I fail to see how we can reap the profits if the railroad is a financial success."

Jerome looked with something like pity at the questioning youth.

"It is a simple matter. I will explain it in a few words. To begin with, it is not necessary for us to invest one dollar of our own money in the scheme."

"What? And still we may hold an interest in it?"

"The controlling interest, Mr. Merriwell."

"Go on, sir."

"We will suppose at the start that we organize the Central Sonora Railroad Company and capitalize it for—well, just as an example, let's say ten millions of dollars. Before deciding on this we will have made surveys and estimates that have convinced us beyond question that the road may be built and placed in operation for four millions of dollars."

"Then why should it not be capitalized for four millions?"

"Because that is not business—safe, conservative business. Because that would make it impossible to raise the money needed without ourselves taking chances of great loss. Let me proceed. Having organized in a legal manner, and having issued certificates of stock to the extent of ten millions of dollars, we can next proceed to raise the money required to begin active building operations."

"By placing the stock on the market?"

"Not yet. Every man here, with the possible exception of yourself, Mr. Merriwell, is known to every great banking institution in the country, and his credit is unlimited. At the outset we will take four million dollars' worth of our stock to some institution and secure from it on that stock the full sum required to build the railroad. Thus, you can see, we will not have to put up a dollar of our own money; but we will build the railroad with the money of the general public, which has been deposited at the bank from which we secure it."

"I see," nodded Frank, his eyes shining queerly. "It's a fine little scheme you have, Mr. Jerome!"

"I am letting you into the secret methods of capitalists who build railroads and organize great business projects without using a dollar of their own money," said Jerome. "Having secured our money, we will proceed to put our railroad through."

"We'll build it, and the general public will pay the bills?"

"Exactly. Having it constructed, by successful manipulation—the easiest thing in the world for those who know the trick—we'll unload four million dollars' worth of stock on the public and square ourselves with the bank. At this stage of the game the public will have paid for the railroad, which was built with the public's own money; but we shall still hold six million dollars' worth of stock in that road, or the controlling interest."

Frank felt his blood growing hot within his veins.

"In short," added Jerome, "we take no chances whatever, for at the start we know the road will cost a million less than half the amount for which it is capitalized, we have borrowed the public's money to build it, we are certain we can sell stock enough to pay back every dollar, and still hold control of the railroad, and we are in a position to come out ahead whether the railroad proves to be a paying piece of property or not."

"And this is the way railroads are built?" muttered Merriwell. "But what if we find, after the railroad is put in operation, that it is a losing venture—that it will not pay a dividend on the amount at which it is capitalized, and is running behind?"

"Then it becomes a simple matter for us to step out from under, and as we step out we can take with us in our own pockets a few millions in profits. If we become satisfied that the railroad is a loser, we'll again work the stock market, and, by certain manipulations, boost the price of Central Sonora to the highest possible point. When we are satisfied that we have it up to the top notch, we'll dump every dollar's worth of stock in our possession, pocket our profits, and smile as we see Central Sonora slump and go to the dogs."

"In short," said Frank, "after we have built the railroad with the money of the general public, overcapitalized it in a criminal manner, and discovered that it will not pay a dividend on its watered stock, you propose that we perpetrate another outrage on unsuspecting investors by selling back to the public our holdings of stock that actually belongs to the public anyhow!"

"Your inexperience is again shown by the manner in which you apply the term 'watered' to that stock. Watered stock is new stock issued by a railroad or other corporation that already has a certain amount of stock in existence, but claims that it does not fairly represent, through increase of the value of a property and franchises, the increase of actual capital. We capitalize at the start for more than double the actual cost of building and putting in operation, and therefore our stock may not justly be called watered. In case this railroad should thrive wonderfully, and should pay wonderful dividends on our ten million dollars' worth of stock, we might then water it by issuing more stock. I hope I have made the whole thing clear to you, Mr. Merriwell."

"You have!" cried Frank. "You have made it clear that what you propose is criminally dishonest, is a gigantic swindle, and that parties concerned in such an outrageous fraud should be amenable to the law and sent to the penitentiary!"

Frank had risen to his feet, his eyes flashing and his whole aspect one of righteous indignation.

Although he had thus pretended, he had not been entirely ignorant of the dishonorable methods of stock jobbers, but he had feigned ignorance in order to draw Basil Jerome out and lead him to fully expose the true inwardness of his reprehensible plan of operation.

Jerome gazed at the indignant youth with a mingling of surprise and pity.

"My dear boy," he said, "you are excited. Don't permit yourself to become so wrought up and to use such violent language. I have simply explained to you the usual method of building railroads, as Mr. Scott and the other gentlemen will attest."

"Then the usual method of building railroads is a rotten and dishonest method!" exclaimed Merry. "Mr. Scott, do you approve of such a scheme?"

"What if I should tell you that I do?" asked Old Gripper, his stolid face calm and unreadable.

"Then here and now I would lose no time in announcing my withdrawal from the project," retorted Merriwell. "I am not a poor man, but did I not possess a dollar in the world, and you were to show me beyond question that I could make five millions as my own share by entering into such a dastardly operation, I would refuse to have anything to do with it."

"Very well," said Jerome, with one of his cold smiles, "it will be a simple matter to leave you out of it. If I have been correctly informed, your principal reason for wishing this railroad constructed is to give you better facilities for handling the production of a mine of yours, located in Eastern Sonora, near the line of the proposed road. Am I right?"

"If you are—what then?"

"We may build the road, and you need have nothing to do with it. The desired result will be obtained, for your mine will have an outlet by rail to the rest of the world, and you will no longer find it necessary to pack ore or bullion hundreds of miles to the nearest railroad shipping point."

"Then you are ready to carry this thing through without me?" asked Frank, holding himself in check.

"If these other gentlemen are ready to take hold of it in the proper manner, they will find me ready to stand with them."

"And the proper manner is the dishonest manner you have just explained to us! Not only do I decline to take a part in such an operation, but I refuse to permit it to be carried out!"

"What?" cried Jerome, surprised out of his icy reserve for once. "I don't think I understand you. You refuse to permit us to carry it out?"

"That is what I said, sir. Evidently you understood me perfectly."

"You refuse?" repeated Jerome.

"Yes, sir."

The man smiled.

"I fail to see what effect that can have on us. To begin with, you are crazy to make such ridiculous talk. Don't you want that railroad? Wouldn't it be of benefit to you?"

"I want the road, and it would be of great benefit to me," confessed Merriwell; "but not even to obtain that benefit and advantage will I permit the road to be constructed in a manner that I regard as criminal from start to finish."

"You talk about not permitting it, young man. In case we decide to build, I don't see how your permission or your refusal will have the slightest effect on us. Will you explain how it can?"

"Yes."

"How? What will you do?"

"I will expose the whole rotten scheme to the public! I will let the public know just how its money is being used for the purpose of defrauding it. I will publish the story from one end of the country to the other. You may borrow four million dollars and give as security the stock of the Central Sonora, but I promise you I'll let daylight into that thing so that the gullible public will decline to buy your stock, and in the end you'll have to make that four millions good out of your own pockets."

Again Jerome surveyed Frank Merriwell from his head to his feet, unable to keep from his cold face a slight expression of wonderment. What sort of a young man was this who not only refused to share in the profits of such a deal, but threatened to stop the whole thing by exposure, even though the construction of the railroad was greatly desired by him and would be of incalculable value to him?

"I confess that you are beyond my comprehension," he said. "It is possible, however, that Mr. Scott may be able to do something with you."

There was a queer look in the eyes of Old Gripper.

"I have found," he said, "that Mr. Merriwell is not easily turned aside once he has determined on any course."

"But you," said Jerome—"you and the other gentlemen present know that the plan I have proposed is the only safe and conservative way of building this railroad. Here is Mr. Hatch—he has been concerned in similar deals."

"But I have never had as an associate a man like Mr. Merriwell," confessed Warren Hatch, stroking his full beard with his thin hand. "In fact, I think it wholly improbable that the whole of us could turn Merriwell a whit, even if we set about the task in unison."

"Do you mean to admit," asked Jerome, "that you are willing to be governed by this fellow, who is scarcely more than a boy? I can't think it of you!"

"Perhaps we have good reasons," grunted Sudbury Bragg.

Jerome gazed at them each in turn, his show of wonderment increasing.

"And do you mean to say," he questioned, "that you propose to invest your good money in this railroad project of his? Is it possible that men like you, who are familiar with all the methods of pushing through such a project without risk, will let this young fellow inveigle you into jeopardizing yourselves?"

"We have become satisfied," said Scott, "that the scheme promises well, and we are willing to take the risk. Unless you wish to come in and join your money with ours in backing the deal, I think we'll have to get along without you."

"We'll get along without him under any circumstances," said Frank grimly.

"Why——"

"Nothing in this world could induce me to become concerned in any business venture with Mr. Jerome as a partner, for I would be in constant expectation that in some underhand method he would undermine and defraud me."

"You have heard Mr. Merriwell's decision, Jerome," said Watson Scott. "That lets you out."

Jerome's pale face was unusually so as he rose to his feet. His thin lips were pressed together, and his mouth drooped a little at the corners. After a moment of silence, he said:

"Very well, gentlemen; I will depart and leave you to organize. I wish you all the success you deserve to obtain through a wildcat scheme of a simple boy, who knows just about as much about business and business methods as a yellow dog knows about algebra. Good day, gentlemen!"

With a contemptuous movement, he walked out of the office.



CHAPTER XIV.

ANOTHER OBSTACLE.

As Basil Jerome left the office of Scott & Rand he came face to face with a thickset, florid-faced man and a slender, dark-eyed youth, who had just stepped from the elevator.

"Howdy do, Mr. Jerome! Is it yourself?" said the man, with just the slightest hint of an Irish brogue. "It's a bit glum you're looking. Anything wrong?"

"How do you do, Mr. Hagan," responded Jerome. "Didn't know you were in town. Haven't seen you for months."

"I've been moving around a bit, but I'm back again, large as life and just as natural. Saw you coming out of Old Gripper's den. I'm bound there myself, for I understand there's a little matter going on in which I'm a trifle interested."

"You don't mean that Mexican railroad affair, do you?"

"Why, yes, me boy, that's it; but how did you guess so quick?"

"I was invited to take a hand in that myself, but I prefer to keep out. In the manner they propose to do it, I want none in mine. If you're thinking of butting in, take my advice and stay out."

"As a friend, would you mind telling me why? You have aroused me curiosity."

"If you investigate closely I fancy you'll find out why, Hagan. This youngster, Merriwell, who is promoting the scheme, is altogether too finicky about the manner in which the deal shall be financiered. He's old-fashioned in his ideas of honesty and business methods. How Old Gripper can swallow him is more than I can understand, and Gripper has inveigled Warren Hatch and Sudbury Bragg into it. Keep out, Hagan—keep out."

Hagan laughed.

"Thank ye for the advice," he said; "but I have a little trick of my own to turn with those gentlemen. I'm glad to know I'll find them all ready for me. Don't worry about Bantry Hagan. He seldom gets left. So-long, Jerome."

Hagan passed on, with the dark-eyed youth at his heels, and entered the office of Scott & Rand.

The four men left in the private room were settling down to business when the office boy appeared and announced that Mr. Bantry Hagan wished to speak with Mr. Scott at once on very important business.

Old Gripper seldom betrayed astonishment, but he could not conceal it now. There was likewise indignation in his face and voice as he exclaimed:

"Hagan? That man here? Why, confound his cast-iron cheek! how dare he show his face in my office! What do you think of him, Merriwell?"

"It's just what I should expect of him," declared Merry. "He has gall enough for a regiment."

"Many thanks for your fine opinion of me," said the voice of Hagan himself, who had boldly followed the boy. "It's you, Mr. Merriwell, I'm wishing to chat with, too, and I'm lucky to find ye here with Mr. Scott. And here are Mr. Bragg and Mr. Hatch! Come right in, Felipe."

The somewhat shy-appearing youth of the dark eyes followed him into the room as he pushed the office boy aside.

By this time Watson Scott was on his feet, his face dark as a storm cloud.

"Bantry Hagan, you scoundrel," he cried, "how dare you show yourself to us!"

"Now, Mr. Scott; don't excite yourself," said the intruder. "You are said to be a man with iron nerves, but your behavior this moment belies your reputation. Why shouldn't I show myself to you?"

"You know well enough, you villain! You know there is a warrant for your arrest now in the hands of the sheriff of Essex County."

"And I also know the sheriff of Essex County is not here to serve it. I further know he never will serve it."

The cool assurance of Hagan was almost staggering.

"It's an easy matter to swear out another warrant here in this city, and Mr. Merriwell is just the man to do it."

"Mr. Merriwell is just the man not to do it. Were he to take so much trouble, what would he prove against me?"

"He could prove that you were concerned in a dastardly attack upon him up in the Adirondacks, being at that time the worthy associate of Porfias del Norte, who came to a well-merited death, together with two other ruffians, by being buried by a landslide."

Hagan grinned.

"It would be easy enough to make such a charge, but quite another matter to prove it. Who could appear as witnesses against me? Could you swear, Mr. Scott, that I had anything whatever to do with this matter of which you speak? No? Well, certain it is that your trusted private secretary, Belmont Bland, will never appear to furnish evidence for any one, nor will O'Toole. It is easy enough to have any man arrested, but proving him guilty is quite another matter."

"It's a shame, Hagan," said Frank, "that you were not in the cave with Del Norte when that landslide occurred."

"That's the way you look at it, me boy," nodded the Irishman; "but I have a different feeling about it, and I thank the saints that I was spared. I fancy you thought yourself well rid of all your troubles when Del Norte met with that little misfortune, and you're now ready to go ahead with your great railroad scheme. But before you lead these gentlemen into it I have a little revelation to make that may interest them and you a bit."

"Say the word, Merriwell, and I'll have the man kicked out," growled Watson Scott.

"Let's hear his revelation," suggested Frank, "and then he may have the decency to take himself off of his own accord."

"Now you are coming to your senses," chuckled Hagan. "When you have heard what I'm going to tell ye it's in no hurry you'll be to have me go without a little understanding and agreement between us. Porfias del Norte had a plan of his own that bothered you some, for he convinced you that he was the rightful heir of Guerrero del Norte, who years ago had obtained an extensive land grant in Eastern Sonora, and on this land claimed by him your San Pablo Mine is located. Del Norte had parties working in Mexico to obtain a reaffirmation of that old concession. With Del Norte dead and gone I fancy you thought your troubles ended. Me boy, you were wrong. Although you did not know it, old Guerrero was not the only one who obtained concessions in Eastern Sonora."

"What's the man driving at?" growled Scott. "Is he here with another cock-and-bull story about land grants?"

"It's no cock-and-bull story you'll find it," asserted the Irishman. "The grant to old Guerrero, Porfias del Norte's grandfather, was made by President Pedraza in 1832. Am I not right?"

"What if you are?"

"It means a great deal to Mr. Merriwell, as I will demonstrate. I have lately learned that there was an earlier claimant to that same territory. The first Mexican republic was organized in October, 1824, with General Don Felix Fernando Victoria as president. You are quite familiar with Mexican history, Merriwell, me boy. Am I correct in this statement?"

"You are."

"Very well. Now I'm coming to me point. One of General Victoria's chief assistants, and a gallant officer in his army, was Colonel Sebastian Jalisco. As a reward for this man's services, when Victoria became president he granted him a great tract of land in Eastern Sonora, covering practically the same territory as that afterward conceded to Guerrero by Pedraza. This grant of Victoria's was never revoked or annulled, and therefore Jalisco was the rightful claimant to it all the while. Jalisco was ill for many years of a mental derangement, and neither he nor his heirs ever disputed Guerrero's right to the territory. Later, however, as you know, President Santa Anna revoked the Guerrero grant. The one made to Jalisco has never been revoked, and it holds good to-day. It happens that chance has thrown me in with Colonel Jalisco's only surviving heir, his great grandson, and this, gentlemen, is the boy."

Hagan waved one of his square hands toward his dark-eyed companion.

He had thrown a bomb into the meeting, and he smiled to see the havoc it created.

Warren Hatch was on his feet, while Sudbury Bragg had leaned forward on the square table, resting on his elbows, his jaw drooping. Watson Scott grasped both arms of his chair and leaned forward as if to rise, but did not get up.

Of them all Frank Merriwell was the only one who did not seem thunderstruck.

"Who is this boy, Hagan?" he asked.

"The great grandson of Colonel Jalisco, I have told you. His name is Felipe Jalisco, with a whole lot of fancy middle names thrown in."

"We have your word for it, but it takes something more than the mere word of Bantry Hagan to cut any ice."

"Does it, indeed, me lad?"

"It does."

"Then you shall have something more. In fact, Mr. Merriwell, I fancy I can give you all you require. What do you want?"

"Proof."

"Felipe can establish his relationship beyond the doubt of the most skeptical."

"But the old land grant to Felipe's great grandfather——"

"Is in me possession!" cried Bantry Hagan, as he dramatically produced a yellow parchment-like document and waved it triumphantly above his head.

He laughed aloud as he surveyed the men before him, but never a smile came to the dusky face of Felipe Jalisco, his companion.

"Gentlemen," he said, "before you set about building any railroads through that part of Sonora I advise you to transact a little business with me. It will save you lots of trouble later on."

"Will you permit us to examine that document?" asked Frank, still with perfect self-possession.

"On your word of honor as a gentleman—which I know ye are—to return it as soon as you have made the examination."

"You have the pledge," said Merry, stepping forward.

Hagan unhesitatingly handed the document over to Frank, who immediately spread it out upon the table.

The others pressed about Merry to obtain a look at the paper.

"The dashed thing is in Spanish!" gurgled Sudbury Bragg, in disgust.

"Of course it is," nodded Hagan.

"I can't read it," admitted Bragg.

"But I can," said Frank.

He hurriedly yet keenly scanned it through, inspecting the signature and seal, and finally straightened up with it in his hand.

"Gentlemen," he said quietly, "the document seems to be genuine."

"Seems to be?" said Old Gripper. "Then you think there may be a doubt about it?"

"There may be."

"But there isn't!" cried Hagan. "It's all right. Now, Merriwell, me boy, perhaps you'll not disdain to do a bit of business with Bantry Hagan."

Frank refolded the paper and returned it to the Irishman.

"What are you after?" he asked.

"Money, me lad—money. Of course Felipe Jalisco might raise a fuss and make you no end of trouble; but I have talked the matter over with him, and he is willing to surrender his claim to the concession made to his great grandfather in case he is well paid. You are rich, Merriwell; you have been making a fat thing out of your mines, and you can afford to pay. We have settled on a price, and we'll take not a dollar less. Either you'll come to our terms, or we'll cut the ground from under yer and leave you nothing but empty air to stand on."

"What is your price?"

"Five hundred thousand dollars!"

"Quite modest!" said Merry sarcastically.

"Will you pay it?"

"Not a dollar of it!"

Hagan was set back, for he had fancied the youth weakening.

"Not a dollar?" he repeated, in astonishment. "Do ye mean it?"

"I always mean what I say."

"But—but you're crazy!"

"I think not."

"It's the devil's own broil ye'll find yourself in if you refuse."

"Then I'm certain to have a lively time, for I utterly and absolutely refuse to give up a dollar."

"You just said the document was genuine."

"I beg your pardon; you misunderstood me."

"I heard you say so!"

"I repeat, you misunderstood me."

"Then what did you say?"

"I said it seemed to be genuine."

"But you doubt if it is?"

"I do."

"How can ye?"

"There are various things which lead me to doubt."

"Will you name them?"

"I don't mind naming some of them."

"Do so."

"In the first place, before investing heavily in the San Pablo Mine, I took the trouble to investigate thoroughly the solidness of my title to the property, knowing how insecure most titles are in Mexico. I overhauled old records and probed into history. I found out all about the grant of President Pedraza to Guerrero del Norte. I found the concession had been reaffirmed by Santa Anna when he first received the presidency, and I afterward found that, later on, because old Guerrero preferred to remain a bandit and a plunderer, Santa Anna had revoked and annulled the grant."

"Well?"

"Well, that left me no doubt whatever in regard to the legality of my title. In all my investigating I found no record of any grant to Colonel Sebastian Jalisco. In all my probing into the history of Mexico and her struggles to rid herself of the Spanish yoke I am certain I found no mention whatever of any such person as Sebastian Jalisco, who held in the patriot army the commission of colonel. In short, Bantry Hagan, I do not believe any such person as Colonel Sebastian Jalisco ever existed!"

As far as Frank Merriwell was concerned, the bomb hurled by Hagan had missed the mark completely.

In spite of himself, Hagan was staggered by the bold stand of the youth that nothing could daunt. Not only was he staggered, he was enraged.

"It is a wonderful knowledge of Mexican history you have, me boy!" he cried. "But you're due to find out that you don't know near as much as you think you do. This poor boy has a claim to property you are holding and working, and as true as me name is Bantry Hagan, I'll see that he gets his rights!"

"Go ahead," said Frank quietly. "It's not the boy you are looking after; it's Hagan, and I can give you my opinion of Hagan in a very few words. From his toes to the hair on his head he is a thoroughbred rascal."

"Your talk is very bold, but you'll come down before we are done with you," snarled the Irishman, in exasperation. "I'll bring you to your knees and have you begging."

"I have no fear of that. You have taken up altogether too much of our time. Will you have the decency to retire and let us go on with our business!"

It was not a request; it was a command.

Hagan's belligerent nature was aroused, and it seemed that he was inclined to remain and create further annoyance. From Frank he turned to the others.

"Gentlemen," he cried, "you have heard our claim and you have seen the document by which we propose to back it up. If you know anything of Bantry Hagan, you know he enjoys a good fight and he sticks to a thing to the bitter end. I propose to stick to this thing. In the end this boy will secure his rights, and Merriwell will not hold one inch of property in Mexico. But let me give you warning that if you attempt to build that railroad you will find yourselves involved in a matter that will cost you more money than you can count in a week. In the end you will meet disaster. Before you go any further, either you or Merriwell must settle with Felipe Jalisco."

Then he stepped toward the Mexican lad, on whose shoulder he placed a hand, observing:

"You have heard, Felipe; the man who is usurping your rights refuses to do you justice, and proposes to continue robbing you."

The black eyes of the boy flashed.

"I will have my rights!" he exclaimed, in good English. "Either he shall pay me or he shall die! I will kill him!"

"Softly, my lad! Don't make such threats before witnesses, for it is bad business."

"It is what I mean!" shouted the boy, who had suddenly grown greatly excited.

He flung off Hagan's hand, and sprang out before Frank.

"You rob me!" he panted. "Pay me—pay me, or I kill you!"

"Better take him away, Hagan," said Merriwell, "or I'll turn him over to the police, which I do not care to do."

"He's dangerous, if he is young," said the Irishman. "I'm afraid you'll be sorry you did not listen to his demand for justice."

"If there were a grain of justice in his demand I would be ready enough to listen," returned Merriwell. "You are behind this business. Having failed in your other project, through the death of Del Norte, your fertile brain has originated this daring, yet foolish, scheme. Do you think you are dealing with children? Did you fancy you could frighten or browbeat me into paying you money before I had thoroughly investigated this Jalisco business and sifted it to the bottom? Why, you know that were you in my place you would not give up a dollar on such a demand. Take him away, Hagan, and be quick about it, or I swear I'll telephone the police and have you both arrested for attempted fraud!"

That Frank was in earnest now there could be no doubt.

"We'll go," nodded Hagan. "Not because we are afraid of the result should you have us arrested; but we know your power—you and the men behind you—and we care not to suffer the humiliation and inconvenience of temporary confinement. The Jaliscos are hot-blooded and revengeful, and you now have one for your bitterest enemy. Take my advice, me boy, and watch yourself day and night, for you can't tell when Felipe will strike at you."

Then the Irishman grasped his companion by the arm and urged him toward the door.

At the door, ere leaving the office, Felipe turned to glare over his shoulder at Frank, hissing:

"You rob me! I will kill you!"



CHAPTER XV.

HAGAN SECURES A PARTNER.

"The fight has begun, Felipe, me boy," said Hagan, as the two left the brokers' office and stood waiting for the elevator to carry them down to the ground floor. "I knew it would be no easy thing, but it was worth trying."

"I will kill him!" repeated the Mexican lad, in a savage whisper.

"No, no; better not."

"He robs me!"

"But it is not safe to kill in this country."

"Always the Jaliscos kill their enemies."

"If you were to do that in this State it would be the electric chair for yours."

"If they prove not that by me it was done——"

"You were foolish, me lad; you threatened. Besides that, to kill him would be to kill the goose that must lay the golden egg. You can see the folly in that. If you were to kill him, how could you force him to pay you the money you demand?"

"But what is it I am to do? I hate him! He is bold and he does not take the fright."

"Sure he's a hard boy to frighten," nodded the Irishman.

"But I will drive fear into his heart!" hissed Felipe. "He shall soon know that death is near him everywhere. Ah! that is what I will do! I will frighten him until he is glad to pay to escape the death that may strike him any time. I have friends who will stand by me. They are here in this city, and soon I can find them. They will help me to frighten the bold American. We will find a way."

"Perhaps you may, but I have me doubts. Here is the car."

The car stopped, the sliding door rattled, and they stepped in, being swiftly carried to the ground floor, from which they emerged upon lower Broadway.

"A little while ago," said Hagan, "I was in a scheme with Porfias del Norte to bring this Merriwell to his knees and denude him of his Mexican property. He defied us all, but I believe we might have succeeded had Del Norte lived. It was his game to frighten or destroy Merriwell. We followed the fellow up into the Adirondacks, but when I found that Del Norte actually meant to murder Merriwell I declined to remain and be concerned. It was carrying the thing too far for Bantry Hagan. I left and returned to New York. Well for me that I did. As near as I can get at it, Del Norte did capture Merriwell, aided by two other men, and got him into a mountain cave. But just as Del Norte was on the point of putting an end to Merriwell his Indian guide turned on him and helped the prisoner to escape from the cave. Then came a landslide that covered the mouth of that cave with tons of earth and bowlders and buried Del Norte and his comrades in a living tomb. The death they experienced there must have been a horrible one."

He shrugged his thick shoulders at the thought of it.

"Evidently," he went on, "Merriwell congratulated himself on the death of Del Norte, for he fancied that would put an end to all his troubles and he would be able to carry through his great schemes without opposition. He must be a bit disgusted now. He'll find Hagan a stayer. But he has strong backers behind him, and we need some men equally good, Felipe. There's Jerome—Basil Jerome! Just the man! He'll go into anything that promises big, and he knows how to carry any scheme through. He can make dollars grow on elder bushes, that man! His office is round here on Nassau Street. Come along, Felipe, and we'll see if we can find him."

They walked through Wall Street to Nassau, passing the Stock Exchange on their way. Turning up Nassau, they soon came to the building in which Basil Jerome had his office.

Jerome was in, and, on receiving Hagan's name, he agreed to see his visitors at once.

"Sit down," he invited, motioning them to chairs in the private office to which they were admitted. "Didn't expect to see you again, Hagan, in such a hurry. You must have rushed through your business with Old Gripper and his crowd. How did you come out?"

"By the door," answered the Irishman; "and it's little good it did us to go in."

"Did you take my advice as a tip in regard to that railroad deal?"

"It's no advice I needed, for I wasn't thinking of pushing into that."

"There might be money in it if they put her through in the proper manner; but it's Merriwell's idea, I reckon, to capitalize her at her proper value; and that will make it necessary for the men who build to take just as much risk as the general public who buys the stock. It doesn't seem possible that a shrewd old fox like Watson Scott can be dragged into such a dangerous affair. Now, if you and I were doing it, Hagan, we'd do it in a way that would leave us practically without risk, and I think we'd clean up a good thing out of it."

"Why can't we do it?" exclaimed Hagan, as if struck by a sudden thought.

"Why can't we?" questioned Jerome, in some surprise. "Why, that other gang is in it."

"We'll block 'em, me boy! We'll hold their scheme up, and reap the harvest ourselves!"

"How can it be done? Oh, no; I'm not looking for trouble with that bunch. It isn't necessary to build railroads in order to make money. There are plenty of roads in existence that can be manipulated and squeezed dry. There is no need to go searching round for new roads to build."

"But there is something more to squeeze in this than a railroad. What if I show you how we can get an interest in a vast tract of land in Eastern Sonora—a tract that is rich in minerals in one section and may be opened up for ranches and plantations in another?"

"Ranches and plantations? I've heard that all of Northern Mexico is barren and arid and practically worthless."

"Much of it is."

"How would you get hold of this land and obtain a railroad land grant from the Mexican government?"

"The grant is already in existence."

Hagan then explained to Jerome as clearly as possible Felipe Jalisco's claim to a great area of land in Sonora.

"The boy is without influence with the government," confessed Hagan, "else he would make application for his rights. Unfortunately, the politics of his family have run in the wrong direction, and he knows he would be turned down if he should try to secure his rights. But he actually owns the very land possessed by Merriwell—the land on which Merriwell's mine is located. And that mine is said to be fabulously rich. He will accept a fair sum as his share of the spoils; the rest we can divide between us."

"There's something in it," nodded Jerome.

"Here is the document," said Hagan, displaying Felipe's paper. "Can you read Spanish?"

"No."

"Well, even Merriwell, who can read Spanish, confessed that it seemed genuine. You see the opportunity, man; come in with us and make a good thing for yourself."

Jerome considered.

"There is no reason why we should attempt to build that road, Hagan," he said. "If you want me as your partner, I believe we can make a big thing out of it without ever constructing a rod of railroad."

"How?"

"Dead easy. We'll form a company, with the avowed purpose of putting the road through. We'll buck the Merriwell crowd just as if we meant business. If we do it in the proper manner, we can jar them some. But it's best to wait a bit until they get started, for it wouldn't do to frighten Scott and the others out before they were fairly under way. We will come down on them like a ton of bricks at the right time. If we scare them so they are on the verge of abandoning the whole deal, it's likely Merriwell will cough up a fancy sum just to have us drop our game and let them go on. There you are. It's money made on pure bluff."

"Fine enough!" chuckled Hagan, in satisfaction. "I knew I was coming to the right man when I came to you, me boy!"

"What am I to receive?" asked the Mexican lad, who had been listening with deep interest.

"Your share," answered Hagan.

The boy sprang up.

"I have another way!" he exclaimed. "I have the way of my own. Senor Merriwell shall find death creeping at his heels day and night. He shall know it is I, Felipe Jalisco, who threatens him with destruction; but I will take care to keep beyond his reach. He shall know that the only way to escape the peril that follows him is to pay me all I ask."

"We'll have to hold him down, Hagan," whispered Jerome. "The little fool is liable to murder Merriwell and ruin everything."



CHAPTER XVI.

ARTHUR HATCH.

That afternoon Frank Merriwell accompanied Warren Hatch when the latter left the city to return to his home on the Hudson. They took a train at the Grand Central Station.

When they were comfortably seated on the train, Mr. Hatch observed:

"Well, Frank, the thing is settled at last, and now it will be pushed through as fast as possible. We'll have that railroad built in a hurry, and you don't have to lift a hand. You have business enough to look after, and so——"

"I was not particularly anxious to become actively concerned in the construction of our railroad," said Merry; "but, of course, I stood ready and willing to do my share."

"Which you did by pledging yourself to take a good big lot of the stock when issued. As this road is to be capitalized at its actual value, it ought to become a rich thing for every stockholder. Leave it to us to take care of everything, Frank. There will be no delays."

"Unless Bantry Hagan and Felipe Jalisco cause them."

"But you were absolutely confident that Jalisco's document was a forgery."

"Absolutely confident, Mr. Hatch. I can't say whether Bantry Hagan worked up this scheme or not, with the idea of squeezing something out of us; but if he did he must have worked swiftly after the death of Del Norte. I'm more inclined to believe that by some chance he ran across Jalisco and was himself convinced that the document was genuine. The fact that I have so thoroughly investigated everything that might have the slightest bearing on the legality of my title to the San Pablo makes me absolutely confident that the Jalisco grant is a forgery."

"Well, you have settled Watson Scott's mind on that point, and Scott is not a man to make mistakes. The rest of us are ready to follow his lead."

"It's something of a relief to me," confessed Merry. "Of course, I was confident of coming out ahead of Del Norte, but the man kept me moving. As it has turned out, I don't feel it necessary to make a rush to Mexico, and I'll take my time about going West. If things pan out all right, I'll have some of my friends along, and we'll stop on the way at St. Louis and other places. I'm almost tempted to seek recreation in athletics and sports."

"You can choose your own course about that, Frank. If your business admits of it, I don't blame you for enjoying life through those sports in which you seem to take such a great interest. But you must stop with me a day or two. I want you to meet my boy, Arthur. He's a fine chap, but just a little inclined to be wild. I have to watch him closely to hold him down, and I'm afraid I don't hold him down all the time. I believe you'll like Art."

They chatted in this manner until Irvington was reached, where they left the train and entered Mr. Hatch's private carriage, which was waiting.

They were driven from the beautiful village to the splendid home of Mr. Hatch, which overlooked the Hudson.

A boy of seventeen or eighteen, with his head bare and his hands in his pockets, was standing on the veranda as they approached.

"There's Art now!" exclaimed Mr. Hatch. "Hello, Art!"

"Hello, dad," coolly responded the boy, without stirring.

"Here, Art, is Mr. Merriwell," said the banker, when they had left the carriage. "Mr. Merriwell, my son."

"How are you, Mr. Merriwell," said Arthur, with a touch of cordiality, as he shook hands with the visitor. "Father has been telling me about you. Says you're a corking fisherman. That was what put you right with him. He's the biggest crank on fishing that I ever saw."

Arthur Hatch was a chap it was not easy to fathom at first sight. He resembled his father slightly, but he was larger and better built, although somewhat too flat across the chest. He seemed to affect a drawl, and the grasp of his hand was not exactly hearty.

They entered the house.

"I'll take care of Merriwell now, father, if you don't mind," said the son. "Perhaps I can entertain him until dinner time."

"You'll find I don't need entertaining," laughed Frank. "I particularly dislike to have any one put himself out to entertain me. I feel easier when no effort is made."

"Come up to my room," invited the boy.

They ascended to Art's room, which was on the second floor, and proved to be almost luxurious.

"Now, make yourself at home, Merriwell," drawled the boy, with an air of familiarity. "There is the bathroom."

Frank removed his coat, pulled back his cuffs, and washed his face and hands, which gave him a feeling of freshness.

In the meantime, on returning to Art's room, he found the boy had produced a flask and glasses.

"Here's some fine old rye," he said. "We have lots of time to touch it up a little before dinner."

"Excuse me," said Merry, shaking his head.

"Don't you care for rye? Well, I have some bourbon here. Perhaps that will——"

"I'll have to be excused from taking anything."

"Really? It will do you good. You've been having a session with the governor and those Wall Street sharks, and it seems to me you need something after that."

"I don't think I need anything, thank you."

"Well, later on we can have a cocktail before dinner. Which do you prefer, a Manhattan, or a——"

Frank was now brought to the point where it was necessary for him to state that he did not drink Manhattans or cocktails of any sort.

Young Hatch eyed him with an expression of doubt.

"You don't seem to be stringing me," he said. "Don't you drink at all?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

"I can't understand it," said Arthur. "Everybody drinks nowadays."

"Not everybody. You are mistaken about that."

"Well, there are precious few who don't. Young men who are up to date all take something."

"Then I'll have to confess that I'm not up to date."

"Strange," muttered the youth. "Have a cigarette?"

"I do not smoke them."

"Well, I keep a box of cigars for my friends who do not care for cigarettes. They are——"

"I do not smoke at all."

Arthur sat down, slowly rolling a cigarette between his fingers, eying Merry all the while.

"I didn't believe it," he finally muttered.

"Didn't believe what?"

"I've heard of you, you know, and what I've heard led me to think you a corking chap, one of the boys, you understand."

"I think those who know me well have always considered me 'one of the boys,'" smiled Merry.

"But really a fellow who never drinks nor smokes—why, he can't have any fun!"

"I beg to differ with you on that point. I do not believe any chap ever got more fun out of life than I have."

"Then you used to drink and smoke?"

"Never."

Arthur lighted his cigarette, took several whiffs, staring at Frank all the while, and finally observed:

"When the governor came home and told me about you, he said you didn't touch liquor and didn't smoke; but I sort of fancied you had been playing it clever with him for reasons of your own."

Merry flushed a little.

"In short," he said, "you thought I was fooling him?"

"Well, I thought it rather clever of you, for you were trying to get dad and a lot of those men of dough into some sort of a railroad scheme, and I reckoned you were playing it fine with them."

"That's not my way of doing things."

"Beg pardon; no offense. Everybody is slick in these times, you know. You'll find the men you are dealing with are all sharp as steel. They never play any game frank and open."

Frank looked doubtful.

"Of course you do not mean to place your father in that class?"

"Well, I fancy the old boy knows all the tricks," laughed the lad softly. "He's been able to hold his own with the rest of them. How did you get through college without drinking?"

"That was easy. When the other fellows found I was sincere in letting the stuff alone they respected my principles, and I had no trouble at all."

"You were a great athlete?"

"I made a fair record."

"Well, didn't you ever see the time when you felt that, just as you were about to take part in some contest, a drink might give you vim and energy?"

"Never. By letting the stuff alone and keeping constantly in the best possible condition, I had vim and energy enough. Had I drunk, it must have robbed me of some of my vim and energy."

"Oh, come, now! Not if you had drunk moderately and discreetly. Not if you had used liquor with good judgment."

"Liquor never gave a thoroughly healthy man any strength that was not false strength. It makes men feel stronger, but in truth it weakens them. I don't care to preach you a temperance lecture, Arthur, but you sort of forced this out of me."

"I'm glad to hear what you think about it. I can't agree with you, you know; but you interest me. You don't mean to say that drinking has ever hurt me, do you?"

"It has never done you a particle of good, and the chances are that it has hurt you."

"I can't believe it. Look at me, and then look at my father. I'm better built, healthier and stronger in every way than he ever was. I've taken an interest in athletics always, and he has encouraged me, saying he made a mistake when he was in college by not doing so."

"Well, you owe much of your good condition, it is likely, to your inclination toward athletics and physical culture; but I believe you would be in better condition if you let liquor alone, and did not smoke cigarettes. Your father has weak lungs, and you are not properly developed across the chest. Still you injure the delicate tissues of your lungs by inhaling the smoke of cigarettes. At the same time you are weakening your brain power and your force of character. I am absolutely certain of this, for no fellow who indulges in those things escapes injury."

There was something in Merry's manner that impressed the boy. Frank had a way of convincing listeners when he spoke.

"If I thought so——" muttered Art.

"Would you give up cigarettes and liquor?"

"Well, I don't know. It would be pretty hard."

"Do you mean that your habits have such a hold on you already?"

"If I could go somewhere away from here where there was no whisky and no cigarettes, and I could see none of my chums who drink and smoke, I suppose I might break off."

"Why not here? Are you at your age a slave to cigarettes?"

"Well, you see it's this way: all the fellows know I drink and smoke, and they would laugh at me if I should say I'd stopped. They wouldn't believe it. They would keep at me until they shamed me into keeping on."

"Then you confess that you have not the will power to refuse and stick to it. Can't you see that your will power is weakened?"

"It's not that; it's because I don't wish to be laughed at and jollied."

"Which is a confession of weakness. Let them laugh; in the end, if you stick to your good resolutions, they will stop laughing and learn to respect you."

"Perhaps that's right; but I've seen some mighty mean, narrow, contracted men who never drank, never smoked, and never swore. I've seen some rascals who had none of the small vices, and usually they are the meanest sort of rascals."