"I don't doubt it; but does that prove that all men, or even the majority of men, who have none of the small vices are mean or rascally? I don't fancy you believe that. You know it's natural to suppose that a bad man should be a drinker, a smoker, and a swearer. When you see a bad man who does none of these things, it is so unusual that you immediately look on him as a representative of his kind."

Art nodded.

"Perhaps that's so," he acknowledged. "Of course, I do know men who have no vices, and who are good fellows. I swear, Merriwell, you've almost converted me."

Frank smiled.

"Would that I might wholly convert you!" he exclaimed. "Does your father know you drink?"

"Lord, no! I wouldn't have the governor know it for anything! He takes a little himself, but he thinks I'm on the water wagon yet—thinks I'm not old enough to get out with the boys and whoop her up."

After a moment he dropped the half-smoked cigarette on an ash tray.

"I believe I'll quit!" he exclaimed. "I've been working for chest development, and it's coming slower than any other part of me. Perhaps smoking is holding me back. I believe I'll let tobacco alone for a few months and see if I improve."

"Good!" cried Merry. "But you should knock off drinking at the same time."

"I will! It's going to be a hard thing to do, but I'll try it."

"Give me your hand on it, Arthur! Don't merely try, but make up your mind that nothing shall cause you to break your resolution. Show that your will power and determination have not been weakened."

They shook hands.

Frank was well pleased over the resolution of Arthur Hatch. He was beginning to like the boy.

They were talking in the most friendly fashion by this time, and Arthur began questioning Merry about college days and his life at Yale.

"I'd like to go to Yale," he said; "but the governor has made up his mind on Harvard, and it's Harvard for me."

"A fine college," said Frank.

"Somehow it seems to me that the fellows at Yale have better times."

"In a way, I believe they do. Harvard is more given to cliques. You know it has been called the rich man's college. Yale is more democratic. I have a brother not far from your age who is fitting for Yale."

"Where is he fitting?"

"He has been at Fardale Military Academy; but just now he is traveling abroad in company with his tutor, Professor Gunn, of Fardale."

"Traveling abroad! That must be fine. You have traveled a great deal, haven't you, Merriwell?"

"I have seen a part of the world. I went abroad myself when I was quite young with Professor Scotch, of Fardale, who was my guardian, as well as my tutor. We saw a great many countries."

"But none equal to this country, I'll wager?"

"None equal to this country for an American."

"Seems to me I heard the governor say something about a mine or mines of yours down in Mexico."

"I have a mine in the State of Sonora, Mexico. This projected Central Sonora Railroad will assist me greatly in handling the products of that mine."

"I see. Have you been in Mexico much?"

"Quite a lot."

"How do you like the people down there?"

"Well, you know that about two-thirds of the country's population consists of Indians. They are the descendants of the once mighty Aztecs, but there is nothing very warlike about the most of them. They seem crushed, poverty-stricken, and sad. They labor like slaves for a mere pittance when they work at all, and their condition is truly pitiful."

"But the progressive citizens, the ruling class—what do you think of them?"

"I have met some very pleasant people among them."

"I know a fellow from the City of Mexico."

"Do you?"

"Yes; he's here in New York now. His father sent him here to learn something about our ways of doing business. He seems like a pretty fine fellow, too. I invited him out for dinner to-day, but I'm not sure he will come. He knows he's welcome to drop in any time."

"What's his name?"

"Carlos Mendoza. His father is a great gun down in Mexico."

"The Mendozas form an important family."

"I hope he comes out, for I'd like lo have you meet him."

Less than ten minutes later Carlos Mendoza himself knocked at the door of that room.

"I came right up, Arthur, my dear friend," he laughed, showing his handsome teeth as he entered.

"That was right," said Hatch. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Merriwell, Carlos. Mr. Merriwell, the friend I mentioned, Mr. Mendoza."

The young Mexican straightened up, and looked at Merry with an expression of the keenest interest.

"Mr. Merriwell," he said, "I am happy to know you. I believe I have heard of you before."

There was nothing of genuine American heartiness in the handshake he gave Frank.

Mendoza had the atmosphere of his race, easy and languid. He dropped gracefully on a chair and reached out for the cigarettes, the open case of Arthur Hatch being near.

"Forgot my papers," he smiled, "so I can't roll one of my own. I won't rob you, Arthur?"

"You'll not rob me if you take them all."

"You're always generous."

"Nothing generous about that, old man."

"Oh, I know cigarettes are inexpensive, especially to the son of an American money king; but——"

"I shall not want those things any more," said Art, as if determined to let his new visitor know without delay of his resolutions. "I have quit smoking, Carlos."

The Mexican lad lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"Quit?" he questioned. "Are you joking?"

"No; I'm in earnest. I've knocked off for good."

"How foolish!" laughed Carlos. "Why, how can you bear to deprive yourself of such a comfort and luxury? Oh, the enjoyment of a good cigarette! Nothing can take its place. A fellow loses a great deal if he doesn't smoke. Next thing you'll tell me that you have stopped drinking."

"I have."

Mendoza almost dropped his cigarette.

"What?"

"I don't wonder that you stare, but it is true. I have sworn off."

"Pardon me for smiling!" exclaimed the young Mexican, lifting his slender hand to his mouth. "I fear it is not good breeding, but I can't help it."

Young Hatch flushed.

"That's all right, Carlos!" he exclaimed. "I have a right to knock off any of my bad habits if I wish to, I suppose."

"Oh, why do you call them bad habits? I see no sense in that, Arthur. Every one smokes and drinks, you know. Down in my country——"

"Not every one," interrupted Arthur. "Merriwell does not."

Mendoza shrugged his shoulders like a Frenchman.

"Then he doesn't know what he's missing. Oh, stop if you wish, Arthur; you'll be at it again within a week."

"I'll bet you ten dollars on that!" cried Hatch warmly.

"You'd lose. But be careful; perhaps Senor Merriwell is so very scrupulous that he does not believe in betting. Perhaps he never bets. Ha, ha, ha!"

The laughter of Mendoza was most irritating.

By this time Frank's dislike for the fellow was most pronounced. In Mendoza he saw one of the companions of Arthur Hatch who was bringing to bear a most evil influence on the boy. It was the laughter and ridicule of such fellows as this that Arthur dreaded.

"I do not believe in betting," admitted Merry, at once. "By that I mean that I do not believe in betting for the purpose of making profit, and particularly am I opposed to betting on games of chance."

"I am afraid," said Carlos, with sarcasm, "that you're a trifle too good, Senor Merriwell, for association with the rest of us. Did you never bet?"

"Yes," admitted Frank, "I have done such a thing."

"Ah! Then you have reformed? You've had your fun, and now you think others should not have theirs. Did you never play cards?"

"Yes."

"For money?"

Frank admitted that he had played for money.

"Then you have not always been a saint," observed Mendoza, in that same irritating manner. "You have really lived—a little."

The insolence of the fellow in talking to Frank in such a manner was felt by Hatch, who hastened to check him.

"Mr. Merriwell is no softie!" he exclaimed, seeming to feel that Frank needed defending. "He was a famous athlete at Yale College. He made a great reputation as a baseball and football player."

"Baseball—paugh!" cried Carlos. "I have seen the senseless sport you call baseball. Sport! There is no sport in it. It is tame. Football is better, but that is not much. For real sport, Senor Merriwell, you should see a Mexican bullfight."

"That is what you consider real sport, is it?" asked Frank.

"It is—it is grand sport! It is fine to see the bullfighters in the ring, to see the bull charging one after another, to see them fleeing on their horses, to see the horses gored and brought down, while the riders barely escape by a hair, and at last to see the chief bullfighter meet the charge of the bull and slay the creature. You should witness a bullfight, Mr. Merriwell."

Frank smiled into the face of the callow Mexican lad. No wonder he smiled, for, years before, in Spain, as a mere boy, while traveling with Professor Scotch, Frank had leaped into the ring at a bullfight in order to save the life of Zuera, the lady bullfighter of Madrid, and with a sword dropped by a frightened espada had himself slain the bull.

"Mendoza," he said, "I have seen your Mexican bullfights, and I once witnessed such a spectacle in Madrid. A Spanish bullfight is bad enough, but a Mexican bullfight is the most disgusting and brutal thing imaginable. Usually your bull is frightened and runs around seeking some avenue of escape from the torturers who pursue him, assailing him with their banderillos. At last he may be goaded and driven to a sort of desperate resistance. When he turns on his tormentors they permit him to gore the wretched old horses which have been provided as a sacrifice to glut the thirst of the populace for the sight of blood.

"I have seen three or four of those poor beasts dying in a Mexican bull ring at the same time, some lying on the ground, and feebly trying to rise, or staggering weakly around with their bodies ripped open. I have seen the bull at last stand exhausted and cowed while the one chosen to dispatch him walked up and did the job. I have heard the crowd roar with delight as the sword was plunged into the neck of the bull and the creature's blood gushed forth. Don't talk to me about such sport!"

Frank's words and manner seemed to scorch the Mexican for a moment, but he quickly recovered, snapping his fingers.

"Like most Americans, you quail and grow sick at the sight of a little blood," he sneered. "We hear about the courage of Americans, and, of course, some of them are brave; but I doubt the courage of any man who gets sick over the sight of a little good, red blood."

"Gentlemen," cried Hatch, in dismay, "I hope you are not going to——"

"Don't worry, Arthur," interrupted Frank. "It is plain that Mendoza and I hold quite different views. It is the difference between two races. There will be no further discussion."

Mendoza sprang up.

"You are right," he admitted; "it is the difference between my people and your people. We do not understand each other. If I have been hasty in anything, forget it. I presume Senor Merriwell is right—from his standpoint. Let it pass."

Hatch was relieved.

"Let's go out for a little air," he suggested. "I wish to show Merriwell round the place."

"A lovely place," nodded the Mexican lad. "The home of my good friend Arthur Hatch, who, although an American, is a man I do not believe would turn squeamish at sight of a little blood."

Frank was quite willing and ready to go out.

The sun was hanging low in the west, its last rays shimmering upon the surface of the broad Hudson. The air was chilly and rapidly growing colder.

"It's fine here in the summer," said Arthur, as they strolled about; "but I prefer the city just now. Later, when there is ice boating, we have some great sport up here. Yes, that is real sport! Making a mile a minute on an ice boat is enough to satisfy any one. I'd like to have you up here for some of that, Merriwell."

"I know I would enjoy it," smiled Frank. "I've done a little ice boating; but not on the scale that it's done up here."

As they walked about, Mendoza gradually fell behind.

"I'm afraid your friend is sulking," said Merry.

"Let him sulk!" exclaimed Arthur, in a low tone. "He had deuced bad taste in making the talk he did, and I'm rather sore on him. Don't pay any attention to him."

Thus it happened that Carlos was left behind and dropped out of sight.

He was passing a thick hedge, when suddenly from the opposite side rose the head and shoulders of a boy nearly his own age, and somewhat resembling him in general appearance. This boy whistled a soft signal and called the name of Carlos, who turned in surprise and saw him.

For a moment Mendoza stood staring in a surprised and bewildered way. Then his eyes gleamed, and he exclaimed:

"As I live, it is Felipe Jalisco!"

The boy beyond the hedge spoke in Spanish.

"I have been watching for you, Carlos, for I saw you enter that house. Join me quickly."

There was an opening in the hedge, and through this Mendoza hastened, the two boys falling into each other's arms like long-lost brothers.

"How comes it that you are here?" questioned Carlos, still betraying his amazement.

"Come away into the wooded hollow down yonder," invited Felipe. "I will then tell you. I do not wish to be seen by any one but you."

Together they descended into the little hollow through which ran a stream that was spanned by a rustic bridge. They sat down on the bridge staring at each other with a strange expression of delight and affection in their eyes.

"I knew it would surprise you to see me," said Felipe.

"Is that strange? When last we met it was thousands of miles away in our own country. I told you then that my father had promised to send me here to learn some of the business ways of these miserable gringoes."

"I remember; and I told you that I had found an old document that would make me very rich."

"Yes, Felipe. Are you rich now?"

"Not yet; but I shall be soon."

"I am glad, for you are my dearest friend. Did your search for riches bring you so far?"

"Yes."

"But you told me the old document would give you much land in Mexico."

"So it should, Carlos; but the document was never recorded. It was made when Mexico first came to be a republic, and then there was much confusion and little method. It gives me a great strip of land in Sonora, and on that land, as I have learned, is one mine alone rich enough to provide me all the money I could ever desire. But that mine is held and is being worked by a cursed gringo. It was to find him that I came so far."

"And have you found him?"

"Yes, and demanded what is rightfully mine."

"His answer——"

"Was to laugh at me! All I wished was that he should pay me well. Why should he not, when he is getting richer and richer from property that is mine? Had he given me my right, I could have everything I need. I meant to let him go on working the mine if he gave me one-half it produces; but first I sought to frighten him by demanding a great sum. I asked for five hundred thousand dollars. I showed the document. He told me not one dollar would he ever pay me. Carlos, this gringo even told me the document was a forgery!"

"It is like them all! I hate them, Felipe! Not one have I found that I can really care for. Still I take pains not to let them know what I really think of them. It is to learn their business ways and tricks I am here, and I will succeed. This day I am visiting Arthur Hatch, who thinks me his friend. Ha, ha! I took pains to make his acquaintance because his father is one of the great business men I wish to watch. I want to find out how it is he succeeds so wonderfully. But there are other reasons why I stick close by Hatch. He spends much money, and he knows many gringoes it is good for me to meet. Sometimes I feel like telling him what a great fool I think he is; but it would not be wise."

"When I came up here to-day," said Felipe, "I did not once dream that I should find you. I have some friends in New York, but none like you, Carlos—not one. I came here because of the American who has my mine. He has sworn never to give me a dollar of what is rightfully mine, but to his face I told him he must pay or I would kill him."

"That was right. Did he turn pale?"

"Not at all; he laughed."

"It will do you no good to kill him."

"It would give me the greatest pleasure, but then I could not frighten him into paying me what I will have. It is to begin to frighten him I am here. I wish him to know his life is in danger all the time. I will follow him night and day, and make him understand in time. I saw him shortly before you came along by the hedge."

"Did you, Felipe?"

"Yes; he was with the boy whose father lives in that house."

Carlos was surprised.

"Do you mean Frank Merriwell?"

"He is the one! It is he who is robbing me of what is mine. He laughed at me when I demanded money. I hate him!"

"Felipe, I love you more because you hate him! I have seen and talked with him, and my pleasure would be to put a knife between his ribs!"

Again those boys embraced.

"Carlos, you can help me," said Felipe.

"How?"

"If we could meet him together in the dark and fall upon him. Together we could beat him down and nearly kill him. Then I would tell him that next time Felipe Jalisco would finish the job unless he paid to me that money. The gringoes are cowards. They laugh and pretend they are not afraid; but when real danger comes they have no courage at all."

"It would do me good to help you," said Carlos. "Have you a plan?"

"Could you not induce him to walk down here after dark? I would be waiting here, and would spring on him from behind."

"He does not like me. I fear he would not walk with me at all. I don't think it can be done."

"I must find a way to strike at him my first blow to-night."

"Wait," said Mendoza. "He will stay here overnight."

"Yes?"

"So will I."

"What of it?"

"I think I know the room he will have. I can point it out to you. If you could attack him in that room and give him a great fright——"

"How is it possible?"

"It will be cold to-night, but you are wearing your heavy coat. If you could wait until all had gone to bed, then I might let you into the house. I might show you his room. But, Felipe, you would not kill him to-night?"

"Not to-night."

"Then, if you wish, I will dare it. I will let you into that house, but you know what it means if you should be caught there. Will you take the chance?"

"Can it be arranged so that I may get out quickly and easily?"

"I believe it can."

"Then I will dare anything that I may let him know Felipe Jalisco means to keep the oath he has taken."



CHAPTER XVII.

EVIL INFLUENCE.

It was a pleasant dinner hour at the home of Warren Hatch when Frank met Mrs. Hatch, who proved to be a strangely modest, motherly sort of woman. Merry decided that she had been a country girl, and that the change in fortune that had lifted her from humbleness to her present position as the wife of a very wealthy man had not changed her character in the least.

Mendoza was exceedingly agreeable at table. He was not forward, but seemed to take just the proper interest and proper part in the flow of conversation, and not once during the meal was he offensive in the slightest degree. But for his first unpleasant impression of the fellow, Merry might have fancied him quite a decent chap.

The Mexican was very frank in stating his desire to learn everything possible about American methods of business while he remained in New York, and he asked a few questions of Mr. Hatch, but never pressed a point when the gentleman seemed reticent over it.

"I don't presume you are looking for a business opening here?" questioned Hatch. "Why, Americans have their eyes on Mexico, which they say is very rich and offers innumerable opportunities for the man of brains, business, and capital. You have fine plantations, splendid ranches, and some of the richest mines in the world. Are you going to let Americans open up all your mines and work them?"

"Oh, no," laughed Carlos. "Americans have not all our mines, by any means. Many Americans have obtained mines in my country to which they have no legal right. For instance, there were the great Santa Maria Mines, which were secured and operated by a syndicate of Americans. They thought they had a claim to those mines that could not be disputed, and they laughed at any one that suggested the possibility of trouble over them. One day a man by the name of Casaria came along and told them that the property was his, and that they must either pay him well for the privilege of working them, or get out. They told him to go away. He went. Then he began proceedings against them, and in less than a year they were ousted and compelled to abandon every building they had constructed, every piece of machinery they had put in, and all that. Casaria had beaten them, and he turned round and leased his property to another company that pays him well for the privilege of working it. The same thing is likely to happen to other Americans in Mexico."

Frank surveyed Mendoza keenly, wondering if the boy had told this for his benefit; but apparently the lad was wholly innocent that it might apply to any one present.

After dinner Merry spent the evening with Mr. and Mrs. Hatch, while Arthur and Carlos retired soon to Art's room.

Finally Mr. Hatch asked Frank if he wished to retire, and Merry expressed a desire to do so.

It happened that Frank's room was not far from that of Arthur Hatch. As he followed Mr. Hatch past Art's open door, Mendoza called to him.

"Going to bed so soon, Mr. Merriwell?" he inquired. "Come in for a moment before you retire."

Having been shown to his room, Frank decided to accept Mendoza's invitation. It was a queer feeling that impelled him to do so, for Arthur had said nothing.

As he entered Art's room, he detected a quick movement on the part of young Hatch, who hastily rose to his feet, asking Frank to sit down. His face was unnaturally flushed, and there was a peculiar expression in his eyes.

Carlos was smoking a cigarette, and the air of the room was heavy with smoke. About him there was a certain air of suppressed satisfaction.

There seemed no particular reason why the boys should wish Frank to drop in before going to bed. Indeed, Arthur seemed ill at ease and talked little. He seemed to be making an effort to appear natural.

It was not long before Merry divined Mendoza's object in calling him.

The Mexican had induced Arthur to break the pledge recently made to Frank.

Although Carlos was smoking, on a little ash receiver beneath the table near which Hatch had been sitting lay a freshly lighted cigarette, from which a vapory bit of blue smoke was rising.

Arthur had been smoking and drinking with Carlos.

The young Mexican had wished Frank to see that his power over the boy was strong enough to make him break his pledge.

Having decided on this, Frank felt like seizing Mendoza and giving him a thorough shaking up. Inwardly he was angry with the fellow, but outwardly he was undisturbed.

Carlos took special delight in trying to induce his host to talk, apparently hoping Hatch would make some sort of a break.

Frank knew it would do no good to talk to Arthur Hatch then. Instead, it would almost surely anger and shame him to such an extent that he would become resentful, announce himself as his own master, and declare his perfect ability to look out for himself, without the advice or assistance of any one.

"The smoke is somewhat too thick for me here, boys," said Merry. "I think I'll turn in."

"Sorry you can't sit up with us a while longer," said Arthur, but he could not hide his relief and satisfaction.

He was glad Frank was going, and Merry knew it.

"As in other things," smiled Carlos, "you seem to have some old-fashioned ways about sleeping. I don't believe any man half lives who sleeps too much at night. Ah! New York and upper Broadway is the place! There something is doing nearly all the night."

"If the occasion demands," said Merriwell, "I can stay up with any of them; but just now I feel like bottling up a little sleep, as the expression goes."

"I hope you may enjoy your rest," said Carlos. "I hope nothing may disturb you. Good night, senor."

"Good night," said Frank. "Good night, Arthur."

In his room Merry fell to thinking of the two boys as he undressed.

"Carlos Mendoza is Arthur's evil genius," he decided. "The influence of the fellow on Hatch is wholly bad. What is the best course for me to pursue? Had I better warn his father? Is there not some other way to open Arthur's eyes? If I go to Warren Hatch, the man may become angry, and give his son a raking down that will do more harm than good."

After getting into bed, Merry continued to meditate on the matter, finding it was not easy to decide on a course.

He thought of many other things. The memory of his recent encounters with Porfias del Norte haunted him. He thought of the manner in which he had been trapped by Del Norte up in the Adirondacks, and thanked his lucky stars that O'Toole, the Irishman, out of gratitude, had aided him to escape from the murderous Mexican.

"Poor O'Toole!" he murmured. "When he became my friend he was faithful unto death."

The memory of his own desperation and distress on learning that Inza Burrage had fallen into the power of Del Norte caused him to twist and turn on the bed. Only for O'Toole, he might have been baffled in following Inza's captors. Through the acquaintance and friendship of O'Toole with Red Ben, Del Norte's Indian guide, had come the rescue of Inza.

Once more Frank seemed to be standing in the depths of the Adirondack wilderness at the foot of the mountain, and again he seemed to hear the shriek of terror which escaped the lips of the Irishman as he fell from the precipice, and came crashing through the treetops to strike the ground a short distance away. Then Merry lived over once more his knife duel with Del Norte on the cliff, the escape from the cave, and the struggle to get away from the landslide, when, with superhuman efforts, he had carried Inza in his arms to a place of safety.

"Del Norte is dead," he muttered; "but he seems to be reincarnated in Felipe Jalisco. I have not seen the last of Jalisco. That man Hagan is dangerous, too. Without the backing Hagan will try to give, Jalisco would give me little trouble in regard to the mine. His claim is a forgery beyond doubt; but he seems to think it genuine. Were it not for Hagan, I might do something for the boy, if his demands were anywhere near reasonable. Hagan is determined to get his finger into the pie, and he'll want a large slice. He'll get nothing."

Finally Frank slept; but he was awakened by something that pressed sudden and hard across his throat. He tried to start up, but that thing across his throat held him helpless.

Besides that, there was a sudden weight on his breast, as of a hand that thrust him back.

Through the window of his room came a dim light, by which he discerned a dark figure that seemed crouching on the edge of the bed.

He knew instantly that some person was there. Through the gloom a pair of gleaming eyes, like those of an animal, seemed to look into his.

"Be still!" came a hissing whisper. "Make a sound and you shall die!"

By this time Frank was wide-awake, with every sense aroused.

He wondered if it was a burglar.

"Don't cry out!" again commanded his assailant. "One little cry from you will be your last! Do you feel this?"

Something keen pricked Merriwell's throat.

"It is my knife," declared the unknown. "With a single stroke I can open the vein in your throat, and nothing in all the world can save you."

The situation was one to send a thrill through the strongest nerves.

"What do you want?" asked Merry, in a low tone.

"Softer than that!" hissed the fellow with the knife. "Don't speak louder than a whisper if your life to you has any value."

"What do you want?" whispered Merry.

"Ha! That is right! Now let me warn you further. There is a stout cord across your neck, and you cannot lift your head if you attempt it so much as your strength will admit. The cord is made fast to both sides of the bed beneath you. You are perfectly helpless. First it is that I want you to know. Even if the cord should not be there, with my knife I could kill you when you tried to struggle. Now should you with your hands grasp me you would be like a child to destroy."

"Having made all this plain, go ahead and tell me what you are after," urged Merriwell.

"Are you not afraid? I expected to hear your teeth chattering together like castanets. I expected to feel your body shaking, as if with a great chill."

There was disappointment in these whispered words.

"What good would it do me to be afraid?"

"Can you reason like that in a moment when your life is in the most terrible danger? Have you ice in your veins?"

"Why should you do me an injury? If you are here to rob me——"

"I am not! I am here to make you stop from robbing me. I told you I would have my right or kill you. You laughed at me. Now you do not laugh!"

"Felipe Jalisco!"

"It is my name," was the bold confession.

Frank was amazed.

"How did you get into this house?"

"I find the way. When I told you that, night or day, asleep or awake, there would never be one moment that you would not be free from the peril of death at my hand, you laughed. You do not laugh now!"

"This isn't my time to laugh," confessed Frank. "Only fools laugh at the wrong moment."

"You were a fool when you defied me. You did not know me. You did not know the blood of the Jaliscos in me. To-night you thought yourself safe from harm. You did not dream it possible that Felipe Jalisco might strike his knife into your heart while you slept. When I told you that not one moment would you be safe, you thought it the foolish talk of a boy. Now you see."

"It is too dark for me to see very well."

"I am here to make you swear to give me what is mine. If you do it not, then you die!"

"And you will go to the electric chair at Sing Sing. Should you kill me to-night, Jalisco, you would be executed for murder."

"Paugh! I fear it not."

"Do you fancy you could escape?"

"I could."

"How little you reckon on the power of the law in this country. For you there would be no escape. You threatened my life, and that threat was heard before many witnesses. Those witnesses are all rich and powerful men. Should I be killed here and now, the first thing those men would do would be to bring all their combined influence to bear on having you arrested immediately, and convicted of that murder. Even if you were not guilty, and by some chance an unknown party should murder me, you would find it almost impossible to escape punishment for the crime. All those men would believe you did it, and they would bend every energy and the influence of their great wealth to carry you to the death chair. Did you attempt to prove an alibi, with all their influence and their wealth they would overthrow the proof, and show your witnesses were liars and perjurers. You cannot harm me without bringing destruction on yourself."

In this manner Frank forced the belief that he spoke the truth upon Felipe. Although he could not see the dark face of the Mexican, he felt that Jalisco had received his check.

"I have not come to kill you now," confessed the boy. "I want you to know I can do it. I want you to feel the constant danger. I want you to understand that when I am ready to strike I can do so, and strike to destroy. Perhaps not in New York or any great city like this shall I do it. I will follow you like a shadow. Where you go, there I will be. Unless you give me what I demand, I will some day kill you, having chosen the spot and time. Then I will escape, and no power may stop me. Fool of a gringo, you must give me my own! I will leave you in possession of the mine, but you must pay me one-half of all the money you make from it. It is the only thing that will save you. Senor Hagan asked for a big sum all at once, as he thought thus to get his share right away. I would have had him accept half the profit. Swear now that I shall have it! Swear you will pay——"

"Not a cent!" answered Merry grimly. "You have taken the wrong method of getting anything from a Merriwell. Not a cent shall you ever have!"

Felipe swore in Spanish.

"Then you are doomed!" he panted.

Suddenly he paused and lifted his head. A sound had reached his ears from some distant part of the house. It seemed that some one was stirring.

"Lie still!" he hissed. "If you try to follow, at the door you shall die!"

He sprang away with the soft step of a cat, and darted out at the door.

In a twinkling Merry slipped from beneath the cord, leaped from the bed, and made the house echo with the shout he uttered.

Unmindful of Jalisco's threat, he was out of that room and after the fellow in an amazing hurry. It must have been amazing for Jalisco, for the fellow was overtaken by Merry at the head of the stairs. He whirled and struck at Frank's breast, but the strong arm of the young American swept the blow aside.

Merry seized his foe, and together they went bounding and rolling the full length of the stairs.

When they landed at the bottom, Frank was on top, and the Mexican was pinned to the floor.

By this time the whole house was in commotion. Voices were calling, and lights were beginning to gleam.

"This way!" cried Frank. "I have him!"

He heard a sound on the stairs behind him, and supposed some one was rushing to his assistance. There was a patter of feet, and then the smothering folds of a blanket were flung over his head, and he was dragged backward to the floor, his hold on Felipe Jalisco being broken.

When Merry succeeded in flinging off the blanket, he found some one had turned on all the lights of the house. He saw Mr. Hatch, Arthur, Carlos Mendoza, and one or two servants near at hand. The front door stood wide open.

"A thousand pardons!" cried Mendoza, in apparent consternation and distress. "It was a sad mistake I made!"

"You flung that blanket over my head and dragged me off the fellow!" said Merry. "You permitted him to escape!"

"A thousand pardons! I thought you were the other. I thought he had you down. It was dark. I could not see."

"You deliberately aided him to escape."

"No, no; I swear I made a sad mistake—I swear it!"

"And lie when you take the oath!" retorted Frank, unable longer to restrain his feelings toward the fellow. "Mr. Hatch, you have a snake in your house, and there he is!"



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE POLICE RAID.

Felipe Jalisco made good his escape that night, thanks to the assistance of his friend, Carlos Mendoza.

The following morning Frank swore out a warrant for the arrest of Jalisco, and this he took with him in order to have it ready when the proper time came.

He was determined to get back at the fellow without delay.

Believing Jalisco was stopping in New York, Frank gave a description of him to the police, and set them on the lookout for the fellow. He likewise told them that Jalisco might be found in company with Bantry Hagan sooner or later.

Two days passed without the apprehension of the Mexican lad being made or any trace of him discovered. On the forenoon of the third day Frank suddenly came face to face with Bantry Hagan in front of the Vendome Hotel, on Broadway.

The moment he saw Merry, the Irishman stopped, planting himself fairly in Frank's path.

"Sure it's a word I'd like to have with you, young man," he growled, frowning blackly.

"Well, I have little time to waste on you," retorted Merry.

"I want to know what you mean by it!" said the Irishman.

"By what?"

"By giving me the devil's own annoyance with the police. For two days I've had some of them following me round in plain clothes, and I'm tired of it. Call them off, me boy—I warn ye to call them off!"

"When they find Felipe Jalisco I think they'll not bother you further."

"So you're going to have the boy arrested? It's a bad mistake you're making by putting the coppers after him, for he has a nasty temper, and next time he gets you under his knife he's certain to cut your throat. I've warned him against it, but when you get through talking to one of those Mexicans they're worse than when you began. If it's sensible you are, you'll listen a bit to the boy's just demand. It may save your life if you listen."

"If there was a particle of justice in his demand, I would not refuse to listen. If anything happens to me it's pretty certain you'll find yourself arrested as the accomplice of Jalisco."

Then Frank passed on.

That night, after leaving a theatre which he had attended, Merry encountered, at Herald Square, a plain-clothes man, whom he knew, an officer by the name of Bronson. He had paused to speak with this man when he noticed on the opposite side of the street several youngsters who seemed to be having something of a hilarious time.

"They're pretty well started," observed Bronson, noting Merry's glance; "but they're still able to keep out of trouble. One chap is pretty full."

"I know him," said Frank. "I know the fellow who has him by the arm."

He had recognized Arthur Hatch and Carlos Mendoza. Arthur was unsteady on his feet and rather boisterous.

Frank's first inclination was to cross the street immediately and to get Arthur away from his companion; but something caused him to decide on a different course.

"See here, Bronson," he said, "have you any particular duty on hand just now?"

"No, sir; not just at present. I'm on the lookout for crooks and sharks along here. You know we have orders to keep this part of Broadway clean of them."

"Can you come with me? I wish to follow those chaps. The one who appears to be in the worst condition is the son of Warren Hatch, the banker, and his associates are helping him go to the dogs as fast as possible. I'd like to find a way to break up his friendship with that crowd."

Bronson was willing to accompany Merry, and they followed the boisterous young men down Sixth Avenue some distance. Finally the boys disappeared into a cigar store.

"Hanged if they haven't gone into Spice Worden's!" said Bronson.

"Who is Spice Worden?"

"The proprietor of a gambling house. I know him, but I've been tipped to let him alone. There's graft in it for somebody, and I fancy I know who gets the rake-off, though I wouldn't like to say."

When they looked into the cigar store Hatch and his companions had disappeared.

"The entrance to the gambling house is through the store," explained Bronson. "Do you wish to go in?"

"Yes."

"Come on."

They entered the store. A young man behind the counter looked startled when he saw Bronson, and made a motion that the plain-clothes man checked.

"Don't bother with the buzzer, Tommy," said the officer. "There's nothing doing to my knowledge. This friend of mine wants to reach a chap who's inside. Call Worden, will you?"

A moment later Spice Worden himself appeared, and Bronson quickly convinced him that it was "all right." Worden seemed fearful that they were getting evidence, but the officer assured him to the contrary, upon which they were conducted behind the rear partition, through a dark passage, up a flight of stairs, and finally admitted to Worden's gambling joint.

The place was not luxurious, although it was comfortably fitted and furnished. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke, and a great crowd of men were playing roulette, faro, and other games.

Frank quickly discovered Arthur Hatch, who was "bucking the tiger," his recent companions around him.

But what was more interesting was the discovery of both Felipe Jalisco and Bantry Hagan in the group.

In a moment Merry had pointed Jalisco out to Bronson, and placed the warrant in the hands of the officer. Then he strode forward, pushed into the group, placed his hand on the shoulder of young Hatch, and said:

"Come, Arthur; you're going to come out of this place with me."

Bantry Hagan gave a cry of surprise and anger.

"It's Merriwell!" he shouted. "Jump him, boys! Do him up!"

Felipe Jalisco drew a knife, but suddenly found his wrist seized, the knife taken from him, and a pair of handcuffs snapped on his wrists, while Bronson said:

"I'll have to take you with me, young fellow. Better not make a row unless——"

"Don't let him arrest Felipe!" cried Carlos Mendoza. "Take him away from the cop! Come on!"

At this moment, however, there came to the ears of all a sudden hammering and crashing, together with the whirring sound of a buzzer. Instantly the entire place was in confusion.

"A raid!" was the cry, and the men started on a rush to get out.

There came further crashing at the door of that room, which fell before the blows, and a squad of officers with drawn clubs poured in.

"Oh, goodness!" gasped Arthur Hatch, horrified and sobered. "We'll all be pinched and locked up. The governor will hear of it! If my mother finds out—— What shall I do?"

He was on the verge of collapsing.

"I'll try to get you out," said Merry. "But you must swear to cut your bad companions and to forever quit drinking and smoking."

"I swear it!" panted the boy. "Anything to get out of here. I'll keep the oath, too!"

In the meantime, the gamblers had rushed, and shouted, and struggled, and fought to escape; but all their efforts were useless. They were captured to the last man of them.

Spice Worden was arrested in his own gambling den. In the grasp of an officer he came face to face with Bronson, who had Jalisco.

"I didn't think it of you, Bronson!" he said, his face pale. "I thought you a square man."

"I swear I knew nothing of this raid," said Bronson. "I have my game here. I never lied to any man yet."

Frank and Arthur were close at hand, and Merry appealed to Bronson.

"How are we going to get clear of this trap?" he asked. "I don't fancy going to jail with a lot of gamblers."

"I'll take care of you," promised Bronson.

"And my friend here, too?"

"Your friend, too."

He turned Jalisco over to another policeman, and told Frank and Art to follow him. There was a back door that was guarded. When this door was reached, Bronson held a short, low-spoken conversation with the officer in charge there, after which he motioned to his companions, and the three descended the stairs and finally came out upon a street that ran from Sixth Avenue to Broadway.

"Here you are, Mr. Merriwell," said Bronson. "Sorry that raid happened just then, but I reckon there's no harm done. I suppose you'll be on hand to appear against Jalisco in the morning?"

"Without fail," said Merry. "Good night, Bronson. This has been a fortunate night for me."

"And for me!" exclaimed Arthur Hatch, as Bronson departed. "Good Lord! but I was frightened when those officers came! I saw myself scorned by my father! I saw my mother broken-hearted! In one moment I realized what my bad habits had brought me to. I broke my first pledge to you, Frank Merriwell; but, with the help of God, I'll keep my second one!"

* * * * *

Frank Merriwell had just taken his cold plunge the next morning, when the telephone in his apartments rang.

Immediately Merry answered the summons.

"Hello!" he called into the phone.

"Hello!" was the answer. "Is this Frank Merriwell?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm Sam Bronson."

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Bronson."

"I'm afraid you'll not be so good-natured, Mr. Merriwell, when I tell you what has happened."

"Eh? What's the matter? Anything gone wrong?"

"I should say so! You know that Mexican that I arrested on the warrant you gave me?"

"Of course."

"Well, I turned him over to the rest of the boys who had the whole crowd rounded up, while I helped you get your friend, Hatch, out of the place, you know."

"Yes. I am to appear against Jalisco in court this morning."

"You don't have to appear."

"Why not?"

"He wasn't with the bunch locked up last night."

"Impossible!"

"It's true, unfortunately."

"How could that be? I don't understand it."

"Nor I. I'm doing my best to get at the bottom of it. Neither he nor Bantry Hagan were locked up. Both got away somehow."

Frank was more than vexed over this information.

"There's something crooked about this, Bronson!" he exclaimed. "Why, you put the irons on Jalisco."

"I know I did, and I'm shy a good pair of bracelets."

"He could not have escaped from the handcuffs unless they were removed by an officer. I should say this thing needs investigating, Bronson! And Hagan was not locked up either?"

"No. Neither Jalisco nor Hagan was with the bunch when it was rounded up at the station house last night. Both got away somewhere between Worden's and the station house. You know this man, Hagan, is pretty well known to the police, and he has influence. I'm going to make a roar over the business, and somebody's head will come off if I can fix the blame anywhere. It's the best I can do. I'm sorry, but I know you can't blame me."

"I'm sure you were not to blame, Bronson. This is bad business. I wanted to teach Jalisco a lesson. He's a dangerous young thug, and he's taken an oath to kill me unless I cough up a lot of cash to him. Do your best to get at the bottom of the matter and to get track of Jalisco at the same time. If you set eyes on him again, pinch him at once."

"Leave that to me," said Bronson. "I'm pretty sore over it. I'll call round to see you in an hour or so. Thought I'd phone you and let you know what had happened."

"Thank you, Bronson. Good-by."

"Good-by."

Frank hung up the receiver.



CHAPTER XIX.

ALVAREZ LAZARO.

That morning Watson Scott had a visitor who gave his name as Alvarez Lazaro.

Lazaro was a slender man of medium height, with snow-white hair and face that seemed to indicate he had passed through great suffering of some sort, for it was strangely drawn and deeply lined. His age seemed uncertain, but Scott, who was an excellent judge, would have placed him well along in the fifties, although his step and carriage was like that of a much younger man.

He was expensively dressed, wore a big sable overcoat, and had on his fingers a number of rings set with precious stones.

Old Gripper surveyed the visitor with unusual interest. There was something about the man that fascinated him—something that attracted, yet repelled.

"I'll not take up much of your time, Senor Scott," said Lazaro, in a soft, musical voice. "I know you are a very busy man. I have called to make inquiries about this railroad they say is soon to be built in my country. I hear you are president of the company."

Scott knitted his heavy brows. "Where had he heard that voice before?" he asked himself.

"You are from Mexico, Mr. Lazaro?" was his question.

"I am, senor."

"What do you wish to know about the Central Sonora Railroad?"

"It is settled that the road will be constructed?"

"Yes. Every preparation is being made to begin work upon it."

"The company is formed and the stock issued?"

"The stock is not yet issued."

Lazaro had taken a seat on a chair toward which Scott had motioned him.

"But it will be——"

"As soon as we think proper."

"You are confident that the road will pay?"

"If I did not think so, I'd not be so deeply interested in it."

"Naturally not, for I understand you are a very shrewd man of affairs, senor."

The complimentary words of the Mexican were wasted on Scott, who believed a man usually dealt in compliments when he was seeking something to his own advantage.

"Who are your intimate associates in this great project, if I am not presuming too far by asking, Senor Scott?"

"Mr. Warren Hatch, Mr. Sudbury Bragg, and Mr. Frank Merriwell are in the company."

"It seems that I have heard of Senor Merriwell. Has he not a rich mine down there somewhere in Sonora?"

"He has."

"Then it is likely he will be the one most benefited by the building of this road?"

"It certainly will be a great thing for him."

Lazaro nodded slowly. He knew Watson Scott was surveying him in a puzzled manner, but he seemed wholly unconscious of the fact.

"The stock of this company you think will be a profitable investment for those who may purchase it, senor?"

"I believe so."

"Of course your company intends to retain a controlling interest in the road?"

"Exactly."

"Does Senor Merriwell intend to hold a large amount of the stock?"

"I believe he has pledged himself to take a certain amount of it."

"I have heard that he has other valuable mines besides the one in Mexico."

"You seem very much interested in him?"

"Not particularly, although to my ears there has come a rumor at some time that his claim to the mine in Mexico is a very flimsy one and that he may lose it."

"Wind, sir—nothing more. The rumor was founded on the claims of a countryman of yours, Senor Porfias del Norte, who held an old and worthless land grant to the territory in which Merriwell's mine is located. The grant had been revoked, and Del Norte could have done nothing had he lived."

"Then he is dead?"

"Dead and buried so deeply that nothing but the horn of old Gabriel can ever bring him up."

"Then it is likely that Senor Merriwell may escape some annoyance, at least. I think he will be glad of that."

"I'm not sure about it," said Old Gripper, with a flitting smile. "Merriwell is a fighter, and he seems to enjoy trouble. But we are not progressing. You have asked me a lot of questions, but have not yet stated your business."

"I am contemplating investing in Central Sonora when it is placed on the market."

"Ah!"

"Yes, senor. I have some money I wish to invest in something solid and promising. I presume you will be ready enough to put out much of that stock, and it may start a little slow. On your assurance that you believe it a good thing, I will take some shares."

"How much do you contemplate investing?"

"What will be the par value of the stock?"

"One hundred dollars a share."

"Then," said Alvarez Lazaro, with perfect nonchalance, "you may put me down, if you are willing, for one thousand shares."

Old Gripper blinked.

"That is one hundred thousand dollars," he said.

The Mexican bowed.

"Which will be as much as I care to invest in a single enterprise."

The interest of Watson Scott was at a high pitch now.

"It happens that I know nothing whatever about you, Mr. Lazaro," he said. "I have had other men come here and make similar propositions; but have found, on investigation, that they had not a dollar behind them. If you can produce credentials or letters from——"

"I can produce plenty of letters, senor. I have them from many notable men of my country, including President Diaz. I do not carry them with me, you understand; but I can produce them whenever I choose. If you wish, I will make an appointment with you, at which I'll satisfy you beyond a doubt that I am exactly what I represent myself to be. If it is possible, I should like to have you dine with me to-night at the Waldorf. I hope you may find it convenient to accept my most urgent invitation, senor."

Now, under ordinary circumstances Watson Scott would not have contemplated such a thing. Lazaro had appeared unheralded and unannounced, and Scott knew absolutely nothing of the man. Yet all through that interview Scott had experienced an almost mastering desire to know something about him. He could not understand why he should take such unusual interest in the stranger, but from the moment the man had entered the office Old Gripper was beset by a conviction that this was not their first meeting.

"I don't know," he said, in a hesitating manner that was wholly unnatural with him who was generally so settled and decisive. "I suppose——"

"You will accept," nodded Lazaro, as if it were decided. "At what time will it be most convenient for you to come."

"Why—er—when do you dine?"

"Whenever Senor Scott chooses," bowed the man with the snowy hair. "Any hour from six to nine will please me."

"Well, I'll be along between six and half-past," said Scott, and then wondered why he had said it.

"It is well," bowed Lazaro, rising. "I will now intrude no more on your precious time."

Scott stood up.

"Hang it all!" he exclaimed. "I'd swear I know you! Isn't it possible we have met before. I can't seem to remember your face, but your eyes and your voice seem to stir some forgotten memory within me."

The Mexican slowly shook his head.

"I have traveled much," he said, "and have met many people; but I am certain it has never been my good fortune to be presented to you, Senor Scott. Of course it is possible that you may have seen me somewhere and some time in the past; but I would swear that never until I entered this office did I place my eyes on you. Your face is one not easily forgotten."

"And yours is one no man should forget, sir. I presume I am mistaken."

Lazaro paused at the door.

"If you found it convenient to bring along one of your associates in this railroad deal, say Senor Hatch or Senor Bragg, I should be glad."

"Not likely I can. It is barely possible I might bring Merriwell."

"As I understand, he is too young, Senor Scott. I had rather meet men older and wiser. I cannot tell why, but the youth of Senor Merriwell has somehow prejudiced me against him."

"When you meet him, if you do, you'll find him wise far beyond his years and as keen as a rapier."

"No doubt you are right, senor; but I do not care to make an effort before him to establish my responsibility. I should feel that the situation ought to be reversed and that he should be seeking to satisfy me."

"I believe I understand your feeling on that point, Mr. Lazaro; but you feel that way because you do not know him. However, we'll leave him out to-night. Good day. Look for me at the time set."

"Thank you, senor. Good day."

Alvarez Lazaro bowed himself out of the office with the grace of a Frenchman.

Old Gripper stood quite still a number of moments, frowning deeply.

"Confound it!" he cried. "The impression that I have met that man grows stronger and stronger. But where—where?"



CHAPTER XX.

THE AVENGER.

A man in a heavy overcoat and a slouch hat was walking rapidly through one of the streets of New York leading into a squalid quarter of the East Side. Twice he stepped past a corner and stood there some time, observing the persons who passed in the direction he had been walking. Once he stepped quickly into a doorway and stood there peering back along the street until he seemed satisfied and concluded to resume his walk.

Plainly this man feared he might be followed.

Finally on a block not far from the river, where everything looked wretched and poverty-stricken, he ascended the low steps of a house and quickly entered a doorway. The uncarpeted hall was dirty and dark. The stairs were worn and sagged a little.

Two flights of stairs did the man climb, and then, in a significant manner, he rapped on a door at the back of the house. There was a stir within the room. The door was flung open by a slender, dark-faced, dark-eyed boy, who joyously exclaimed:

"Welcome, Senor Hagan! You were a great time coming."

The man stepped into the little room, and the door was closed behind him.

"Lock it, Felipe!" he exclaimed. "Take no chances of having some one walk in on us without warning, me boy."

The key was turned in the lock.

There was a bed, a chair, and a washstand in the room. The floor was uncarpeted and the walls unpapered.

"It's a poor sort of a hole you're cooped in, Felipe," observed the visitor, flinging off his hat and unbuttoning his overcoat.

"Paugh! It is vile!" exclaimed the boy, with an expression of disgust. "But here you say they will not look to find me. It was here you brought me, and here I have remained, only sneaking out at night to buy food. Tell me the truth, Senor Hagan, are the police still looking for me?"

"It's your life you can bet on it, me lad. Frank Merriwell has them rubbering for you, and it's myself who has been watched and shadowed all the time since the night we were pinched. If he had anything good and sufficient against me, Merriwell would have me nabbed in a jiffy."

"You're sure the officers did not follow you here?"

"Trust Bantry Hagan," laughed the Irishman. "I took good care of that. I fooled the plain-clothes chap who was following me round, gave him the slip, and then came to see ye. Lucky for us I had a pull with one of the bluecoats the night of the raid at Worden's. It would have been easy for me to get assistance in ducking that night; but I wouldn't go without ye, and you had the irons on. It looked bad."

"The handcuffs are yet to be made that will hold those hands, Senor Hagan," said Felipe, with a laugh.

"Sure you made me wink when you slipped your hands out of them slick and easy. Then it was not so hard to bribe the police to let us both slip away in the darkness as they marched the prisoners downstairs and out through the passage. At that we could not have done it only for my pull with Riley. It's surprised Mr. Merriwell must have been in the morning when he learned that neither of us had been locked up."

"Fiends destroy him!" cried the boy. "How I hate him! I would love to kill him!"

"It's that thing ye'd better not do, unless you want to ruin your prospect of ever handling any of the money he is making from that mine."

"I failed to frighten him that night when I had him with my knife at his throat. He told me I would not kill him, and I am sure he believed it."

"Oh, he's a nervy lad, all right," nodded Hagan. "Del Norte found that out. If he had lived——"

There was a step outside; a sharp knock on the door.

Felipe leaped back toward the window, outside of which was the fire escape. In a moment he had the window open.

Hagan stepped quickly to the door, against which he placed his solid body, at the same time calling:

"Who is it that knocks? and what do you want here?"

"It is I, Senor Hagan," answered a voice that made the Irishman gasp and caused his eyes to bulge. "Have no fear. Open the door!"

"It's the voice of the dead!" gasped Hagan, his usually florid face gone pale.

"Who is it?" questioned Jalisco.

Instead of answering, with fingers that were not quite steady, Hagan turned the key in the lock and opened the door.

Into the room boldly walked a man who wore a sable overcoat, had hair of snowy white, and eyes of deepest midnight.

Hagan stared at this man in amazement.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Alvarez Lazaro, of Mexico," was the answer, in that same soft, musical voice that had so startled the Irishman.

"But that voice—that voice!" muttered Hagan. "And those eyes! Man, ye gave me a start! Why do you come here? What do you want?"

"I have come to meet the enemies of Frank Merriwell."

"The divvil ye say!" cried Hagan, his excitement flinging him into the brogue he so nearly avoided in quieter moments. "Why do ye come here for that?"

"Because I know you both are his enemies."

"And you—if I didn't know Porfias del Norte to be dead and buried—— But even then you'd not be the man. You're thirty years older; but you have a little of his looks and his voice in perfection."

"Do you think so? Then perhaps it came through my long acquaintance with him. Dear friends sometimes acquire each other's mode of speech and little mannerisms, it is said."

"Were you Del Norte's friend?"

"His nearest and dearest friend in all the world. This may seem strange to you, considering the difference in our ages, but it is the truth. From me he never had a secret. I knew all his plans, his hopes, his ambitions—everything—everything that he knew and felt."

"Strange he never spoke to me of you," muttered Hagan.

"Not strange, for he was not given to talking freely to any one but me. And now he is dead! But I am here to avenge him. I have learned that he was buried alive in a cave, and the thought of his frightful sufferings before he died has torn my soul with anguish. They say the real cause of his death was the gringo, Merriwell. I am the avenger of Porfias del Norte, and I have sworn to make him suffer even as Porfias suffered, and then to destroy him at last. It is an oath I shall keep."

"My, but you Mexicans are fierce at revenge and that sort of a thing!" said Hagan, with a look on his face that was almost laughable. "Here's Felipe—I've been cautioning the boy and holding him in check to keep him from slicing up Merriwell."

Lazaro turned to Felipe.

"What great wrong has Merriwell done you?" he questioned.

Then Felipe hurriedly told how Frank was working a rich mine on land that had been granted to Sebastian Jalisco by the first president of Mexico, General Victoria, and how the American had declared the grant a forgery and had refused to pay a dollar of tribute to Felipe.

"Dear boy," said Lazaro, with an air of gentleness, "I do not blame you if you can compel the gringo to give you anything; but Porfias had the only real title to that property that was worthy of consideration. Had he lived, he would have wrested everything from Merriwell. Now that he is dead, I shall take his place and do the work as he would have done it."

"Of course, you think Senor del Norte's claim the only rightful one," said Felipe; "but the grant to Guerrero del Norte was made eight years after that of President Victoria to Sebastian Jalisco. Besides, senor, President Pedraza's grant was revoked by President Santa Anna, and therefore is now wholly worthless."

"There is no need to discuss it," said Lazaro, "You have my sympathy; but I must urge you, for your own sake and for mine, to attempt no harm to Merriwell. Leave him to me, and you shall have the pleasure of seeing all his plans go wrong, his fortune dwindle, his friends drop away, his sweetheart taken from him, his strength sapped, his beauty destroyed, and, at last, his life crushed out of his broken body."

"It's a big job ye've contracted," said Bantry Hagan. "I'm afraid, me man, you don't realize what you're up against."

"You think I cannot accomplish it?"

"I have me doubts, and big ones they are."

"Time will convince you. I learned of the existence of Felipe Jalisco, learned he was in this city, wished to see him, but knew not where to find him. I found you, and I said you should lead me to the boy. You did so."

"You don't mean to tell me ye followed me here?"

"I followed you, even though you fooled the officer who was watching you. I followed you, even though you stopped at corners and watched all who passed, seeking to make sure you were not followed. I saw you stand in the doorway and gaze back along the street; but you did not observe me. Thus you led me to Felipe Jalisco. To-night I strike my first blow at Frank Merriwell."

"How?"

"In my own way. First I will ruin his scheme to build a railroad in Sonora. For that purpose the first blow shall be made this night."

"You're like Porfias del Norte turned into his own father!" declared Hagan. "When you talk you are him to the life, only that you are an old man with a furrowed face and snow-white hair. He was in the very flush of vigorous youth."

A sigh escaped Lazaro's lips, and that sigh was precisely like many a one Hagan had heard Del Norte heave.

"Ah, yes," said the man, with pathetic sadness; "I have looked in a mirror, and I know I am an old, old man. But Frank Merriwell shall not find me too old to wreak vengeance upon him!"



CHAPTER XXI.

THE FIRST STROKE.

The main dining room of the Waldorf-Astoria was well filled, almost every table being taken. The place was brilliantly lighted, the guests fashionably dressed, and the scene one to impress the unaccustomed visitor. The hidden orchestra was discoursing music to suit the taste of the most critical.

Seated at a table on the Fifth Avenue side were two men who attracted more or less attention. Old Gripper Scott was known by sight to many of those present, and, being one of the great American money kings, naturally received more than cursory notice.

But it seemed that the remarkable-appearing white-haired man, who sat opposite Old Gripper, was surveyed with even more interest than that accorded the great financier. His deeply furrowed face, his snowy hair, and his black, piercing eyes gave him a remarkable look that was certain to attract the second glance of any one who chanced to observe him.

"Who is he?" was the question asked by scores of diners.

"He's a fabulously wealthy Mexican who has come on to take a hand in some of Old Gripper's deals," explained one man, who seemed to know something about it.

Watson Scott found Alvarez Lazaro the soul of polished politeness. The musical talk of the Mexican was very entertaining, yet strangely soothing.

"After we have our coffee," said Lazaro, "I will convince you beyond doubt, senor, that my pledge to take one thousand shares of Central Sonora at par may be considered by you the same as the actual deposit of the money for the stock. I never like to talk business while dining. I know you Americans have your downtown luncheon clubs, where you go to discuss business affairs while you eat; but I do not think I could ever bring myself to adopt the habit."

"It has been found necessary in order to save time," said Scott. "With the New Yorker of affairs time is money."

"I understand that, senor; but still my prejudice against it persists. It will not take me long after dinner. You can spare a little more time. I shall regret to part from you even then."

"Are all your countrymen so free with complimentary speeches?"

"Unlike you men of the North," retorted Lazaro, "we do not hide our feelings, but speak them freely. Perhaps it is a failing, for I find that Americans often become suspicious when praised or complimented; but still, what my heart feels my tongue persists in revealing before I can check it."

"All right," nodded Scott, with something like a touch of gruffness; "but don't lay it on too thick."

"One question perhaps I may ask while we are waiting for the dessert, even if it seems too much of business."

"Fire away."

"I would like to know that this scheme is assured."

"The construction of the railroad?"

"Yes, senor."

"Of course it——"

"If anything serious were to happen to important members of your company—to you, Senor Scott, we will say?"

"Why, I suppose the others would push her through."

"But if something happened to Senor Hatch and Senor Bragg?"

"Well, now you're supposing a wholesale calamity! I don't know what would happen if we were all knocked out before construction began—before the stock was placed on the market."

"It might put an end to the project?"

"It might," admitted Old Gripper.

"That would be most unfortunate for Senor Merriwell," said the Mexican, as if he almost feared something of the sort was going to take place.

Coffee was finally brought.

"Senor," said Lazaro, "I know it is impolite to turn to look behind one, but sitting at the third table back of you is a tall, thin man with a prominent nose, and I am certain I have met him somewhere, but I cannot recall his name. If you could get a look at him without too much trouble——"

Watson Scott was not given to great stiffness anywhere. He drew his feet from beneath the table, placed them at one side of his chair and half turned on the seat, looking round at the man indicated by Lazaro.

As Old Gripper did this the Mexican leaned far over the table and reached out his hand as if to touch his companion on the elbow. Instead of doing this, he seemed to change his mind; but his hand swept over the small cup of black coffee that stood in front of the other man, and something fell into that cup.

"That is Henry Babcock, of the Cuban Plantation Supply Company," explained Scott, turning back.

"Then I was mistaken," said the Mexican. "I have never met the gentleman."

They sipped their coffee, Lazaro continuing talking.

Scott emptied his cup.

"I've had a hard day, but that will keep me awake for the next four hours," he remarked. "I'm going to the theatre with a party of friends to-night, and I don't want to nod over the old play."

After a brief time a vexed look came to his rugged face, and he swept his hand across his eyes.

"Is anything wrong, senor?" questioned Lazaro.

"I'm afraid my eyes are going back on me. They're blurry now. I swear I hate to take up wearing spectacles!"

Directly he leaned his head on his hand, with his elbow on the table.

"I fear you are not feeling well, Senor Scott," said the man of the snowy hair and coal-black eyes.

"I'm not," confessed Old Gripper thickly. "Can't understand it. Never felt this way before. I'm afraid I'm going to be ill. Let's get out of here."

Already Lazaro had paid the check and tipped the waiter. They arose and started to leave the dining room. With his second step Watson Scott staggered.

In a moment his companion had him by the arm, expressing in a low tone the greatest regret and anxiety.

"I want air!" muttered Scott. "I—I'm going home. Please get my topcoat and hat for me. My check is somewhere in my pocket. Get a hansom, for that will give me a chance to breathe."

Lazaro felt in Scott's pocket and found the check, for which he obtained the man's overcoat and hat. He expressed his sorrow that this thing should happen, and, with the aid of an attendant, assisted the tottering man outside and lifted him into a hansom. Scott's wits seemed wholly muddled, for he could not give his home address; but this was not necessary, for the driver happened to know it.

The hansom turned away, and Alvarez Lazaro wheeled to reenter the hotel.

He found himself face to face with Frank Merriwell.

Lazaro halted.

Frank had stopped in his tracks, his eyes fastened on the man.

A moment they stood thus, and then the Mexican bowed, saying with cold politeness:

"Your pardon, senor. You are in my way."

That voice gave Merry a greater thrill than had the sight of the man's face. It was like one speaking from the grave, for the low, gentle voice had all the soft music of one Frank believed forever stilled by death.

And those eyes—they were the same. But that snow-white hair and the deeply furrowed face—how different!

Yet about the man's face there was something that strongly reminded the youth of Porfias del Norte.

"I beg your pardon," said Merry, in turn. "But the sight of you gave me a start. For a moment I fancied I knew you—that we had met before."

"But now you realize your mistake, senor; now you know we have never met until this moment."

"It is not likely that we have; but still you remind me powerfully of a man by the name of Porfias del Norte."

"I knew him."

"You knew him?"

"I did, senor. He was my bosom friend. Who are you that knew my friend?"

"My name is Merriwell."

Alvarez Lazaro seemed to straighten and become rigid, while into his dark eyes crept an expression of hatred which he no longer tried to hide.

"At last, Senor Merriwell," he said, the music having left his voice; "at last we meet! On the morrow I should have sought you."

"For what purpose?"

"To let you know that I have come."

"How could that interest me?"

"You will be interested before you see the last of me."

Frank recognized the threat in the voice of the man.

"What are you driving at? I don't understand you."

"Possibly not. I have said that Porfias del Norte was my bosom friend."

"Yes."

"He is dead."

"Yes."

"It was through you that he came to his death."

"He brought it on himself, and richly he merited it!" declared Merriwell hotly. "If ever a wretch got just what was coming to him it was Del Norte!"

The eyes of Lazaro were gleaming with a smoldering fire.

"Why did he deserve it? Was it because he found you usurping his privileges, enriching yourself from his property, while you refused to acknowledge his rights?"

"He had no legal rights. He was a villain, every inch of him. He proved it by his dastardly conduct. Yes, he richly merited all that came to him."

"Have you thought what a terrible death he died? Have you thought of him entombed alive, beating with his bare hands the stone walls within which he knew he must die, suffering the most frightful tortures that a human being may know? Have you thought of him smothering for want of air, his throat parched, his head bursting, his mind deranged? Have you thought of him praying to the saints, shrieking, moaning, sobbing, and dying at last in that horrible darkness? And yet you say he received no more than he merited!"

"Poor devil!" muttered Merry. "It was a fearful thing. Even though he once tried to cut my tongue out, even though he meant to torture me and then kill me, I would not have had him endure such suffering."

"You are so kind—so tender of heart!" sneered Lazaro. "Paugh!"

He made a gesture of anger that was precisely the same as Del Norte might have done. Strange there was something about this old man that so powerfully resembled the youthful Del Norte!

"You have his manner, his voice, his eyes! You might be his father."

"I am simply his friend, Alvarez Lazaro—his friend and his avenger!"

"Then you——"

"I have sworn to avenge him!"

The Mexican leaned toward Frank, swiftly hissing:

"I have sworn to ruin you, to wreck your ambitions and your life, to make you suffer even as Porfias suffered in his last moments! Now you understand me! Now you know what to expect from me!"

"You're insane! I see madness in your eyes! Be careful that you do not bring on yourself the fate that befell Del Norte."

"No danger of that. I know how to accomplish what I have set myself to do. All your great plans shall go amiss. When you see things going wrong, when you find your fortune melting away, when the very earth seems crumbling beneath your feet, think of me and know my hand is behind it all. This night I have struck the first blow!"

Then Lazaro stepped swiftly to one side, passed Merry, and entered the splendid hotel.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE SECOND STROKE.

Frank Merriwell and Inza Burrage were driving in Central Park the following forenoon. At this early hour there was not the great number of turnouts in the park that would be seen later when languid society came out for its airing.

"Inza," said Frank, "I no longer feel it absolutely necessary to make all haste back to Mexico. I shall take my time about it. The reports from the mine are favorable, and everything is progressing well. Hodge and Browning will return to the city to-morrow. They both expect that I'll be ready to start straight for Mexico. They'll be surprised to find I have it fixed so there is no need of haste."

"The railroad project——"

"Is settled."

"The railroad will be built without your taking an active part in its actual construction?"

"Yes; the newly organized company will look after that. Leave it to Watson Scott. I saw an item in a morning paper saying that Mr. Scott was suddenly taken ill at the Waldorf last night; but that he was resting comfortably this morning, and his physician did not apprehend any serious result. If anything serious did happen to Old Gripper, it might retard the railroad project for a time."

"Now that Del Norte is gone, it seems that you should not have any great trouble, Frank?"

Immediately Merry thought of the man with the snowy hair whom he had encountered in front of the Waldorf; but he decided to say nothing to Inza of that meeting. He did not wish to alarm her.

"Yes," he laughed; "I feel like celebrating, and I have a little scheme."

"What is it?"

"Why can't we make up a party to visit Niagara and St. Louis."

"Oh, splendid!" cried Inza eagerly.

"Then you like the idea, sweetheart?"

"I think it grand!"

"And Elsie——"

"I'm sure she'll be in for it. Although she has not said much, I know she dislikes to have Bart go away."

"Then we'll carry out my plan. You may accompany us as far as St. Louis—perhaps farther."

Inza bubbled with pleasure over this plan, beginning at once to talk of the fine times they would have.

A closed carriage was passing them, going somewhat faster, in the same direction.

Happening to glance toward the window of this carriage, Inza suddenly uttered a low cry and grasped Merry's coat sleeve.

"Look look!" she exclaimed.

"What is it?"

"That man!"

"Where?"

"In that carriage. He was looking from the window, but he has leaned back now. I looked straight into his eyes, and it gave me a fearful shock, for they seemed to be the eyes of Porfias del Norte!"

"How did the man look?"

"He had a strange face that was deeply lined, and his hair was very white."

"Alvarez Lazaro!" thought Merry. "The self-styled avenger is seeking his opportunity."

Having driven in the park for some time, they finally halted at a little restaurant, a man appearing to take charge of their horses.

Near at hand a man was stretched on the ground beneath an automobile, engaged in tinkering at it.

Merry was about to enter the building with Inza when another man appeared, approached the one who was working at the automobile, and impatiently questioned him in regard to the progress he was making.

"There is Mr. Hatch," said Frank. "I'll speak to him. I'll join you inside in a few moments, Inza."

He turned back and approached Warren Hatch, who was standing and frowningly watching the efforts of the one who was tinkering at the automobile.

"Good morning, Mr. Hatch," said Merry.

The face of Hatch cleared a little, and he shook hands with Frank.

"Glad to see you, Merriwell. Did you just drive up? Should have been away from here thirty minutes ago, but something happened to this old machine, and Casimer is having a dickens of a time fixing it. I've been to see Scott."

"How is he?"

"A sick man—a mighty sick man."

"What is the matter?"

"That's the queer thing about it. Doctor hasn't told. Don't believe he knows."

"It is rather queer."

"First the doctor fancied it might be something like paralysis or apoplexy; but it's not. You know Scott was taken while dining at the Waldorf with a man who claims to be interested in the Central Sonora project and expresses a desire to take on one thousand shares of the stock."

"I didn't know about that."

"Yes. I talked with Scott. He's weak and almost helpless. Can barely wiggle a finger, but he can talk, and his mind is not affected."

"Why, the paper said he was very comfortable this morning."

"He may be; but I'd rather see him more frisky."

"You do not apprehend a serious termination?"

"I hope not. Scott has a constitution like iron, and he won't die easily. Still, I shall be worried if he shows no signs of improvement to-day. Do you know, he told me that the man he dined with last night was a Mexican. I haven't much use for them. Found one here talking to Casimer a short time ago—a fellow with the whitest hair I've ever seen."

Frank started.

"I believe I've seen that man," he said. "He passed us in the park."

"He was parley vooing with Casimer and bothering him," said Hatch. "I politely informed him that I was in a hurry, and asked him not to bother my chauffeur. Say, he turned and looked at me with a pair of black eyes that seemed as dangerous as loaded pistols. 'I beg your pardon, senor,' he purred. 'If I have bothered your chauffeur or delayed you in the least, I am very sorry. I trust you may get started soon and meet with no more serious accident to-day than this little breakdown.' I swear there was something in his manner so offensive that I felt like hitting him, and yet he was the very soul of politeness."

Frank nodded, and Hatch noted a singular expression on the face of the youth.

"What are you thinking of?" he inquired. "Something is running through your head."

"It is. Did you ask Mr. Scott the name of the man with whom he dined last evening."

"Yes."

"It was——"

"Alvarez Lazaro."

"I thought it!"

"Why, how did you know any——"

"The white-haired man you met here is Alvarez Lazaro."

"No?"

"And this Lazaro has boldly informed me that he was once the bosom friend of Porfias del Norte and is now his avenger."

"What's that?" gasped Hatch. "Why, what does he propose to do?"

"He has threatened all sorts of things. Look out for him, Mr. Hatch. So he dined with Mr. Scott, did he? And Mr. Scott was taken ill at the Waldorf! Mr. Hatch, when I leave here I shall call on Mr. Scott's physician and have a talk with him. My suspicions are thoroughly aroused."

"You don't suspect foul play, do you?"

"As I have said, my suspicions are thoroughly aroused. This whole affair is queer."

At this moment the chauffeur uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, backed from beneath the machine, wrench in hand, and announced that the breakdown was remedied at last.

Frank remained until the machine was ready to start and Warren Hatch had stepped into it. Mr. Hatch waved his hand and was soon lost to view down the splendid park road.

Just as Merry was on the verge of entering the restaurant, Inza, pale and agitated, came hurrying to him.

"That man is here!" she said, her voice shaking. "I don't know why he frightens me so. I was seated inside, glancing at a magazine, when I happened to look up, and there he stood not more than five feet away. I had not heard a sound, but he was there, and those eyes were fastened on me in a manner that made my blood turn cold. I gave a cry and sprang up. Then he spoke, and, if possible, his voice terrified me even more than his eyes, for it was the voice of your bitterest enemy, Porfias del Norte. Of course, I know Del Norte is dead, Frank; but this man alarms me all the more because of that."

"What did he say to you?"

"He begged my pardon and said he had not meant to alarm me. He was very courteous, just the same as Del Norte. Can he be a relative of your enemy?"

"I don't think so, Inza. Where is he now?"

"He left at once by the door on the opposite side."

"I'd like to see him a moment," said Merriwell grimly.

"Keep away from him, Frank!" implored Inza, grasping his arm. "I don't understand it, but I have a feeling that he will bring some trouble to us."

It was not an easy matter to fully reassure her, but Merry laughed at her and declared she was getting superstitious and whimsical.

At the first opportunity he went in search of Lazaro, but was just in time to see the closed carriage he believed occupied by the Mexican disappearing in the direction of Fifth Avenue.

Central Park is crossed by four sunken transverse roads, running east and west. These roads are mostly used by heavy trucks and wagons carrying merchandise. The park roads cross above them on massive foundations of arched masonry. Almost everywhere the pleasure roads of the park are guarded on either side by protecting walls at such places as might be productive of accident by permitting a frightened horse to plunge over into one of the sunken roads.

On the return drive Frank and Inza came upon a gathering of curious persons at the end of one of these walls. They were gazing down toward the road below.

On reaching the spot, Frank saw a wrecked automobile lying down there. Evidently the machine had veered from the road, shot past the end of the wall, plunged down the bank, and leaped off into the road, in its final plunge turning completely over.

Something caused Merry to pull up and inquire if any one had been hurt.

"Yes, sir," answered one of the bystanders. "An officer told me that the owner of the machine was badly—perhaps fatally—injured. The chauffeur jumped right here as the machine left the road, and he escaped with a few slight bruises."

"Seems to me that was strange behavior for the chauffeur. As a rule, drivers stick to their machines to the last. Who was the owner?"

"Why, it was Mr. Warren Hatch, the——"

"Mr. Hatch?" gasped Frank.

"Do you know him, sir?"

"Yes. Where have they taken him?"

"To some hospital. The officer yonder will tell you, I think."

* * * * *

On arriving at his hotel, Frank found a letter addressed to him. He tore it open and read as follows:

"The first and second blows have been struck!

"THE AVENGER."



CHAPTER XXIII.

OLD SPOONER.

Felipe Jalisco always leaped to his feet like a cat when a knock sounded on his door. He could tell in a twinkling if it was Hagan who knocked. This time he knew it was not. The rap had been faltering and feeble.

Jalisco's hand sought the knife he always carried.

"Who is it?" he demanded.

The reply to this question was a repetition of the hesitating knocking.

"Who are you? and what do you want?" sharply cried the Mexican lad.

"I am very sorry to disturb you," said a cracked, unsteady voice. "I have the next room. You can do me a favor."

Now Felipe was lonesome. Staying hidden in that squalid room had made him wretched and homesick. He longed to talk to some one, and he cautiously opened the door.

Outside stood a man bent as if with age, leaning heavily on a crooked cane. He was the picture of poverty. His threadbare clothes had been mended in many places. His dirty, gray hair was long and uncombed. The soles of his shoes were almost wholly worn away, and the uppers were broken in two or three places. He brushed his hair back from his eyes with a trembling hand that seemed unfamiliar with soap and water.

"I hope I have not disturbed you," he said meekly. "I have torn the sleeve of my coat on a nail. I would like to borrow a needle and thread to mend it. I must keep myself looking as well as I possibly can, for my lawyer may call any moment to inform me that I have won my suit and am a very wealthy man."

"I am sorry, senor," said Felipe; "but it is not my fortune to possess a needle and thread."

The old man lifted one trembling, curved hand to the back of his ear, which he turned toward the speaker.

"I didn't quite get your answer," he said. "I am a trifle deaf—only a trifle."

Felipe raised his voice.

"I have not a needle and thread. I would willingly assist you if I had. I am sorry."

"I am sorry, too," sighed the old man, looking regretfully at the rent in his sleeve. "I should be greatly mortified if my lawyer came and found me in this condition."

The boy felt that this wretched old man would be better company than none at all.

"Won't you come in and sit down?" he asked.

"Eh?"

"I would be pleased to have you come in, senor."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not dressed for calling. But then, as we room near each other, I presume you'll see me often in my working clothes."

He entered the room and lowered himself upon the chair that Felipe placed. The boy sat on the bed.

"Did I understand you to say, senor, that you have the next room?"

"Eh? A little louder, please."

Jalisco repeated the question.

"Yes, yes," answered the old man. "I have just taken it. Had to pay a week in advance, and it happens that it took all my money, therefore I'm unable to purchase a needle and thread. But," he quickly added, "in a very few days, when the law gives me my rights, I shall have money enough to purchase all the needles and all the thread in this city without realizing that I have spent anything at all."

"Then you expect to come into an inheritance, senor?" questioned the boy loudly.

"Not just that," was the answer. "I shall obtain my rights. I shall be given a just reward for the invention that was stolen from me and has made other men rich."

Between the old man and the boy there seemed to be a bond of sympathy which the latter felt.

"So you, too, have been robbed?" he cried.

"Basely robbed!" declared the visitor nodding his trembling head. "My name is Roscoe Spooner. I invented what is known as the Guilford Air Brake. The product of my brain was stolen from me by Henry Guilford, who has made so much money from it that he is now a very rich man. But everything he possesses, his splendid home, his carriages, horses, and his yacht, are rightfully mine. He has enjoyed his stolen wealth a long time, but it will not be his much longer. My suit against him must be decided in my favor, and then I shall come into my own."

Felipe was interested.

"How long ago did you perfect this invention?"

"How long? It seems almost a hundred years; but it really was not fifteen."

"How was it stolen by this Guilford, senor?"

"I trusted him. He told me he would furnish the capital and would place my invention on the market. I believed him an honest man. I permitted him to have my model. He patented it, calling it the Guilford Air Brake. When I demanded my just share of the profits, he laughed in my face and called me a crazy old fool. He even had me arrested for annoying him. And my invention has filled his pockets with hundreds of thousands of dollars."

"That was in truth a most dishonest thing, old gentleman. What then did you do?"

"I found a lawyer to take the case and brought suit against him."

"I would have killed him!"

"I have thought of that. Once I did borrow a pistol and go in search of him; but when we met I could not bear to think of the terrible thing I had contemplated, and he never knew how near to death he was."

"It is not my way. At least, had you tried, you might have frightened him into giving you something."

"Had I tried that, it would have cost me my liberty. I am sure he would have lodged me in prison."

"Perhaps so," muttered Felipe. "You're a simple old fool, and you wouldn't know how to work it."

"What did you say?" asked the old man, who had seen the boy's lips move, but apparently had not understood his words.

"This Guilford must be a very wicked man. Your suit against him was useless?"

"The verdict favored him, but I appealed. In the end I shall win. My lawyer has told me so. He may appear to-day, or to-morrow, or the next day, and inform me that I have won. I am looking for him any time."

"And he'll never come," muttered the boy.

"I shall not stay here long," asserted the old inventor. "My room is very poor, but when I think that it is only for a short time that I must occupy it, then I am contented. I had a room in another place, where it cost a great deal more: but I decided to move and economize while waiting for my rights."

Felipe wondered how the old man existed, deciding at once that he must pick up a meagre living by begging.