"Yes, and then maybe we can locate my father," Jack exclaimed. "Say, Nat, this couldn't have happened better. It's fine of you to think of me."

"The same here," put in John.

"Well, I don't know of any fellows I'd rather have than you two," replied Nat.

"Thanks," his two friends answered.

"I'm going to write a reply at once," Nat went on. "I'll go to town and mail it to-night. I guess Dr. Mead will let me."

"Let's all three go," suggested Jack. "I'll ask permission. We've not been caught in any scrapes lately, and our records are fairly good. It's early."

Dr. Mead readily gave permission for the three chums to go to the village where the post-office was.

"But you must be in by eleven o'clock," he stipulated. "I shall instruct Martin to watch out for you, and if you are not in at that hour it will mean demerits all around. I would not let you go, only you have had very good records of late." On their way to the village the three chums talked of nothing but the proposed trip. To Nat it was enough excitement to think of merely going west. But to Jack, who wanted to solve the mystery of his father it meant much more. He hoped since the eleven years of voluntary exile were almost up, to induce his father to come east and make his home.

"That is, if I can find him," thought Jack. "I hope I can. First I'll have to locate Orion Tevis, to see what he knows."

"I'll be glad to get out on a range once more," said John Smith. "I've got enough Indian blood in me to feel cooped up in a house. It will be sport out there, riding ponies and seeing the cattle."

The boys reached the post-office about nine o'clock and Nat mailed his letter.

"It's early to go back," said Jack. "Isn't there something that we can do?"

"There's a moving picture show in town," said John. "Let's go to it for awhile."

This was voted a good idea. The boys enjoyed the scenes thrown on the screene, and were particularly taken with a depiction of a cowboy roping a steer.

"That's what we'll soon see in reality," whispered Nat.

They started through the village, and, as they turned down a quiet street that led toward Washington Hall, Jack saw a dark figure sneaking along on the opposite side, in the shadow of some buildings.

"Looks as if some one was following us," said Jack to himself.

As our hero pulled out his handkerchief there flew out with it a letter. The sight of it reminded him that he had promised Professor Hall to mail it that evening. It had slipped his mind, even though he had been in the post-office.

"I'd better run right back with it," said Jack. "Mighty stupid of me. Well, there's no help for it, and I don't want to disappoint Hall. He's a good friend of ours."

He picked the letter up, and held it in his hand to insure that it would not be forgotten again.

"I say!" called Jack to his companions, who were now some distance ahead of him. "I've got to run back and mail a letter. Go on and I'll catch up to you."

"All right," said John. "We'll walk slow."

Intent on rectifying his forgetfulness, Jack turned back on the run. He did not see three figures sneaking into the shadow of a dark doorway just as he turned.

"We'll have him just where we want him," whispered one of the youths who had been following the students.

"You're not going to be three to one, are you?" asked one of the trio.

"No, I guess Jerry Chowden is a match for Jack Ranger any day," was the answer. "You two can look on, and see me wallop him."

Jack made good time back to the post-office, and came hurrying along the street, whistling a lively tune. In the meantime the three plotters had walked ahead, taking care not to get too near Nat and John. The latter, however, had walked faster than they intended, so that they were a good quarter of a mile ahead of Jack.

As the latter came opposite the last building that stood on the edge of where there were a number of vacant lots, he was surprised to hear a hail.

"Hold on there!" someone cried.

"Who are you?" asked Jack, looking around. Then, as three figures emerged from the shadows and blocked his path, he exclaimed:

"Oh, it's you, is it, Jerry Chowden? Well, what do you want?"

"I want to get square with you," replied the bully, in an angry tone.

"And you bring two of your toadies along to help you, I suppose," said Jack, unable to keep a sneer from his voice.

"Look here!" exclaimed one of Jerry's companions. "I don't know who you are, except by name, but I'm not going to have you insult me. Jerry is a friend of mine—"

"Sorry for you," interrupted Jack cooly.

"None of your lip!" exclaimed the other strange youth.

"Jerry says he has a bone to pick with you," the one who had first addressed Jack went on. "He told us he was going to have it out with you, and invited us along. We're not going to take any part, you can rest assured of that, and there'll be fair play. But if you're afraid, why that's another matter."

"Who said I was afraid?" demanded Jack hotly.

"You seem to act so."

"I don't know that I ever did you any harm, Jerry Chowden," Jack said, more quietly, "but if you feel so why I can't help it."

"I do, and I'm going to get even," spoke Jerry, advancing closer to Jack.

"Stand aside," demanded Jack, as the bully almost brushed against him.

"Not until you've given me satisfaction."

"What do you mean?"

"You know well enough what I mean."

"Do you want to fight?" asked Jack calmly.

"Certainly I do!" exclaimed the bully, aiming a blow at the lad in front of him. Jack stepped quickly back, Jerry nearly lost his balance and just saved himself from falling.

"You're a coward!" cried Jerry angrily.

"I am, eh?" cried Jack. "Well, if I must fight I'm going to do it for all I'm worth!"

The next instant he had his coat off, and was ready to defend himself. Jerry, nothing loath, closed in, and there in the darkness, illuminated only by the stars, the fight began.

Jerry was well built and strong, but he had little science. On the contrary, though Jack was not as muscular nor as heavy as his antagonist, he more than made up for it in his quickness and his ability to hit hard. Jerry came up with a rush, and aimed a vicious blow at Jack's face. Jack cleverly dodged it, and countered, landing on Jerry's chin with a force that made the bully see stars.

"I'll pay you for that!" he cried.

He would have done better to have kept quiet, since he took his attention from Jack's fists, which, in the darkness, were hard enough to see at best. A second later Jerry found his nose stopping a solid blow, straight from the shoulder.

"Ow!" yelled Jerry, in spite of himself.

Then he clenched with Jack, and the two went at it rough-and-tumble. Jack got in a number of good blows, and Jerry tried his best to get away and deliver some in return. He did manage to punch Jack on the body, causing that worthy's breath to come in gasps.

Back and forth went the fighters, the two spectators dancing about to see all they could of it, They kept their word not to interfere, and it was a fair struggle between Jack and Jerry.

Though Jack did his best he could not avoid getting some severe blows, and one, on his eye, he felt had done considerable damage. But he more than paid Jerry back for it, and, in a little while the bully was fairly howling for mercy.

"Help!" he cried. "He's not fighting fair."

"Don't be a baby!" Jerry's friends called to him, somewhat disgusted with his actions. "Give it to him!"

Jerry made one more effort to deal Jack a blow that would win the victory, but in his eagerness he lowered his guard. Our hero shot out a swift left, and it landed full on Jerry's chin. He staggered for a second, and then went down in a heap.

He was up again in a couple of seconds, not much the worse, but all the fight was gone out of him. He held his head in his hands for a while, and then fairly ran up the dark street, while his two friends, surprised at the sudden outcome of the fight, followed more slowly.

"I'll get even with you yet!" Jerry called back.

"Well, if you do I still will have the satisfaction of knowing that I trounced you good and proper," Jack said, as he held a cold stone to his bruised eye.

Just then, from across the lots there came a hail:

"Hey, Jack! Where are you?"

"Coming," was Jack's reply.

He heard some one running toward him as he began to pick up his coat, and put on his hat.



CHAPTER XI

A GRAND WIND UP

"What's the matter?" demanded John Smith, as he and Nat joined their comrade.

"Did you get lost?" asked Nat.

"No, only sort of delayed," answered Jack.

"What makes you talk so funny?" inquired John.

"I expect it's because my lips are swollen," was the reply.

"Did some one hold you up and try to rob you?" cried Nat, in alarm.

"Well, it was a hold-up, but no robbery," said Jack, and then he related what had happened.

"Why didn't you yell for help?" asked John. "We'd have come back."

"I didn't need any," replied Jack. "It was a fair fight enough. I guess he'll not forget that one on the chin in a hurry," and he laughed in spite of his swollen lips and blackened eye.

"Much damaged?" asked Nat.

"I'm afraid I've got a shiner," Jack replied. "They're sure to notice it at the Hall, and what will I say?"

"Steal their thunder," advised John. "Let's hurry back, and report at once to the doctor."

"Good idea," spoke Jack.

They made good time back to the academy, and arrived a little before eleven.

"Dr. Mead says I'm to mark down just the time you come in," said Martin, the monitor.

"That's right," agreed Jack. "Is the doctor in his study?"

"I believe he is."

"We want to see him," went on Jack.

"Been fighting." said Martin to himself. "My, my! What boys they are! Always into something!"

"Come in!" called the head of the Academy in answer to Jack's knock on his door, and the three lads entered.

"Ah, Ranger! And Smith and Anderson. Well, what can I do—Ha! Fighting, eh!" and the tone that had been a genial one became stern.

"Yes, sir," admitted Jack boldly. "I came to tell you all about it, before you heard a garbled report from some one else."

Then he related exactly what had happened, Nat and John confirming what he said. The boys' stories were so evidently true that Dr. Mead could but believe them.

"That's enough," he said when Jack had finished. "I believe you. Don't let it—well, there, I don't suppose it was your fault. Fighting is a bad business—but then—well boys, now get to bed. You have plenty of hard work before you go in the next week with all the examinations. Good night!"

"Good night!" echoed the lads.

"That was the best way out," agreed Jack, when they were in the corridor. "Now I've got to get some vinegar and brown paper for this optic or I'll look a sight to-morrow."

Examinations held sway for nearly a week thereafter. But "it's a long lane that has no turning" and, at last there came a time when the boys could say:

"To-morrow's the last day of school."

The term was at an end, and the whole academy was in a ferment over it. The students were busy packing their belongings, the graduates had already departed, and there was almost as much excitement as at the annual football or baseball games with a rival institution.

The night before the day of the closing exercises, Jack's room was a gathering place for all his chums. Fred Kaler was so excited he tried to played a mouth organ, a jews'-harp and a tin flute, all at the same time, with results anything but musical, while Will Slade stuttered as he never had before.

"What will we do for a final wind-up?" asked Sam.

"Let it be something worthy of the name of Washington Hall," exclaimed Jack.

"We ought to work Professors Garlach and Socrat into it somehow," suggested Bony. "They're more fun than a bunch of monkeys."

"Get 'em to fight another duel," put in Sam.

"They'd suspect something leading up to that," spoke John Smith.

"Let's see if we can't make one outdo the other in politeness." suggested Jack. "I have a sort of scheme."

"Trot it out!" demanded Sam.

"I'll get Garlach to write Socrat a note," said Jack.

"Where's the fun in that?" asked Bony.

"Then I'll have Socrat send a little missive to Garlach."

"What's the answer?" demanded Nat.

"Garlach will write in French and Socrat will pen a few lines in German, and I'll tell 'em what to write," Jack went on. "Do you see my drift, as the snow bank said to the wind?"

"Good!" exclaimed Sam. "Go ahead."

The boys soon got together over the plan, and Jack was given plenty of suggestions to perfect it. He made up a number of sample notes, and then, being satisfied, he announced:

"Now I'm going to start in. Just hang around, you fellows, and see what happens."

It was about nine o'clock, but as it was the night before the last day of school, hardly any of the teachers or the pupils had thought of going to bed.

Jack went to Professor Garlach's room. He found the instructor busy packing up his books preparatory to the vacation.

"Ach! It iss young Ranger!" exclaimed the German instructor. "Velcome. Come in. It is goot to see you."

"Thanks, Professor," said Jack. "I suppose you are all ready for the long rest?"

"Sure I am, Ranger."

"Well, we all are. I saw Professor Socrat packing up as I came past."

At the mention of the French teacher's name Professor Garlach seemed to bristle up. There was always more or less ill feeling between them on account of their nationalities, but of late it was especially acute.

"Ach! Speak not of him!" growled Garlach.

"I think he wants to make friends with you," went on Jack, trying not to smile. "In fact he said as much to me. He said he would like to write you a farewell note and apologize for anything that might have given you offense."

The German's manner changed. Jack was speaking the truth, though he had been instrumental in bringing the matter about. He had previously paid a visit to Socrat, and, broaching the subject of the cold feeling between the two teachers had suggested that it would be a fine thing if Mr. Socrat would say he was sorry for it, and would do all in his power to heal the breach.

It was no easy task to bring this about, but Jack had a winning way with him, and really made the Frenchman believe it was more a favor on his part to apologize than it was of Mr. Garlach to accept it. In the end Professor Socrat had agreed to write a little note to his former enemy.

"Only I know not ze Germaine language," he said.

"That's all right, I'll do it for you," said Jack. "I can fix it up."

"Then write ze note and I sign heem," said the Frenchman.

"So he vill my pardon ask, iss it?" inquired Mr. Garlach when Jack had explained to him.

"I believe that's his intention. Why can't you two meet out in the chapel and fix things up. Exchange letters so to speak. He's going to write to you in German, and you can write to him in French."

"I know not de silly tongue!" grunted Mr. Garlach.

"I'll write it for you," Jack said, turning aside his head to conceal a grin. "I'm pretty good at French."

"Den you may do so," said Mr. Garlach. "I haf no objections to accepting his apologies, and being friends mit him."

"Then here's the note," said Jack, handing over one he had prepared. "Sign it and be in the chapel in ten minutes. Mr. Socrat will be there, and we'll have a sort of farewell service."

"Fine!" exclaimed the German. "Und we vill sing 'Der Wacht am Rhein!'"

"And maybe the 'Marseilles,' too," added Jack softly as he went to deliver a note written in German to Mr. Socrat. The missives had cost him and the other boys no little thought.

"Now, you fellows want to lay low if you expect to see the fun," cautioned Jack to his chums, when he returned and told of his success. "Garlach and Socrat will be here in about ten minutes. There must be only a few of us around. Bony, I'll depend on you to act when I give the signal."

"I'll be there," promised Bony.

A little later all but a few of the boys had concealed themselves behind benches in the chapel. Jack was out of sight but could see what was going on, A few students stood conversing in one corner.

Mr. Socrat was the first to enter. He came in, holding a note in his hand.

"It is now zat I prove ze politeness of ze French," he murmured.

A moment later Mr. Garlach entered from the other side.

"Goot effning, Herr Socrates," he said, with a stiff bow.

"Bon jour!" exclaimed Mr. Socrat. "Only, if it pleases you my dear Professor Garlick, my name ees wizout ze final syllable."

"Und mine it iss Garla-a-ach, und not like de leek vat you eat!" exclaimed the German.

"They're off!" said Jack in a whisper to Sam.

"Your pardon!" came from Mr. Socrat. "I am in error. But I have here a note in which I wish to greet you wiz the happiness of parting. It iss in your own language!"

"Ach! So! I too have a missive for you," went on Mr. Garlach, somewhat modified. "It iss in your tongue as I belief, but I am not so goot in it as perhaps you are."

"It is charming of you," spoke Mr. Socrat, bowing low. The two professors exchanged notes, and then stepped over to a flaring gaslight where they could read them.

"Now watch out!" exclaimed Jack.

"Ha!" cried the German. "Vas ist dis?"

"Pah!" cried Mr. Socrat. "Diable! I am insult!"

"Dot Frenchman iss von pig-hog!" came from Mr. Garlach.

"See! So I will treat ze writair!" exclaimed Mr. Socrat, tearing the note to shreds and stamping on the pieces.

"I vill crush the frog-eater as I do dis letter!" muttered Mr. Garlach, as he twisted the slip of paper into a shapeless mass and tossed it into the air.

"Scoundrel!" hissed Mr. Socrat

"Vile dog vat you iss!" came from Mr. Garlach.

Then, unable to restrain their feelings any longer they rushed at each other.

"Ready!" called Jack, and the next instant the lights went out, leaving the chapel in darkness.



CHAPTER XII

HO! FOR THE WEST!

For a few seconds there was the sound of a confused stumbling about. Blows were struck, but they seemed to land on desks and tables. Mingled with them were the murmurs of strong French and German words, and the heavy breathing of the two teachers.

Then, as the door at the farther end of the room opened, allowing light from the hall to come in, a voice asked:

"What's the matter?'

"Matter enough! I am terrible insult!" exclaimed Mr. Socrat from behind a table where he was crouching.

"I must be apologized by alretty!" muttered Mr. Garlach, in deep tones.

"What is this all about?" demanded Dr. Mead, who had made the first inquiry. "What does it mean?"

"Ach! I vill tell you!" spoke the German teacher.

"I will leave at once razzer zan stay where he iss!" came from the Frenchman.

"Come to my office," said Dr, Mead. "I am afraid it's another of the boys' pranks."

The two Instructors, muttering against each other, followed the head of the academy down the corridor.

"Now's our chance to sneak!" exclaimed Jack. "Say, it was the best ever!"

"What was in the notes that made them so mad?" asked Sam.

"Why, the one Garlach got stated that the Germans were a race of thieves and robbers and would never be anything better. Professor Garlach, on the other hand, seemed to have written to his French friend that the latter nation was nothing but a lot of long-legged frog-eaters, who were more ladies than they were men!"

"No wonder they went up into the air!" exclaimed Bony Balmore. "It was like a match to gunpowder."

"Lucky we could turn the lights out," commented Nat Anderson, "or they'd be fighting yet."

"Maybe they will have a duel," suggested John Smith.

But in some way Dr. Mead managed to patch matters up. Nor was any punishment visited on the boys. The doctor evidently made allowances for the closing of school, and the consequent slacking of discipline that was bound to occur. The next day, though the French and German professors glared more darkly than usual at each other, there was no reference to the notes.

The closing exercises were soon over and then, after a few formal words of farewell for the term from Dr. Mead, Washington Hall was declared closed until the fall.

"Whoop!" yelled Jack, as he came with a rush from chapel where the final program had been rendered. "Hold me down, someone!"

"I will!" exclaimed Nat, jumping on his chum's back, and bearing him to the earth.

"I'll help!" cried several, and soon half a dozen had piled upon Jack, in the middle of the campus.

"Down!" he cried, half smothered. "That's enough!"

"Fall in line for a grand march!" shouted Fred Kaler, as he tooted on a tin fife. "L-l-M-let m-m-m-me—l-l-l—Pzzant!" spluttered Will. "Let me lead!"

"Too late!" cried Sam, as he ran out and got at the head of the impromptu procession.

"Came on and get Socrat and Garlach in line!" called Jack. "We'll make 'em march side by side and forget all their troubles."

The idea was received with shouts of laughter. Off the lads started on a run for the rooms of the two professors.

"Come on!" cried Jack to Mr. Garlach.

"Ach! Vat iss it now?" inquired the instructor, vainly struggling against the hold Jack had of him. "You boys vill drive me to distraction!"

"Got to take part in the grand march!" went on Jack.

Before Mr. Garlach knew what was happening, he found himself being hustled out of his chambers and fairly carried along in a rush of the students.

Sam Chalmers had in the meanwhile gone to Professor Socrat's study.

"Come on!" he cried. "Take part in the grand salute to the French flag."

"La belle France!" cried the teacher. "Vive l' Republic!"

"That's the cheese!" fairly shouted Sam. "Hurry up!"

And, before Professor Socrat could catch his breath he found himself being hurried along the corridor and out on the campus.

"Hurrah for France!" cried a score of voices.

"My compliments!" exclaimed Mr. Socrat, bowing low to the assemblage of students.

"Long may the German flag wave!" came another cry.

"Ach! Dot is goot to mine heart!" said Mr. Garlach.

"Zat is an insult to me!" spluttered the Frenchman, as Sam hurried him on.

"Don't mind 'em. They don't know what they're saying," was Sam's comment.

"Vy do they shout for dot frog-eating nation?" inquired Mr. Garlach of Jack.

"Mistake I guess," was the reply. "The boys are not very good on language yet."

Then, before either of the instructors could protest, they found themselves side by side, being carried along in a press of students who marched around the academy, singing at the top of their voices, and each one rendering a different air.

"Whoop! Isn't this great!" shouted Jack in Nat's ear.

"The best ever!" was the answer. "It only happens once in a lifetime!"

But all things must have an end, and at last the grand march came to a close. The students fairly outdid themselves, and had to halt every now and then to rest from the combined exertion of laughing and leaping as they paraded.

"Three cheers for Washington Hall!" called Jack.

The volume of sound was deafening.

"Now three for Professor Garlach!"

How the boys did yell. The professor looked as pleased as a lad with his first pair of trousers, and bowed low to Mr. Socrat whom he had detected in the act of cheering for him,

"Three cheers for Professor Socrat!" yelled Jack.

Mr. Garlach joined in the cries for his late enemy, and then the two teachers shook hands, while the boys cheered again.

"Now good loud ones for Dr. Mead and all the rest of the teachers!" called Jack, and by this time the cheering habit was so implanted that the lads cheered everything they could think of from vacation to Socker the janitor.

Now the crowd began to break up. Several students found they must catch trains, and there were general leave takings. Good-byes were being said on every side, and there were many promises to write letters and keep up new friendships or cement old ones.

Jack found so many wanting to bid him farewell for the term that he was kept busy shaking hands, and the number of boys he promised to let hear from him during vacation would have kept two private secretaries busy.

Finally, however, matters began to quiet down. Most of the students had left the campus to pack up their belongings while a number had already departed for home. Jack, Nat Anderson and John Smith found themselves alone at least for a few minutes.

"Well, this is like old times," said Jack.

"Wow!" exclaimed John in true Indian tone. "Heap big time!"

"Reminds me of a circus broken loose," commented Nat. "But say, Jack, our train goes in an hour. Are we going to take it or stay over—"

"Not on your life!" exclaimed Jack. "Washington Hall will be as lonesome as a desert island in about an hour and I'm off."

"I think I'll go also," said John.

"Now, about our western trip," put in Nat. "Where will we connect with you. John?"

"Well," replied the Indian student. "I am going up to Canada to pay a short visit to some friends of my father's, who were very kind to him before he died. I think I will be with you in a week, and I can come on to Denton."

"That will do first-rate," said Nat. "Jack and I will be on the lookout for you. We'll be ready to start in a week, I guess."

"The sooner the better for me," put in Jack.

"That's so, I forgot you are anxious to solve the mystery of your father's disappearance," Nat said. "Well, perhaps we can hurry a bit."

"No, I guess that time will be about right," Jack went on. "I'll have to spend some time with my aunts, and I want to have a talk with Judge Bennett and get some further details. I guess we'll let it stand at a week."

"Well, good-bye until then," said John, shaking hands with his two friends, and he was soon on his way to the Rudmore station. The others followed a little later. Several hours' riding found Jack and Nat at Denton.

"I wonder if they'll have the brass band out to meet us," suggested Jack.

"Perpetual porous plasters! They would if they only knew what a reputation we have achieved!" exclaimed Nat, as the train rolled in. "Hello, there's some of your folks!"

"That's so! My three aunts!" cried Jack, as he saw from the window the three maiden ladies with whom he had lived so long. Aunt Mary caught a glimpse of him, and waved her handkerchief, an example that was followed by the other two. The next instant Jack was being hugged and kissed as though he had been away ten years instead of a few months.

"We were so afraid the train would be late, or that you wouldn't come until the night one," said Aunt Josephine.

"Couldn't think of staying away from you any longer," Jack replied, his eyes a trifle moist as he realized the love his aunts bore toward him, and he hugged and kissed them in turn.

"So long!" called Nat, as he walked up the station platform. "I'll see you later. Got to pack for our trip."

The next few days were busy ones for Jack. In the first place he had to tell his aunts all about his school experience, that is such parts of it as he thought they might care to hear and this took time. Then he had to see Judge Bennett, and the family lawyer explained further details about Jack's father. Jack also asked the judge for the curious ring, as he thought he might have to use it on his western trip.

"You must take good care of it, Jack," the lawyer said. "No telling what may hinge on it."

"If anyone gets it away from me he'll have the hardest proposition he ever tackled," Jack said earnestly.

In fact our hero was kept so busy, between this, arranging for his trip, and renewing his acquaintances with the town boys, that he was all unprepared when, one day, John Smith rang the door bell.

"Well, where in the world did you come from?" asked Jack.

"Straight from Canada. Didn't you get my letter?"

"By Jove! So I did, but I clean forgot to-day was Friday. Come right in."

Jack's aunts graciously received John, whom they welcomed for the part his father had played in the life of Mr. Ranger. It was decided that the Indian student should stay at Jack's house until Monday, when the start for the west was to be made.

Jack's aunts had, after an effort, given their consent to his making the western trip. More particularly as they felt it might lead to the discovering of his father. Once they got to this point it was clear sailing and they helped Jack to pack up.

There were final instructions from Judge Bennett to Jack. There were good-byes, said over a dozen times, from the aunts. There were farewell calls from a host of boys who envied Jack, Nat and John the experience they were about to have.

At last, though it seemed it moved on leaden feet, Monday came, and, at least an hour before train time, the three boys started for the depot. They had valises with them, but their trunks had been sent on ahead.

"Bounding buffaloes and copper-colored cowboys!" exclaimed Nat, as the whistle of the train sounded. "Here she comes!"

"Well, I'm glad of it," observed Jack. "I was getting tired waiting for it."

"It will seem good to get out on a range again," spoke John. "I'm counting on it."

"Westward ho!" cried Jack, as he jumped aboard the train, and waved his hand in farewell to his aunts, while the other two boys shook their hats in the air in salute to several lads who had come to see them off.



CHAPTER XIII

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

The boys, under the advice of Judge Bennett, had planned to go to Chicago. From there they would take a train on another road, which made connections with the line that would land them in Denver. From Denver they had to change to still another railway to get to Fillmore, the nearest station to Denville. Nat's uncle had promised to meet them there a week from the day they started, since he wanted to allow them plenty of time to get to Colorado, and there were sometimes delays in connecting with trains.

From Fillmore the lads were to be driven about twenty miles to where Mr. Kent's ranch was located. He had written to Nat that in case he was not in Fillmore when the boys arrived they were to put up at a hotel and wait for him. Also, in case they missed connections and were late in getting there, he would wait for them.

"We want to try and find where Orion Tevis is located," said Jack, "and to do this we will have to go to the Capital Bank in Denver. That may take a little time, as we may have to prove our identity."

"Ought to be easy to do that with the rings you and John have," answered Nat, the Indian student having secured his gold circlet from Dr. Mead, who had been keeping it for him.

"It may be and it may not," John said.

"There are a lot of things mixed up in this affair, and no one can see how it will turn out. But I don't expect any trouble in getting Mr. Tevis's address. The hard part will be to find him."

"I'll find him if it's possible," Jack put in. "I want to end my father's wanderings and bring him back with me."

"And I'll help all I can, and I know my uncle will, too," said Nat, with ready sympathy.

The boys had arranged themselves comfortably in the train, which, by this time, had speeded several miles from Denton. The car was not well filled as it was early and no large cities had been reached. As station after station was passed, however, passengers began to take the seats until the cars were comfortably filled.

The boys had taken passage in a through sleeper to Chicago, and got their meals in the dining car ahead. They had supper in Scranton, where the train waited about half an hour to connect with another. As the boys came back to their seats in the sleeper, which had not yet been made up, they saw several new passengers.

One was a tall, rather rough looking man, who seemed to have suddenly acquired wealth. His clothes were good but did not fit him well, and he seemed ill at ease in them. There was a big diamond in his shirt front, and he had a heavy gold chain across his vest.

"Guess I'm entitled to the best that's goin'," he said in a loud tone as he sat in one seat and put his big feet up in the one opposite. "I've paid for this whole section an' I'm going to use it. I ain't worked hard all my life for nothing. Just sold my share in a coal mine," he said to the boys, whose seats were near his. "Now I'm going to enjoy myself. Going to the 'Windy City'! that's what I am. Got friends in Chicago that'll be glad to see me an' my pile," and he pulled out a big role of bills. "My name's Josh Post, an I'm set in my ways," he added.

The boys did not make any answer, but, at the sound of the big man's voice a passenger in the seat ahead of him turned and looked to see who was speaking. As he did so the former mine owner happened to be displaying his money, and the eyes of the other passenger gleamed in a dangerous sort of way.

As he turned around to get a glimpse of the miner, Jack got a look at the face of the passenger who had shown such curiosity. The boy started. "Where have I seen him before?" he thought to himself. "I can't seem to place him." Then he leaned over and whispered to Nat. "Make an excuse to go to the end of the car, and on your way back take a look at the man in the first seat."

"All right," said Nat, who did not ask the reason. A little later he sauntered to the water cooler. He could hardly repress a start as he passed the man Jack had mentioned.

"Know him?" asked Jack, when his chum had regained his seat.

"Sure, in spite of his disguise, his new way of wearing his hair, and the fact that he has shaved off his moustache."

"Marinello Booghoobally?" asked Jack, in low tones.

"Otherwise known as Hemp Smith," whispered Jack. "I wonder what he's up to now."

"I shouldn't be surprised if he would like to annex the roll of one Mr. Josh Post," observed Nat. "We'd better keep our eyes pealed. Put John next to the game."

Thereupon the Indian student was told the story of the man who had posed as an Oriental mystic and a professor of whatever he thought he could delude people into believing, as it suited his fancy, and netted him cash.

"We certainly got the best of him in the haunted house affair," said Jack. "Guess the professor won't tackle another job like that in hurry," and he silently laughed as he thought of the trick (told of in the first volume) the students played on the fakir when a phonograph was used to produce ghostly noises.

"Yes, sir, I'm out for a good time," said Mr. Post, as if some one had doubted his word. "Where you boys going?"

"Out west," replied Jack, thinking it would do no harm to reply civilly to Mr. Post.

"Excuse me for coming into this conversation," spoke Marinello Booghoobally, otherwise Hemp Smith. "I'm going out west myself, and if I can do anything to help you boys or you, Mr. Post, I'll be only too glad to do so."

"Help yourself to our money and his too, I guess," murmured Jack.

"Well now, that's kind of you, stranger," said Mr. Post, who seemed ready to accept any one as a friend. "What might your name be?"

"It might be almost anything I guess," muttered Nat. "Let's hear what he says. I wonder how he got here, anyhow."

"I'm Professor Punjab," replied Hemp Smith. "As you can understand by my name I am from East India, but I have been here so long I have acquired some of the habits."

"Most of the bad ones," said Jack, under his breath.

"What do you work at?" asked Mr. Post.

"Work? I do not work," replied the fakir. "I am what you might call a mind reader, a mystic, a foreteller of future events."

"Ain't no mesmerizer, are you?" asked Mr. Post.

"Yes, I can do that also," replied Professor Punjab. "Shall I give you a sample?"

"I'd rather have you give me a sample of your fortune telling," said the miner. "What's going to happen now?"

Professor Punjab seemed to go into a deep thought trance. Then he gave a sudden start.

"The train is going to stop quickly because there is an obstruction on the track!" he exclaimed.

An instant later, to the surprise of the boys, no less than Mr. Post, there was a quick application of the air brakes, so much so that the passengers were nearly thrown from their seats. Then with a grinding and shrieking the train came to a stop.

"What did I tell you?" inquired Professor Punjab.

"Well I'll be horn-swoggled!" exclaimed Mr. Post.

"What's the matter?" asked several travelers.

The boys had hurried to the front of the car. They were met by a brakeman.

"Don't be alarmed," he said. "There is no danger."

"What was the trouble?" asked Jack.

"There was some obstruction on the track, a couple of ties, I believe, that fell from a passing flat car," the brakeman explained. "The engineer saw it and stopped just in time."

Professor Punjab pulled a book from his pocket and began to read, as if prophesying that trains would suddenly stop was the most natural thing in the world.



CHAPTER XIV

PROFESSOR PUNJAB'S TRICK

"Well, I call that goin' some," spoke Mr. Post. "If you can do that just sitting still I wonder what you can do when you begin moving"

"A mere trifle," said Professor Punjab. "I will be pleased to give you a further evidence of my powers later on. But now I am fatigued. I have studied hard to-day on the great mystery of the future life, and I find I must take a little nourishment,—very little. A bit of cracker and a glass of water," and with that he went forward to the dining car.

"Yes, I'd just like to see him get along with a cracker and a glass of water," murmured Jack. "I'll bet corned beef and cabbage is more in his line."

"But how do you suppose he knew the train was going to stop?" asked Ned speaking aloud. "That looks queer."

"He's a wonder, that's what he is," said Mr. Post. "I want to see some more of him," and he got up to go back to the smoking compartment, leaving the three boys alone in the forward part of the car.

"Maybe he just made a guess at it," put in John Smith. "I've seen some of our Indian medicine men pretend to prophesy and it turned out they only made good guesses."

"Perhaps he did." Nat admitted.

Jack had moved over to the seat vacated by Professor Punjab. He pressed his face close to the window and looked ahead. As he did so he uttered an exclamation.

"Come here, John and Nat!" he said in a low tone. "This will explain how it was done."

The two boys took turns looking from the window.

"See it?" asked Jack.

"Sure!" they chorused.

"We were just rounding that curve," Jack went on. "He happened to look from the window and he saw the ties on the track. Any one could as the electric light from that freight station is right over them. He knew the engineer would stop in a hurry, and, sure enough, he did. It's easy when you know how, isn't it?"

"But it certainly was strange enough when he made that statement, and then to have the train slack up," spoke Nat. "I was beginning to believe that, maybe, after all, he had some strange power."

"He's a fakir clear through," was Jack's opinion. "You wait a bit and you'll see him try some trick on this miner. He's after his money."

"We ought to put a stop to that," said Nat, "Galloping greenbacks! But we don't want to see the man robbed, even if he isn't as nice and polite as he might be."

"And we'll not, either," remarked Jack. "We'll be on the lookout, and maybe we can make Professor Hemp Smith Punjab wish he hadn't traveled on this line."

The ties on the track were soon cleared away and the train resumed its journey. The porter came in to make up the berths, and while this was being done the three boys had to take seats in other sections of the car.

In the meanwhile Professor Punjab returned. He was picking his teeth as though he had dined more substantially than on a mere wafer and a sip of water.

"You boys going far?" he asked.

"Quite a way," replied Jack in a low voice. He was afraid the former experience the man had passed through might be recalled to him if he heard the voices of the students, and so did not use his natural tones.

But Professor Punjab did not seem at all suspicious. Besides he had never had a good look at the boys, and there was so much talking going on the time they played the trick on him it is doubtful if he remembered any one's voice.

"Where are you from?" the fakir asked next, but Jack was spared the necessity of replying by the return of Mr. Post from the smoking compartment.

"Well, well, Professor," the miner said, "that certainly was a slick trick of yours. Haven't any more of 'em up your sleeve, have you?"

"That was no trick," returned the "professor" in an injured tone. "I do not descend to tricks. If I am gifted with certain powers I must use them. I can not help myself. There is something within me—some spirit—that moves me. I saw that the train would have to stop and I had to announce it."

"You bet you saw it all right," muttered Jack. "So could any one else who had been sitting in your seat. It was easy."

"No offense, no offense, Professor," muttered Mr. Post, seeing he had made a mistake. "I'm much interested in this thing."

"I welcome real interest in my work," the fakir went on, "I will be happy to illustrate matters to you as far as my poor talents enable me to. You have perhaps heard of the celebrated Indian manifestation of making a plant grow in a few hours?"

"Not guilty," said Mr. Post solemnly.

"Then these young gentlemen have," the professor went on, turning to the three boys.

Jack nodded silently.

"It is a strange power that we mystics have over the forces of nature," the pretended philosopher went on. "We have but to plant a seed in the soil, and, lo! a plant bearing fruit shoots up."

"That would be a good thing to sell to farmers," said Mr. Post.

"It can not be sold. Only an adept can perform it," said Professor Punjab. "I would do it for you, only the conditions are not just right here. But I can, perhaps, show you something you probably never saw before."

With a flourish he drew from his pocket a large black handkerchief. This he shook to show there was nothing in it. He spread it over his extended left arm, which was crooked at the elbow. Then he placed his right hand under it, and brought out a large orange.

"Well I'll be blowed!" exclaimed Mr. Post.

"Ain't got any more of 'em there, have you, Professor?"

"There is only one," was the reply, as the man returned the handkerchief to his pocket and passed the orange to Mr. Post. "It is difficult to produce one, I assure you."

"Not when you have them concealed in your coat, where you probably put it when you were in the dining car," was Jack's comment, made to himself.

"Well you're a wonder," exclaimed the miner. "I'd like to take lessons off you."

"I can impart the secrets to only those of the inner circle," said the professor, with an air of great wisdom. "But I am allowed to show those who appreciate my doings some of the workings of my art. Perhaps you would like to see a little more of what I am able to do."

"I sure would," replied Mr. Post.

"What I am about to do," Professor Punjab went on, "is so remarkable that I am allowed to show it to but one person at a time. Therefore I invite you, Mr. Post, into the smoking compartment with me. Later I will be glad to show my young friends, one at a time."

"Not any for mine," muttered Jack, as the miner, who was much interested in what he had seen, followed the fakir to the compartment he had recently left.

"I wonder what he's up to," said Nat, when the two were out of hearing.

"Something crooked, on the professor's part, you can make up your mind," Jack answered.

"Let's find out what it is," suggested Nat.

"How?" inquired Jack.

"I think I can manage it," put in John Smith. "I have very good hearing, and I can move around easily. Suppose I go and hide near the compartment. Maybe I can hear what they say."

"Good!" exclaimed Jack. "Then you come back and tell us, and we'll see what we can do in the way of tricks."

John put on a pair of moccasins he had in his valise, and moved through the aisle, now completely hemmed in with the curtains from the various berths. The other boys began to undress within their narrow sections but they did not take off all their clothes, so as to be in readiness for whatever should happen.

Jack managed to get into an unoccupied berth next to the smoking compartment. By placing his ears to the partition he could just distinguish what the professor was saying to Mr. Post.

"Well, that's about the limit!" John exclaimed softly to himself. "I think we can spoil that proposition for him."

Having learned all he wanted to know, the Indian lad returned to his friends.

"Professor Punjab is planning to get possession of the miner's money," he said in whispers, as the three boys held an impromptu conference in the lavatory, where Nat and Jack had gone to clean their teeth before retiring.

"How's he going to do it?" asked Jack.

"He has told Mr. Post that he has the power of making money increase over night," John explained. "He says if a certain sum is put in a mysterious box which he has, it will be doubled in the morning."

"And the miner believed him?" asked Jack.

"Sure. He agreed to put his roll in the box the fakir has, and it is to be placed under Mr. Post's berth. He is not to open it until morning."

"And when he does it will be full of brown paper," said Jack. "I've read about such tricks."

"It won't if we can help it," put in Nat. "I guess here is where we get busy."

The boys held a further conference and agreed on a plan of action. They went back to their berths, and, a little later, they heard the fake professor and Mr. Post coming back from the smoking room.

"Do I put it at the head or foot?" they heard the miner ask.

"At the foot," replied the plotter.

"So he can get it easier," muttered Jack.

Nat's berth was right opposite that of Mr. Post, so it was arranged he was to do the main work. In a little while the sleeping car became a quiet place, and deep breathing from one berth after another told that the occupants were slumbering soundly. Pretty soon Nat heard a snore from the berth of the miner.

"I'd better do it now, before Professor Punjab gets busy," he thought.

Then with his umbrella, which had a crook for a handle, Nat reached out between the curtains and began to feel around under Mr. Post's bed for the box. He had to work cautiously, but at length his efforts were rewarded. He felt the umbrella crook fasten on the object, and he pulled it across the aisle toward him.

When it was near enough he reached his hand down and took it up into his berth.

"Have you got it?" asked Jack in a whisper from the next sleeping compartment.

"Sure," replied Nat

"Take out the money and put in our messages," Jack added, and Nat did so. Then he placed the box back where he had found it.

In a short time the three boys, who were watching from behind their berth-curtains, saw a hand protrude from beneath the hangings around Professor Punjab's bed. The hand felt around a bit, and then went under Mr. Post's berth. In a few seconds it came out and the box was in it. A moment later it moved back again, and seemed to replace the box.

"That's where he put a dummy in place of what he thinks is the one with the bills in," thought Nat, who was watching closely. "He'll skip out soon, I guess."

His conjecture was right. A few minutes later Professor Punjab, who had not undressed, stole from his berth and walked softly to the end of the car.

"I wonder if he'll jump off," thought Nat.

But the fakir had no such intentions. The train began to slacken speed, as he probably knew it would, having to stop at a station, which fact he could ascertain by consulting a time-table. The cars came to a halt, with a grinding noise of the brakes, and Nat leaned over toward the window of his berth.

He could see the station platform, and caught a glimpse of Professor Punjab as he jumped from the sleeper. Then, while the boy watched, the fakir opened the box he had in his hand.

All he pulled out were three cards, on which were written the names of the three boys.

"Fooled!" exclaimed Nat as the train started off leaving the professor, a picture of rage, on the platform.



CHAPTER XV

SHOOTING AN OIL WELL

The professor made a move as though he was about to jump back on the train, but evidently thought better of it. He gave another look at the cards, and then put them into his pocket.

"Looks as if he wanted to remember us," thought Nat.

By that time the train moved so far ahead that the professor was no longer to be seen.

"How about it?" asked Jack, sticking his head through his curtains over toward Ned's berth.

"He was mad enough to bite a ten-penny nail in two," said Nat.

"Did he find out he was fooled?" asked Jack, who had not been able to see the fakir from the car window.

"I guess yes," spoke Nat, and he told Jack the details, which were related to John, who was in the berth beyond.

"Had we better tell Mr. Post?" asked Nat.

"Wait until morning," suggested Jack. "Keep the money safe though."

"Right you are," came from Nat, and then the three boys quieted down and went to bed, though it was some time before they fell asleep, so full of excitement were they.

They awoke early, and, without dressing kept watch on the berth where Mr. Post was sleeping. They thought he would soon awaken to see if his money had increased as he had foolishly taken the fakir's word that it would. It was hardly daylight before the boys saw a hand emerge from the miner's berth and grope under his bed.

"Where is it?" they heard Mr. Post mutter.

Then, as his fingers closed on the box which Professor Punjab had put in place of the one the miner had originally left, they could hear him exclaim:

"Here's where I double my money!"

About three seconds later there arose such a yell from Mr. Post's berth that the porter came running from his quarters in alarm.

"Who's bin done committed murder?" the darky demanded.

"Murder!" exclaimed Mr. Post. "I'll murder some one, that's what I will! Look out! I'm a bad man when I'm mad, and I'm mad clear through now!"

"What's de matter?" asked the frightened negro. "Who done sumfin to yo', boss?"

"Matter?" cried the miner. "I've been robbed, that's what's the matter. Did you take my money, you black rascal?" and Mr. Post leaped from his berth and made a jump for the porter.

Just as he grabbed the negro by his kinky wool the conductor, who had been asleep in his berth, emerged. He was struck squarely by the porter, and the two went down in a heap in the aisle, with Mr. Post on top of them.

"What's this all about?" inquired the conductor, as soon as matters had quieted down a bit.

"I've been robbed, that's all," replied Mr. Post, who had partly dressed.

"Tell me about it," demanded the conductor, and then the miner, realizing that he had been a bit foolish, explained the circumstances.

"Serves you right for trusting a stranger," said the conductor.

"But he said he was able to double my cash," protested Mr. Post. "I've got to have it back. It will ruin me to lose it."

"Here it is," said Nat, who, with the other boys, had donned his clothes. He thought matters had gone far enough. "We had it for safe keeping," he explained.

"Well douse my safety lamp! Where did you get it?" asked Mr. Post, his eyes big with wonder.

Nat explained briefly, telling how he and his chums had watched Professor Punjab, and had fooled him.

"Say, you boys are all to the good!" exclaimed the miner. "Saved my money for me, that's what you did. I didn't know I could be so foolish until I tried. Well, it will take a slick one to beat me again."

Mr. Post began counting over his roll. Meanwhile the other passengers had gathered around, and the story became generally known.

"Smart lads, them," commented an elderly man. "Ought to get a reward."

"And that's what they will, too," put in the miner, overhearing the words. "Nobody can say Josh Post forgot a good action. Here's a couple of hundred for you."

"No, thanks," said Nat firmly, and his companions shook their heads. "We can't take money for that. Besides, it was pay enough to fool the professor. We've had dealings with him before."

Mr. Post tried to force the money on the boys, but they refused to listen to him, and he finally understood that there was a higher standard than cash to repay kindness.

"Then shake hands!" he cried heartily, and the boys were almost sorry they consented, for the miner's grip was anything but a light one. However, he showed how much in earnest he was.

"I'll never forget you boys," he said. "Josh Post never forgets a favor, and if ever you want a friend just you call on me."

The boys thought little of this at the time, but there was an occasion when they remembered it and profited by it.

The excitement over, the boys went to breakfast. Mr. Post insisted on going with them, and in fact he did not seem to want the boys out of his sight. He was continually referring to his narrow escape at the hands of the fake professor. The boys got to like him better as the hours passed, for he showed that he had a good heart, beneath a rather rough and repelling exterior.

At noon the train arrived at the center of the Pennsylvania oil region. The evidences of the great industry were on every hand, and the sight of the tall derricks, the refineries, the storage tanks, and the pipes where natural gas was continually burning, were such interesting ones that the lads never grew tired of looking from the windows.

They delayed longer than usual at a small station, and some of the passengers going out to see what the trouble was, reported that the locomotive had broken down and that it would take three hours to repair it.

"Here's a chance to get out and see the country," suggested Jack. "What do you say?"

"Fine," replied John. "I've always wanted to see an oil well."

"Any objection to me going along?" asked Mr. Post, who had overheard the talk.

"Guess not," replied Nat heartily. "Come along."

The four had no sooner alighted from the train than a roughly-dressed man rushed up to the miner, grasped him by the hand, clapped him on the back with a sound like a small explosion, and exclaimed:

"Don't tell me this is Josh Post!"

"All right, Jim Baker, then I'll not do anything of the sort if you don't want me to," was the answer.

"Well land of living! Where'd you come from?" asked Jim Baker.

"Where you going?" demanded Mr. Post, not answering.

"Going to do what I've been doing for the last ten years," was the reply. "Shoot a well."

"So you're not dead yet?" asked Mr. Post.

"The day isn't over," was the answer, "and I've got two big holes to drop the go-devil down."

Then the two friends began to discuss old times with a vengeance, until the miner, suddenly remembering himself called a halt and cried:

"Jim Baker, let me introduce you to three of the best friends I got. They saved a fool from being parted from his money," and, introducing the boys he explained what he meant.

"You'd better get a nurse," said Mr. Baker sarcastically as his friend finished.

"I've put an advertisement in for one. Got to be a good one though, to keep me straight."

"Do you really shoot oil wells, with nitroglycerine, the way I've read about?" asked John Smith of Mr. Baker.

"I sure do, son. Want to see me?"

"I would like to, very much."

"Excuse me," put in Mr. Post. "I think I hear some one calling me," and he made as if to hurry away.

"There's not a bit of danger," called Mr. Baker. "Hold on, Josh, better come along."

"Guarantee you'll not blow us up?"

"Sure I will."

"What, give the guarantee or blow us up?" asked Jack with a laugh.

"I guess Josh knows he can trust me," said the well-shooter. "Now if you want to come along I've got room in the wagon, and the first well is only about a mile out. You'll have time to see it before they get the engine fixed."

The boys at once decided they would go. It was a new experience, and, though they realized the danger, they felt comparatively safe with Mr. Baker.

"I'll bring the wagon right around," said the shooter. "Wait here."

In a few minutes he reappeared with a big two horse vehicle, containing two wide seats.

"Get aboard!" he called, and the boys and Mr. Post scrambled up. The horses started off slowly, Mr. Baker driving, and they turned from the single street of the little village and emerged into a country road.

Arriving at the well which was to be shot the boys saw a number of men. They had just finished using the borer, and had gone down a number of hundred feet without striking oil. It was, therefore, decided to "shoot it," that is, tin cylinders, containing in all about two hundred pounds of nitro-glycerine, were to be lowered into the hole, one on top of the other. Then a heavy cylindrical weight was to be dropped down on them. The concussion would set off the explosive.

The powerful stuff, it was expected, would blow a hole down through the sand and rock, and release the imprisoned oil.

Mr. Baker lost no time in getting to work. Carefully as though he was handling eggs, he lowered the tins of nitro-glycerine into the deep but narrow hole. The boys, as well as Mr. Post and the workmen, had moved a safe distance away. The final arrangements were made, and then all was in readiness for dropping the "go-devil," as it is termed.

Mr. Baker gave a last look around to see that all were far enough back. Then, with a wave of his hand he stooped over the hole. The next instant he was running like a deer.

"He's dropped it!" exclaimed Mr. Post. "Watch it now!"

It seemed as if the running man would never get to a place of safety. The boys watched with their hearts in their mouths.

Suddenly there sounded a subdued roar. Then came a curious trembling of the earth, a shaking of the solid ground. Two seconds later there spouted from the hole a column of black liquid that seemed to envelope the derrick which had not been taken down. At the same time there was a roaring, whistling noise.

Suddenly Mr. Post, who was watching the spouting well, shouted:

"Run boys! Run for your lives! Follow me!"



CHAPTER XVI

MR. POST'S ADVENTURE

For an instant Jack Ranger and his two comrades did not realize what Mr. Post was saying. They could see no danger near them.

"What's the matter?" asked Nat.

"Don't stop to ask questions! Run! Run! Run!" yelled the miner.

The boys needed no further urging, but set off at top speed after Mr. Post. He halted his run to allow the boys to catch up to him. Then, as he gave a glance backward, he yelled:

"Too late! Duck!"

The boys found themselves being pushed forward. They stumbled and fell, and it seemed as if some heavy weight toppled on top of them. Then came an explosion that sounded like a thirteen-inch gun being set off close to their ears.

They were stunned by the shock and frightened half out of their wits by the unknown terror. An instant later it was as if the sky was raining gravel, stones and sand.

"You can get up now," Jack heard Mr. Post saying. "That was about as narrow a squeak as I ever had, and I've been in some pretty tight places."

"What's it all about?" asked John Smith, as he rose and began brushing the dirt from his hair.

"That's what I want to know," put in Jack.

"Snooping sand fleas! But I feel as if I had been digging a tunnel!" cried Nat.

"Mighty lucky you didn't get blown down into one, or an oil hole," said Mr. Post.

"Anybody hurt?" asked Mr. Baker, running up at that moment. "My! I thought you'd all be killed!"

"More good luck than good management that we weren't," replied the miner. "How could you do it, Jim?"

"First time I ever was so careless," replied the well-shooter. "You can bet it'll never happen again."

"What was it?" asked Nat.

"Just an explosion of about twenty pounds of nitro-glycerine about as close to us as I ever care to have it," said Mr. Post.

"Yes, and if it hadn't been for Josh, I don't know where you boys would be now," put in Mr. Baker. "He saved your lives, all right. That's what he did."

"It wasn't anything," the miner interposed. "You see." he went on, "Jim sort of got careless and left one of his cans of nitro-glycerine lying on the ground. I didn't notice it, and I guess he didn't either, until he shot the well. Then, when I saw the shower of rock and stones, shooting up with the oil, and bearing right over toward where the can of juice lay, I figured out there was going to be trouble. That's why I yelled to you to run.

"I knew if any stones fell and hit that can we had a first-class passage to kingdom come all bought and paid for, with through tickets. I could see a lot of stones hurling up in the air, and I knew, there wasn't anything to stop them from coming down. And the majority of them were headed right for that can of death and destruction."

"That's all right, as far as it goes," said Mr. Baker, when the miner had ceased. "But he hasn't told you all. When Josh saw there was going to be an eruption, then and there, for one big stone was almost on top of the can, he just shoved you boys ahead of him, and then fell on you to shield you with his body. That's what I call being a hero."

"Hi! You drop that!" exclaimed Mr. Post, making a grab for his old friend. "I didn't do any more than any one would have done. It was all your fault, anyhow, Jim Baker."

"I know it was," admitted Mr. Baker, in contrite tones. "But that don't alter what I said, Josh."

"Well if I ever hear you making any remarks about it, I'll inform the oil well authorities how careless you're getting and you'll lose your job," put in the miner. "Now I reckon you boys have seen enough for one day."

"Well, I guess we have," said Jack. "Besides our train will leave pretty soon."

By this time quite a number of oil workers had gathered around. There was considerable excitement, as it had been rumored a number were killed. As soon as matters quieted down men began attending to the oil well, which was spouting away at a lively rate, the thick oil running in many directions.

The hole was piped, and then the stream of crude petroleum was turned into a channel whence it flowed into a reservoir. It had been a successful shooting.

As they walked back to the wagon, having brushed the dirt from their clothes, the boys saw a big hole in the ground, not far from where Mr. Post had protected them from injury by sending them on the run out of danger.

"What did that come from?" asked Nat.

"Nitro-glycerine," replied Mr. Baker. "The juice is powerful stuff."

The boys agreed with him.

"Call in and see me any time you're in this direction," said the well-shooter, as he shook hands at parting with Mr. Post and the boys.

"I will," replied the miner, "when you've gone into the grocery business or taken an agency for a life insurance company. Otherwise it's too risky."

When the travelers got back to the station they found the engineer putting the finishing touches to the repairs he and the fireman had been making. The train was about to start.

"Where have you been?" asked the conductor as the boys and the miner got aboard.

"We've been having a race with death and it nearly won," replied Mr. Post, more solemnly than he had yet spoken.

"What's the matter with him? Is he one of those religious fanatics?" asked the conductor, as the miner hurried into the car.

"Not much," answered Jack. "We had as narrow a call as I ever want to experience." While the train was getting under way he told the ticket-taker what had happened.

The next stop of importance which was reached early the next morning was at Cleveland, and there the boys learned they would have to wait seven hours for another train, as there had been some change in the schedules.

"Couldn't be better," said Mr. Post, when he heard about it. "I've always wanted to see a big body of water and here's my chance. What do you boys say to a trip out on Lake Erie? The trolleys go there, I heard a brakeman say."

The three chums, who had learned to like their new acquaintance more and more, thought it would be a fine trip to pass away the time. Accordingly after dinner, they boarded an electric car which took them in the direction of the lake.

"Shall we go inside or ride on the platform?" asked the miner, as he paid the fares.

"Let's stay outside," suggested Nat. "Tumbling trolley cars! But this is quite a town. Let's see all we can."

So the four remained on the rear platform. It was not crowded, but, in a little while a number of men got on. The boys and Mr. Post were obliged to move back into the corner. Still they could see well from there.

One of the men who was standing close to the miner was smoking a large cigar. He seemed particular of the ashes, and appeared to be trying for a record in the matter of the length of them. They extended from the burned part of the rolled tobacco more than an inch, and at every lurch of the car, the smoker was quite solicitous lest they be knocked off.

At length the man standing in front of him jostled against him, as the car gave a sudden jerk. The ashes flew in a shower over Mr. Post, who was standing directly behind the smoker.

"What's the matter with you? Don't you know how to ride on a car?" demanded the man with the cigar, of the one who had jostled him.

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said the other humbly. "It was not intentional, I assure you."

"You're a clumsy fellow," the other went on, in a loud voice. "Look here; you've made me knock ashes all over this gentleman," and he turned to Mr. Post.

"That's all right," the miner said pleasantly, for he felt sorry for the other man. "He couldn't help it."

"He ought to be made to help it," the smoker went on, as if very indignant. "People who don't know how to ride on cars ought to keep off. I shall write a letter to the papers about it. Allow me to dust the ashes off your vest."

The man drew from his pocket a large white handkerchief, with which he began wiping the cigar ashes from Mr. Post's clothing.

"Awfully careless of me, too," he murmured. "Hope you take no offense."

"Not at all," the miner was saying. "It was all an accident, I'm sure. You—"

Then, the miner's tone, which had been mild, suddenly changed. He made a grab for the hand of the young man who was dusting his vest off, and cried:

"No, you don't, you scoundrel! Now I see what your game is! Let go my diamond pin or I'll shoot you!" and he made a motion toward his pocket, while the other passengers on the platform made hasty movements to get off.



CHAPTER XVII

THE WILD STEER

Mr. Post had the cigar smoker tightly by the wrist. The young man tried to break away, but as there were other persons between him and the car steps he was hemmed in. He made a rapid motion toward the passenger whom he had so berated for jostling him.

"Ah, I thought so!" exclaimed the gray-haired man, who had remained a quiet spectator of the excitement. "It's about time I took a hand in the game."

He made a rapid motion, intercepted the hand of the smoker which had been extended to the original cause of the disturbance, and grabbing something from it said:

"There's your diamond, stranger. Take care of it until I put the nippers on these thieves!"

The gray-haired man tried to edge his way around the crowd to get close to the two men who seemed to be the principal actors in the adventure. As he did so, the man who had been smoking—making a flying leap over the back platform railing, darted up the street. At the same time the man who had been accused of causing the cigar ashes to scatter over Mr. Post's vest, slipped from the steps and made a hurried run for the sidewalk.

"After him, some one!" cried the gray-haired man. "I'll get the other chap. He's the main one. The other is only a confederate," and he was off in a trice.

The car did not stop, though several men, understanding what it was all about, called the conductor.

"Can't delay," replied the knight of the bell-rope. "If you want to see the fun, get off. Pickpockets are too common to stop the car for."

"Well, I reckon I blocked his game that time," said Mr. Post, as he looked at the diamond which had lately adorned his shirt front. "I don't read the newspapers for nothing, and they'll find Josh Post is hard to beat."

"What did he do to you?" asked some of the passengers.

"Tried to frisk me out of my sparkler," replied the miner. "It's a new way of working an old trick, but I read about it in a New York paper last week."

"How did he do it?" asked Jack.

"There were two of 'em," Mr. Post went on. "That fellow had his cigar, with lots of ashes on it, already for me. Then the other fellow bunked into him, and he flicked the ashes on me. Of course he made a play to pretend it was the other fellow's fault, and he started to brush me off. But while he was doing it with his big handkerchief, he was taking out my diamond. I caught him just in time."

"But who was the man who chased him, and gave you back your diamond?" asked Jack.

"Detective, I reckon," replied the miner. "They're often riding on the cars on the lookout for just such things as that."

"That's who he was," the conductor explained. "There's been a lot of pickpockets here lately, and the detectives are riding back and forth all day. Hope he catches that fellow."

"Don't worry me any," said Mr. Post "I've got my diamond back," and he placed the sparkling stone in his pocket for safe keeping.

Whether the detective ever caught the slick thief the boys never learned. They made the trip out to Lake Erie, and when they had looked at the big body of water and taken a short trip in a launch they returned to the station to find it was nearly the hour set for the departure of their train.

"Things seem to be coming our way," remarked Mr. Post after they had been riding half an hour. "We've had lively times since we met, boys. But I'll have to leave you in Chicago."

"Perhaps we'll see you again," said Nat. "Have you ever been out west?"

"In my younger days," replied the miner. "I had a friend once named Travers—um—no—that wasn't exactly his name either. Travis— Trellis—Tennis—"

"Tevis!" exclaimed Jack, struck by a sudden inspiration.

"That's it!" cried Mr. Post. "I knew it was something that sounded like a grape vine. He and I used—"

But what Mr. Tevis, or Trellis, used to do was not told then, for a second later there sounded a grinding crash and every one in the car was thrown from his seat while above the sound of hissing steam arose the shrill cries of several women.

"Wreck!" yelled Mr. Post, struggling to his feet and starting up the aisle of the car, which was tilted at a steep angle. "We've hit something!"

By this time, most of the other passengers, who had been thrown here and there, had extricated themselves from more or less undignified positions. There were anxious inquiries on every side, and a number of women fainted. For a while there was a lot of excitement, one lady going into hysterics at the sight of the bloody hand of a man, who was cut by a broken window.

Mr. Post had hurried from the car. He came back in a little while, just as the boys, who were feeling themselves to discover if any bones were broken, had made up their minds to follow him and learn what the trouble was.

"What is it?" half a dozen asked the miner.

"We side-swiped a freight car," was the answer.

"Side-swiped?" inquired John Smith, who was not so well up on Americanisms as the others.

"Why a car projected over the end of a switch," explained Mr. Post. "Our train came along full tilt, and the engine hit it a glancin' blow, or a side-swipe, as the railroad men call it."

"Much damage?" asked an elderly gentleman.

"Well, they can't use that freight car without sendin' it to the hospital," replied Mr. Post, with a smile. "And our engine suffered minor bruises and contusions, as the papers say when a man is hurt. I reckon we'll be delayed a bit and it's somethin' I didn't count on."

Mr. Post looked at his watch, and then consulted some papers he took from a big wallet.

"I've got to be in Chicago at five o'clock to-morrow night," he said to the boys, "and at the rate we've been delayed I'm going to be late. It will mean a big loss to me, too, for I counted on putting a deal through with a friend of mine, Lemuel Liggins. He's to meet me in the stock yards. I don't suppose you boys are in any great rush, are you?"

"Well," remarked Jack, "it doesn't make any great difference when we arrive, but we're supposed to be in Denville at a certain time. A little delay more or less will not hurt us, but I have something to do in Denver, and I may need more time than I'm likely to get now."

"Then I'll tell you what I'm going to do," said Mr. Post, "I'm going to transfer to another line."

"Then we'll do the same," said Jack.

The Chicago train on the other line was on time, and the four passengers boarded it and were soon being pulled toward the great city of the Lakes with more comfort than they had experienced on the other train.

"Ever see the Chicago stock yards?" asked Mr. Post, as they pulled out of the last station before reaching the big city. "It's a sight worth looking at," and he went on as the three chums admitted they had not. "I may not get a chance to show 'em to you, but if you want to you can get out there with me, and look at 'em on your own hook. Then you can go into the city."

The lads decided this would be a good plan, and arranged to have their baggage go to a hotel where they were to stop over night. Mr. Post prevailed on the conductor to stop the train at a way station, close to the stock yards, and, when this was reached, he and the three boys alighted.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon, and Mr. Post found he was a little ahead of time. He hired a two-seated carriage in which he and the boys drove to where he was to meet Mr. Liggins.

Soon after leaving the way station the boys were aware of a curious roaring sound that filled the air. It sounded like distant thunder.

"What is it?" asked Jack.

"It's the cattle in the stock yards," said Mr. Post. "There's thousands of 'em, and they keep that noise up all the while. Look ahead, and you can see some of the pens."

The boys looked. In a net work of railroad tracks they saw fenced-in yards that seemed filled with a living brown mass. From them came impatient bellows and a shuffling, stamping sound, that told of the movement of innumerable cows and steers.

"Drive over that way," said Mr. Post to the coachman. "That's where Lem said he'd meet me."

They were now in the midst of the stock yards. The pens extended on every side, and the strong odor of the cattle, the noise and seeming confusion, the tooting of engine whistles, the puffing of locomotives, the movement of trains, and the wild notes of the imprisoned animals made a scene the boys never forgot.

"There's my man!" exclaimed Mr. Post. "Hello, Lem! I'm right on time!"

"So I see," remarked a tall lanky individual, who was standing near what seemed to be a small office in the midst of the stock yards. "A little ahead. It's only half past four."

"Everything all right?" asked Mr. Post.

"Sure thing. Who are your friends? Come along to see fair play?"

"Some boys who are going out west," replied Mr. Post. "Now let's get down to business. Excuse me for awhile, boys. Make yourselves to home, and I'll be with you after a bit. Look around all you like."

Mr. Post and his friend Lemuel Liggins retired into the small office. The boys alighted from the carriage, which drew up under a shed, and then the lads began to take in the various strange sights about them.

"I didn't suppose there were so many cows and steers in all the world," said Jack.

"Galloping grasshoppers! Neither did I," admitted Nat.

"You've just begun to see the west," said John Smith. "It's a great place, and a big place."

"Well, we're likely to see some of it in the next few weeks," said Nat. "I reckon Colorado is a good place to get a wide view from."

"None better," admitted John. "It has a fine climate, and when we get there—"

At that instant the attention of the boys was attracted by a loud shouting behind them. They turned, to see a crowd of men and boys running after a big brown animal.

"One of the cows has got loose," said Nat.

"Cows?" exclaimed John. "It's one of the wild steers, and it looks like a dangerous one. Better duck for cover."

With a bellow the steer, which had broken from one of the pens, made straight for the boys. In close chase came the crowd.

Suddenly the pursuing party throng parted, and, with a yell, a horseman, waving a lasso above his head, galloped after the beast. He was close to him when the steer, which was near the small office where Mr. Post and his friend were, turned sharply and darted off to the right. The horse man, at that instant had made a throw, but the rope went wild, and, a second later, trying to turn his horse quickly the steed stumbled and fell.

The steer, with a mad bellow, turned around and started back for the crowd, that had halted. With lowered head, armed with long, sweeping, sharp horns, the angry animal leaped forward.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE OLD STOCKMAN

"Someone will get hurt!" cried Jack.

"Here, hold my coat and hat!" exclaimed John, as he thrust those articles of wearing apparel into Nat's hands.

"What are you going to do?" asked Jack.

"I'm going to rope that steer!" yelled the Indian lad.

He ran to where the cattleman had fallen from his horse. The rider's leg was caught, and when he tried to stand, as John helped him up, it was seen that it was broken.

"Is the horse a fast one?" John asked, pulling in the lariat, and coiling it.

"He sure is," was the answer, while the man stretched out on the ground to wait for aid, which was on the way.

A moment later John had mounted the horse and was off on a gallop after the steer, which was circling around in a wild endeavor to escape into the open. It's wild bellows were producing a panic among the other animals, that were dashing about in the pens, in imminent danger of knocking the sides down.

As John, who seemed to be perfectly at home in the saddle, rode at the animal, it gave a snort and dashed off down a railroad track. Just ahead of it a freight train was coming, but the steer did not see it, as it dashed on, with lowered head.

Straight down the track after the steer, raced John, urging the horse to top speed. Above his head swung the lasso, which the boy handled almost with the skill of a veteran.

"Come back!" yelled Mr. Post. "Don't you see the train?"

Evidently John did see, but he was not going to stop. He realized that unless he stopped the maddened steer it would dash ahead on into the locomotive. While it could not do the ponderous machine any harm, there was every chance of derailing it, if the wheels ground over the lifeless body, and a wreck might follow.

"He's a plucky fellow!" exclaimed the cattleman, as some of his friends came to carry him to a place where his injured leg could be set.

The pony John was riding entered into the spirit of the race. It was work for which he had been trained, and, though chasing after wild steers down a railroad track was not like doing it out on the plains, it was "all in the day's work." With nimble feet the pony leaped from tie to tie, on and on and on after the maddened brute.

The engineer of the freight was blowing the whistle in frantic toots to warn the steer from the track, but the animal did not heed.

"He'll never make it," exclaimed Jack.

"Timbuctoo and turntables!" cried Nat. "He's a brave one. Never knew he could ride like that."

John dug his heels into the pony's side to urge it to another burst of speed. Then, with a shout, he whirled the lasso in ever widening circles about his head. Suddenly he sent it whirling straight ahead. Like a thin snake the rope hissed forward, and then fell in coils about the neck of the steer. John had taken a turn or two about the pommel of the saddle, and, true to its training, the little pony settled back on its haunches.

The next instant it seemed as if the steer had met a cyclone. It went down in a heap, a wild mixture of horns and flying hoofs. And, not a second too soon, for, as it rolled from the track, being fairly snatched from the rails by the taut-ness of the rope, the train came gliding up, though under reduced speed, and severed the lariat.

Then John, with a motion of his wrist, guided the pony from the path to the train, which the engineer was doing his best to bring to a stop. The boy and steed easily got out of the way, and then, turning the pony, John rode to where he had left his companions. The steer, all the desire for fight gone, stood dejectedly beside the track, and a number of men, who had hurried up, took charge of it.



"Say, that was the best bit of work I ever saw done!" commented Mr. Post, as he came from the office where he and Mr. Liggins had been talking. "I watched you through the window. Put it there, pardner," and he extended his hand, which John grasped.

"Where'd you learn to ride, young man?" asked Mr. Liggins, in business-like tones.

"Some of my Indian relatives taught me," replied John modestly, as he dismounted. "I'm not very good at it though. Haven't had any practice."

"You don't need it!" exclaimed Mr. Liggins. "Say, young fellow, I'd like to hire you. I need you out here. We have accidents like this every day, only not so sensational, and if you can save a steer that way once in a while you'd more than earn your salary."

"Much obliged," John said, "but I can't take your offer."

"Why didn't you tell us you could rope a steer and handle a cow pony?" inquired Jack,

"You never asked me," was John's reply. "You see I have some Indian traits in me, even if I am only a half-breed."

"Well, you certainly can throw a rope," Jack admitted. "Wish I could do half as well."

"Rollicking rattlesnakes! But I'm going to learn as soon as we get out on the ranch," put in Nat.

"I guess you'll both have plenty of opportunity," John remarked.

"Well, what are you boys going to do now?" asked Mr. Post. "I'm through with my business, and I've got to stay in town a few days, but I'll be so busy I'm afraid I'll not get much chance to see you. Besides you're going right on, aren't you?"

"That's our plan," said Jack.

"Well, I'll leave you then," went on the miner, "got to see another man in the yards. I may meet you again, some day, and I may not. This world's an uncertain place. Anyway, I'm glad I met you, and if you ever get into trouble and I can help you, why just wire me. My general address, for a year or two, will be Chicago, care of Lemuel Liggins. He'll see that you get into the city from here, all right, and will take good care of you. Now I'm off," and shaking hands with the boys and with Mr. Liggins, the miner hurried away down the maze of stock yards.

"Come inside the office and rest a bit," invited Mr. Liggins. "You've got lots of time, and I'll drive you to town later."

"Wait a minute!" cried Jack, darting after Mr. Post.

He ran from the office and started down the maze of tracks in the direction the miner had taken. But Mr. Post was not to be seen. He had either met some acquaintance and gone into one of the numerous small offices and shacks that dotted the yards, or else was lost in the crowds. Jack soon came back, looking disappointed.

"What did you want of him?" asked Nat.

"I wanted to find out more about Orion Tevis," replied Jack. "You remember he spoke of him just before the accident when we collided with the freight, and I meant to ask him if he knew the man on whom the finding of my father may depend. But I forgot about it in all the excitement. Now it's too late."

"Who did you want to inquire about?" asked Mr. Liggins, coming forward. "Excuse me, but I happened to hear you mention a strange sounding name."

"Orion Tevis," said Jack. "Do you know anything about him, Mr. Liggins?"

"Do I? Well I guess I do. Me and him didn't work as mining pardners for ten years for nothing. I reckon I do know Orion Tevis. So does Josh Post."

"Where is he now?" asked Jack eagerly. "I must find him. He may know where my father is, who is in hiding because of the scheming of some wicked men."

"Well, now you have got me," Mr. Liggins said. "I haven't seen Tevis for some years, not since he retired from active work. He speculates in cattle now and then, and I had a letter from him a few months ago."

"Where is that letter now?" asked Jack, his voice trembling with eagerness.

"Land live you! I guess I burned it up," replied Mr. Liggins. "I never save letters. Get too many of 'em. But it was from some place out in Colorado. A little country town, I reckon, or I'd have remembered the name."

"Try to think of it," pleaded Jack. "A lot may depend on it. I may be able to get Mr. Tevis's address from the Capital Bank in Denver, but they may refuse to give it to me, or may have lost it."

"Wish I could help you, son," said Mr. Liggins, sympathetically. "But I reckon I lost that letter. Hold on, though, maybe I can fix you up. You say his address is at the Capital Bank?"

"That's what I understand."

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised. Come to think of it now, he did write me he transacted all his business through them. More than that he sent me a sort of card to use in case I ever got out there, and wanted to see him. Said there was reasons why he didn't want every one to know where he was, so he instructed the bank to give his address to only those who showed a certain kind of card. I reckon I kept that card as a sort of curiosity."

"I hope so," murmured Jack.

The stockman began looking through a big wallet he pulled from his pocket. It was stuffed with papers and bills.

"Here it is!" he exclaimed, as he extended a rather soiled bit of pasteboard. "Queer looking thing."

Indeed it was. The card had a triangle drawn in the center. Inside of this was a circle, with a representation of an eye. In each of the angles were, respectively, a picture of a dagger, a revolver and a gun. On top appeared this:

"In Medio tutissimus ibis"

"Don't seem to mean anything as far as I've ever been able to make out," Mr. Liggins said. "Looks like a cross between a secret order card and a notice from the vigilance committee. And them words on the top I take to be some foreign language, but I never went to school enough to learn 'em."

"They're Latin," said Jack, "and mean, literally, 'you will go most safely in the middle,' or, I suppose, 'the middle way is safest.'"

"That's like Orion Tevis," commented the stockman. "He was always a cautious fellow, and rather queer here,"—he tapped his forehead. "But now I don't mind giving you that card. It may be no good, and it may help you. If it does I'll be glad of it. I owe you a good turn. That was one of my steers that broke away, and I'm glad it didn't cause a freight wreck."

"I'll take good care of this," said Jack, as he put the card in his pocket, "and send it back to you."

"Well, if you find Tevis, just do as he says about it," the cattleman answered. "Now I'll drive you back to the city."

Jack was much pleased at getting the card. He felt it would help him in his strange quest after his father.

"It will be additional evidence, for us" he said to John. "Mr. Tevis might think the rings were spurious."

"Not much danger of that," the Indian answered. "Still, the card may come in handy."

Mr. Liggins drove the boys to the hotel where they were to stay over night. They consulted the time-tables in the lobby, and learned that their train did not leave until the next afternoon.

"Now for a good night's sleep," said Jack, as he and his chums were being taken up in the elevator to their rooms that night. At the sound of the lad's voice a tall, dark man, in the corner of the car started. Then, as he caught a glimpse of the boys' faces, he turned so his own was in the shadow.

"Well, well, luck has certainly turned things my way," he murmured. "Here's where I get even for the trick they played me on the train."

Little imagining they were menaced by one who felt himself their enemy, the three chums went to their rooms, which adjoined.

"Very good," whispered the dark man, who had remained in the corridor as the boys walked it. "I think I will pay you a visit to-night."



CHAPTER XIX

A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

The boys were so tired from their day's adventures, and their travel that they did not need a bit of paregoric to make them sleep, as Nat expressed it, while he was undressing. They left the connecting doors open between their rooms, and, after putting their money and valuables under their pillows, soon fell into deep slumbers.

It was about two o'clock in the morning when a dark figure stole along the corridor and came to a halt outside the door leading to Jack's room.

"Doesn't make much difference which one I go in, I s'pose," was a whispered comment from the man, who was the same that had ridden up with the boys in the elevator.

There was a slight clicking about the lock. Then something snapped.

"No go that time," whispered the man. "Try another key."

He selected one from among a bunch he held in his hand, and inserted it in the lock of the door leading to Jack's room. This time there was a different sort of click,

"That's the time I did it," the intruder remarked softly. "Now to see if I can't get some of the money they made me lose on that other deal."

Cautiously the man pushed open the door a few inches. It did not squeak, but, even when he had ascertained this, the thief did not enter at once. He paused, listening to the breathing of the three boys.

"Sound asleep," he muttered. "No trouble. This is easy."

On tiptoes he entered the room. The lights were all out but enough illumination came in from the street lights through the windows, to enable the intruder to see dimly. He noted that the connecting doors were open.

"Easier than I thought," he muttered. "Now if they're like other travelers they have everything under their pillows. If they only knew that is the easiest place to get anything from! Pillows are so soft, and you can get your hand under one without waking up the slightest sleeper, if you go slow and careful."

Up to the bedside of Jack the man stole. At every other step he stopped to listen. He moved as silently as a cat.

"I fancy the laugh will be on the other side this trip," the man murmured. "I ought to get considerable from all three of them."

By this time he had come so near to where Jack was sleeping that he could put out his hand and touch the bed. An instant later his fingers were gliding under the pillow. They grasped a leather pocketbook. Had it been light enough a smile of satisfaction could have been seen on the face of the thief in the night.