path: root/62010-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 62010 ***

                         Transcriber's Notes:

The original spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been retained,
with the exception of apparent typographical errors which have been
corrected.

Text in Italics is indicated between _underscores_.

Text in small capitals has been replaced by regular uppercase text.

                   *       *       *       *       *




                          NICK CARTER STORIES

                          New Magnet Library

                    _Not a Dull Book in This List_

                        ALL BY NICHOLAS CARTER


Nick Carter stands for an interesting detective story. The fact that
the books in this line are so uniformly good is entirely due to the
work of a specialist. The man who wrote these stories produced no
other type of fiction. His mind was concentrated upon the creation of
new plots and situations in which his hero emerged triumphantly from
all sorts of troubles and landed the criminal just where he should
be—behind the bars.

The author of these stories knew more about writing detective stories
than any other single person.

Following is a list of the best Nick Carter stories. They have been
selected with extreme care, and we unhesitatingly recommend each of
them as being fully as interesting as any detective story between cloth
covers which sells at ten times the price.

If you do not know Nick Carter, buy a copy of any of the New Magnet
Library books, and get acquainted. He will surprise and delight you.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

  850—Wanted: A Clew
  851—A Tangled Skein
  852—The Bullion Mystery
  853—The Man of Riddles
  854—A Miscarriage of Justice
  855—The Gloved Hand
  856—Spoilers and the Spoils
  857—The Deeper Game
  858—Bolts from Blue Skies
  859—Unseen Foes
  860—Knaves in High Places
  861—The Microbe of Crime
  862—In the Toils of Fear
  863—A Heritage of Trouble
  864—Called to Account
  865—The Just and the Unjust
  866—Instinct at Fault
  867—A Rogue Worth Trapping
  868—A Rope of Slender Threads
  869—The Last Call
  870—The Spoils of Chance
  871—A Struggle with Destiny
  872—The Slave of Crime
  873—The Crook’s Blind
  874—A Rascal of Quality
  875—With Shackles of Fire
  876—The Man Who Changed Faces
  877—The Fixed Alibi
  878—Out with the Tide
  879—The Soul Destroyers
  880—The Wages of Rascality
  881—Birds of Prey
  882—When Destruction Threatens
  883—The Keeper of Black Hounds
  884—The Door of Doubt
  885—The Wolf Within
  886—A Perilous Parole
  887—The Trail of the Finger Prints
  888—Dodging the Law
  889—A Crime in Paradise
  890—On the Ragged Edge
  891—The Red God of Tragedy
  892—The Man Who Paid
  893—The Blind Man’s Daughter
  894—One Object in Life
  895—As a Crook Sows
  896—In Record Time
  897—Held in Suspense
  898—The $100,000 Kiss
  899—Just One Slip
  900—On a Million-dollar Trail
  901—A Weird Treasure
  902—The Middle Link
  903—To the Ends of the Earth
  904—When Honors Pall
  905—The Yellow Brand
  906—A New Serpent in Eden
  907—When Brave Men Tremble
  908—A Test of Courage
  909—Where Peril Beckons
  910—The Garoni Girdle
  911—Rascals & Co.
  912—Too Late to Talk
  913—Satan’s Apt Pupil
  914—The Girl Prisoner
  915—The Danger of Folly
  916—One Shipwreck Too Many
  917—Scourged by Fear
  918—The Red Plague
  919—Scoundrels Rampant
  920—From Clew to Clew
  921—When Rogues Conspire
  922—Twelve in a Grave
  923—The Great Opium Case
  924—A Conspiracy of Rumors
  925—A Klondike Claim
  926—The Evil Formula
  927—The Man of Many Faces
  928—The Great Enigma
  929—The Burden of Proof
  930—The Stolen Brain
  931—A Titled Counterfeiter
  932—The Magic Necklace
  933—’Round the World for a Quarter
  934—Over the Edge of the World
  935—In the Grip of Fate
  936—The Case of Many Clews
  937—The Sealed Door
  938—Nick Carter and the Green Goods Men
  939—The Man Without a Will
  940—Tracked Across the Atlantic
  941—A Clew from the Unknown
  942—The Crime of a Countess
  943—A Mixed up Mess
  944—The Great Money-order Swindle
  945—The Adder’s Brood
  946—A Wall Street Haul
  947—For a Pawned Crown
  948—Sealed Orders
  949—The Hate that Kills
  950—The American Marquis
  951—The Needy Nine
  952—Fighting Against Millions
  953—Outlaws of the Blue
  954—The Old Detective’s Pupil
  955—Found in the Jungle
  956—The Mysterious Mail Robbery
  957—Broken Bars
  958—A Fair Criminal
  959—Won by Magic
  960—The Piano Box Mystery
  961—The Man They Held Back
  962—A Millionaire Partner
  963—A Pressing Peril
  964—An Australian Klondike
  965—The Sultan’s Pearls
  966—The Double Shuffle Club
  967—Paying the Price
  968—A Woman’s Hand
  969—A Network of Crime
  970—At Thompson’s Ranch
  971—The Crossed Needles
  972—The Diamond Mine Case
  973—Blood Will Tell
  974—An Accidental Password
  975—The Crook’s Double
  976—Two Plus Two
  977—The Yellow Label
  978—The Clever Celestial
  979—The Amphitheater Plot
  980—Gideon Drexel’s Millions
  981—Death in Life
  982—A Stolen Identity
  983—Evidence by Telephone
  984—The Twelve Tin Boxes
  985—Clew Against Clew
  986—Lady Velvet
  987—Playing a Bold Game
  988—A Dead Man’s Grip
  989—Snarled Identities
  990—A Deposit Vault Puzzle
  991—The Crescent Brotherhood
  992—The Stolen Pay Train
  993—The Sea Fox
  994—Wanted by Two Clients
  995—The Van Alstine Case
  996—Check No. 777
  997—Partners in Peril
  998—Nick Carter’s Clever Protégé
  999—The Sign of the Crossed Knives
  1000—The Man Who Vanished
  1001—A Battle for the Right
  1002—A Game of Craft
  1003—Nick Carter’s Retainer
  1004—Caught in the Toils
  1005—A Broken Bond
  1006—The Crime of the French Café
  1007—The Man Who Stole Millions
  1008—The Twelve Wise Men
  1009—Hidden Foes
  1010—A Gamblers’ Syndicate
  1011—A Chance Discovery
  1012—Among the Counterfeiters
  1013—A Threefold Disappearance
  1014—At Odds with Scotland Yard
  1015—A Princess of Crime
  1016—Found on the Beach
  1017—A Spinner of Death
  1018—The Detective’s Pretty Neighbor
  1019—A Bogus Clew
  1020—The Puzzle of Five Pistols
  1021—The Secret of the Marble Mantle
  1022—A Bite of an Apple
  1023—A Triple Crime
  1024—The Stolen Race Horse
  1025—Wildfire
  1026—A _Herald_ Personal
  1027—The Finger of Suspicion
  1028—The Crimson Clew
  1029—Nick Carter Down East
  1030—The Chain of Clews
  1031—A Victim of Circumstances
  1032—Brought to Bay
  1033—The Dynamite Trap
  1034—A Scrap of Black Lace
  1035—The Woman of Evil
  1036—A Legacy of Hate
  1037—A Trusted Rogue
  1038—Man Against Man
  1039—The Demons of the Night
  1040—The Brotherhood of Death
  1041—At the Knife’s Point
  1042—A Cry for Help
  1043—A Stroke of Policy
  1044—Hounded to Death
  1045—A Bargain in Crime
  1046—The Fatal Prescription
  1047—The Man of Iron
  1048—An Amazing Scoundrel
  1049—The Chain of Evidence
  1050—Paid with Death
  1051—A Fight for a Throne
  1052—The Woman of Steel
  1053—The Seal of Death
  1054—The Human Fiend
  1055—A Desperate Chance
  1056—A Chase in the Dark
  1057—The Snare and the Game
  1058—The Murray Hill Mystery
  1059—Nick Carter’s Close Call
  1060—The Missing Cotton King
  1061—A Game of Plots
  1062—The Prince of Liars
  1063—The Man at the Window
  1064—The Red League
  1065—The Price of a Secret
  1066—The Worst Case on Record
  1067—From Peril to Peril
  1068—The Seal of Silence
  1069—Nick Carter’s Chinese Puzzle
  1070—A Blackmailer’s Bluff
  1071—Heard in the Dark
  1072—A Checkmated Scoundrel
  1073—The Cashier’s Secret
  1074—Behind a Mask
  1075—The Cloak of Guilt
  1076—Two Villains in One
  1077—The Hot Air Clew
  1078—Run to Earth
  1079—The Certified Check
  1080—Weaving the Web
  1081—Beyond Pursuit
  1082—The Claws of the Tiger
  1083—Driven from Cover
  1084—A Deal in Diamonds
  1085—The Wizard of the Cue
  1086—A Race for Ten Thousand
  1087—The Criminal Link
  1088—The Red Signal
  1089—The Secret Panel
  1090—A Bonded Villain
  1091—A Move in the Dark
  1092—Against Desperate Odds
  1093—The Telltale Photographs
  1094—The Ruby Pin
  1095—The Queen of Diamonds
  1096—A Broken Trail
  1097—An Ingenious Stratagem
  1098—A Sharper’s Downfall
  1099—A Race Track Gamble
  1100—Without a Clew
  1101—The Council of Death
  1102—The Hole in the Vault
  1103—In Death’s Grip
  1104—A Great Conspiracy
  1105—The Guilty Governor
  1106—A Ring of Rascals
  1107—A Masterpiece of Crime
  1108—A Blow for Vengeance
  1109—Tangled Threads
  1110—The Crime of the Camera
  1111—The Sign of the Dagger
  1112—Nick Carter’s Promise
  1113—Marked for Death
  1114—The Limited Holdup
  1115—When the Trap Was Sprung
  1116—Through the Cellar Wall
  1117—Under the Tiger’s Claws
  1118—The Girl in the Case
  1119—Behind a Throne
  1120—The Lure of Gold
  1121—Hand to Hand
  1122—From a Prison Cell
  1123—Dr. Quartz, Magician
  1124—Into Nick Carter’s Web
  1125—The Mystic Diagram
  1126—The Hand that Won
  1127—Playing a Lone Hand
  1128—The Master Villain
  1129—The False Claimant
  1130—The Living Mask
  1131—The Crime and the Motive
  1132—A Mysterious Foe
  1133—A Missing Man
  1134—A Game Well Played
  1135—A Cigarette Clew
  1136—The Diamond Trail
  1137—The Silent Guardian
  1138—The Dead Stranger
  1140—The Doctor’s Stratagem
  1141—Following a Chance Clew
  1142—The Bank Draft Puzzle
  1143—The Price of Treachery
  1144—The Silent Partner
  1145—Ahead of the Game
  1146—A Trap of Tangled Wire
  1147—In the Gloom of Night
  1148—The Unaccountable Crook
  1149—A Bundle of Clews
  1150—The Great Diamond Syndicate
  1151—The Death Circle
  1152—The Toss of a Penny
  1153—One Step Too Far
  1154—The Terrible Thirteen
  1155—A Detective’s Theory
  1156—Nick Carter’s Auto Trail
  1157—A Triple Identity
  1158—A Mysterious Graft
  1159—A Carnival of Crime
  1160—The Bloodstone Terror
  1161—Trapped in His Own Net
  1162—The Last Move in the Game
  1163—A Victim of Deceit
  1164—With Links of Steel
  1165—A Plaything of Fate
  1166—The Key Ring Clew
  1167—Playing for a Fortune
  1168—At Mystery’s Threshold
  1169—Trapped by a Woman
  1170—The Four Fingered Glove
  1171—Nabob and Knave
  1172—The Broadway Cross
  1173—The Man Without a Conscience
  1174—A Master of Deviltry
  1175—Nick Carter’s Double Catch
  1176—Doctor Quartz’s Quick Move
  1177—The Vial of Death
  1178—Nick Carter’s Star Pupils
  1179—Nick Carter’s Girl Detective
  1180—A Baffled Oath
  1181—A Royal Thief
  1182—Down and Out
  1183—A Syndicate of Rascals
  1184—Played to a Finish
  1185—A Tangled Case
  1186—In Letters of Fire
  1187—Crossed Wires
  1188—A Plot Uncovered
  1189—The Cab Driver’s Secret
  1190—Nick Carter’s Death Warrant
  1191—The Plot that Failed
  1192—Nick Carter’s Masterpiece
  1193—A Prince of Rogues
  1194—In the Lap of Danger
  1195—The Man from London
  1196—Circumstantial Evidence
  1197—The Pretty Stenographer Mystery
  1198—A Villainous Scheme
  1199—A Plot Within a Plot
  1200—The Elevated Railroad Mystery
  1201—The Blow of a Hammer
  1202—The Twin Mystery
  1203—The Bottle with the Black Label
  1204—Under False Colors
  1205—A Ring of Dust
  1206—The Crown Diamond
  1207—The Blood-red Badge
  1208—The Barrel Mystery
  1209—The Photographer’s Evidence
  1210—Millions at Stake
  1211—The Man and his Price
  1212—A Double-Handed Game

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1927.

  1213—A Strike for Freedom
  1214—A Disciple of Satan


                    To be published in Aug., 1927.

  1215—The Marked Hand
  1216—A Fight with a Fiend
  1217—When the Wicked Prosper


                    To be published in Sept., 1927.

  1218—A Plunge into Crime
  1219—An Artful Schemer


                    To be published in Oct., 1927.

  1220—Reaping the Whirlwind
  1221—Out of Crime’s Depths


                    To be published in Nov., 1927.

  1222—A Woman at Bay
  1223—The Temple of Vice


                    To be published in Dec., 1927.

  1224—Death at the Feast
  1225—A Double Plot




                      The Photographer’s Evidence

                                  OR

                          CLEVER BUT CROOKED

                                  BY
                            NICHOLAS CARTER

        Author of “The Barrel Mystery,” “The Blood-red Badge,”
                       “The Crown Diamond,” etc.

                            [Illustration]

                      STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
                              PUBLISHERS
                    79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York




                         Copyright, 1902-1903

                           By STREET & SMITH

                      The Photographer’s Evidence


    All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
                languages, including the Scandinavian.

                        Printed in the U.S.A.




                     THE PHOTOGRAPHER’S EVIDENCE.




                              CHAPTER I.

                          A DOUBTFUL CLIENT.


“Mr. Carter, can I trust you?”

It was in the great detective’s own house that this question was asked.

“Well,” was Nick’s quiet answer, “if you had any doubt on that matter,
why did you come to me?”

His caller looked nervously at the floor.

“There’s no use in talking to me,” Nick went on, “unless you do trust
me. A detective can do nothing for a client who does not give him his
confidence absolutely.”

“Of course,” the other assented; “I did not mean to offend you.”

“You haven’t offended me.”

“I am so disturbed by it, you see. So much depends on secrecy. It is
so terribly important that I found it difficult to make up my mind to
consult anybody on the matter; and yet I know by your reputation that
you are a perfectly trustworthy man. There is nobody in the States more
so.”

While the man was speaking Nick was studying him.

In fact, the detective had been doing that from the moment the man
entered.

He was apparently about fifty years old; a well-dressed,
prosperous-looking man, who might be a merchant, or a lawyer, or a
banker.

Nick did no guessing. The man might be anything else. He had given his
name as George Snell, but he had not sent in his card, and he had not
said where he belonged.

Word had simply been taken to Nick by a servant that a Mr. George Snell
wanted to see him on “most important business.”

“He isn’t an American,” was Nick’s only conclusion from what had been
said thus far. “An American would not have spoken simply of ‘the
States,’ as he did.”

There had been a pause after the caller’s last remarks.

“Well,” he exclaimed then, “I’m not coming more than two-thirds of the
way across the continent for nothing. I set out to consult you, and I
will do so.”

“That’s better,” said the detective; and, willing to help him tell his
story, he asked: “What kind of a case is it, Mr. Snell?”

“I suppose you’d call it kidnaping; but there’s robbery combined with
it, and—and also—also blackmail.”

Mr. Snell hesitated and stammered a little at the end of this speech.

Nick merely nodded.

“To begin with,” continued Mr. Snell, “I come from Wenonah. You may not
be aware that the Government of England has made a large section of
Western British America into a province and called it Wenonah.”

“Yes,” said Nick, “I am aware of that.”

“You are a well-informed man. Few Americans would know the fact, for
the province is so young that it isn’t down on the maps yet. You know,
also, I suppose, that the capital of the province is a town called
Manchester?”

“Yes.”

“That is where the crime was committed. It happened a month ago. The
governor of the province, Bradley is his name, gave a party at his
house. All the prominent families of the town and country around
attended. There was dancing till a late hour.

“Then, when the guests were going away, it was discovered that the
governor’s daughter, Estelle, was missing. She has not been seen since.”

“How old is the child?” asked Nick.

“Child?” echoed Mr. Snell, in apparent astonishment. Then he seemed to
understand, and added: “It is natural that you should use that word,
but the girl is twenty.”

“Oh!”

“She’s the governor’s only daughter, and heiress, therefore, to his
property, which is very great.”

“Has nothing been heard from her?”

“Indirectly, yes. Her captors have offered to restore her for a ransom.”

“Has there been any attempt to deal with her captors?”

“Yes, but nothing has come of it. There is doubt now whether she is
really in the hands of kidnapers.”

“Ah! what then?”

“I haven’t told you the whole story, Mr. Carter.”

“Go on, then.”

“The day after she disappeared it was found that a considerable amount
of jewelry had gone also.”

“Did she wear it at the ball?”

“Some of it, most of it, in fact. But that was not all. There were
also missing certain State papers and some private documents belonging
to the governor. These are extremely important. They must be recovered
at any cost.”

“Are they more important than the recovery of Miss Bradley, Mr. Snell?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that, but they complicate the case badly. An offer
has been made to restore them.”

“And the girl?”

“No. That is, there was one offer to restore the girl and another to
deal for the return of the papers and jewelry. There seems to be a
double gang of villains at work.”

“Possibly. What about the blackmail you mentioned?”

“That,” answered Mr. Snell, hesitating, “has to do with the stolen
papers.”

“Something shady in the governor’s past?”

Mr. Snell looked at the floor.

“I wouldn’t like to say,” he replied. “Some people might think so.”

“Evidently the robbers do think so, eh?”

“Yes, for they put a big price on the papers.”

“I suppose the matter has been investigated by the police of
Manchester?”

“No.”

“Then how did you communicate with the robbers?”

“I didn’t say that I had communicated with the robbers!” exclaimed Mr.
Snell, hastily.

“No, but I supposed it was you. Never mind that for a moment. Tell me
more about the disappearance of Miss Bradley.”

“There isn’t much that I can tell. She must have left the house soon
after midnight, but she wasn’t missed till three hours or more later.”

“Was she engaged to be married?”

Snell looked sharply at the detective.

“You’re a keen one,” he said. “No, she wasn’t engaged, and that is
another complication.

“Well, it is known that she was in love with a young fellow who wasn’t
liked by her father. Naturally he wasn’t at the ball. It is thought
possible that she eloped with him, and that the offer of the robbers to
restore her was a bluff.”

“Was her lover a rich man?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Then you think she may have taken the jewelry to sell for her own use.”

“It’s possible, yes. I’ve thought of it.”

“And that the robbery of the papers simply happened to come at the same
time.”

“That might be.”

“Has Miss Bradley’s lover been seen since she disappeared?”

“Yes.”

“What does he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Indeed! I should suppose he would say a good deal.”

“He goes about his business as usual, but he is under constant watch.
It’s plain enough that there is something on his mind.”

“I should think there might be, in any case. What is his name?”

“Cecil West.”

“And what is your relation to the affair, Mr. Snell?”

The visitor seemed startled.

“My relation to it?” he echoed.

“Certainly. Do you come here as the representative of Governor
Bradley?”

“Oh, no! not at all! the governor didn’t send me.”

“Who did, then?”

Snell looked uncomfortable.

“Do you need an answer to that?” he asked.

“Of course I do. I must know whom I am dealing with.”

“But I gave my name——”

“It is not enough.”

The detective spoke rather sharply.

Mr. Snell hesitated and then said:

“Mr. Carter, I cannot see why I should be dragged into the matter at
all——”

“But,” interrupted Nick, coldly, “nobody has dragged you that I am
aware of. I certainly didn’t.”

“You are trying to do so now, Mr. Carter.”

Nick arose.

“There is no need that we should talk longer,” he said.

Snell also stood up, and he looked very much troubled.

“I see that I have offended you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. You see,
Mr. Carter, a great scandal might come of this. It is very important
that there should be none. The governor’s position might be lost——”

“At this moment,” said Nick, “I care nothing for the governor’s
position. You have given me some facts in a case that might be
interesting, but I don’t propose to tackle it unless I know what I am
about.”

“We want you to look for the girl and the stolen papers.”

“Who are we?”

Snell hung his head.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Nick; then: “I think I heard the telephone
ring. When I return I hope you will have made up your mind to trust me.
If you haven’t we can’t do business.”

He bowed and left the room, but he did not go to the telephone.

Instead he went to a room where Patsy, one of his assistants, was
reading and gave him a few rapid instructions.

Then he wrote a telegram and sent it to the nearest office by a servant.

Patsy got his hat and went downstairs.

“Now, Mr. Snell,” said Nick, when he returned, “are you ready to tell
me what I want to know?”

“I can only say that I want you to act in behalf of the governor.”

“Does he know that you came to New York to ask this?”

Snell did not answer.

“We are wasting each other’s time,” said Nick.

Snell made a last appeal.

“I may be doing wrong,” he said, “but I beg you to look into this
matter. You can’t help seeing how important it is.”

“Well,” replied Nick, “usually I have nothing to do with a case where
any facts are concealed from me——”

“I am concealing no facts.”

“Pardon me, you refuse to answer one of the first questions a detective
would ask. I was going to say, Mr. Snell, give me a few hours to think
it over and come again. Will you call to-morrow morning?”

“I will.”

“Very well, till then.”

The detective went with his visitor to the door.

Mr. Snell said “good-evening,” politely, and started down the street.

A short distance behind him went Patsy.




                              CHAPTER II.

                         MR. SNELL IN TROUBLE.


Nick had not taken time to tell Patsy very much about Snell.

“There’s something up,” he said to his assistant. “I have no idea what
it is, but I want you to shadow this man and see what becomes of him.”

“Do you think he’s a crook?” asked the young man.

“Not yet. He may be. If so, it won’t be the first time that a crook has
tried to throw me off the track by calling on me. I simply feel that
there’s something queer in this, and I’d like to find out about it. So
I shall ask this man to call again unless he makes up his mind to tell
me all the facts.”

Snell refused to tell all the facts, and so Patsy slipped out after him.

He had not gone far from the house when the young detective became
convinced that another man also was following Snell.

This made his work very difficult, for he had to look sharp against
betraying himself not only to Snell, but the other man.

Snell went into a drug store and bought a cigar.

The man who seemed to be following him loafed on the opposite corner.

Patsy turned down a street, and dropped into a doorway, where he made a
swift change in his appearance.

He was at Snell’s heels again when the man from Wenonah went on.

The other man seemed to have disappeared.

“I was mistaken,” thought Patsy, “or the second chap is a better shadow
than I am.”

For some blocks he kept up his chase, never losing sight of Snell, and
seeing nothing more of the other.

Meantime Snell was apparently wandering around aimlessly.

He would stop at a corner and wait a full minute before he made up his
mind which way to go.

Often he changed his direction.

In this way he got into a neighborhood which was very quiet in the
evening.

Part way down a block he stopped suddenly, stood still for a moment and
then went close to a building.

He was then in such deep shadow that Patsy could not see him.

“Somebody spoke to him,” reasoned the detective.

He went cautiously closer, and before he could see anybody he heard the
sounds of voices in conversation.

What they said it was impossible to make out.

The detective dared not get close enough than that for fear of
attracting the attention of the men.

There seemed to be two of them.

Presently he heard one voice say:

“I won’t do it.”

One of the men started away.

“It will be the worse for you, then,” growled the other.

The first man hastened his steps.

As he came from the shadow, Patsy saw that it was Snell.

The other man was darting after him on tiptoe.

He had one arm drawn back.

“Great Scott!” thought Patsy, “he means murder!”

He gave up trying to conceal his actions then.

Running forward as fast as possible, he shouted:

“Look out!”

Snell turned quickly.

The other man was close to him, and let his hand fall.

With a great leap Patsy was up to him just in time to catch his arm.

But it was too late to stop the blow entirely.

A slungshot in the man’s hand slipped from it and struck Snell a
glancing blow on the head.

“Ah!” he cried, and staggered.

Patsy dashed to assist him, and caught hold of him in time to prevent
him from falling against an iron fence, which probably would have
broken his head.

The would-be murderer was dashing down the street.

Patsy could not be in two places at once.

He wanted to chase the unknown criminal, but his first business was
with Snell.

This was not only because Nick had sent him out to shadow Snell, but
because the man seemed to be badly injured.

He was groaning and trembling so that he would have fallen if the
detective had not held him up.

“Better sit down a minute,” Patsy suggested, “and let me see if there’s
anything serious the matter.”

Snell sank to a doorstep, and Patsy made a quick examination of his
head.

“That was a nasty blow,” he said, “but I think your skull is sound.
Aren’t you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Snell replied, “I am. I was more frightened than hurt, perhaps.
I am greatly obliged to you.”

“Don’t mention it. Let me help you to your house. Do you live near?”

Snell laughed a little.

“Near!” he repeated, “I should say not.”

“Will you have a cab called to take you home?” asked Patsy.

Again Snell laughed.

“It would be too long a journey,” he said. “I am a stranger in New
York, and I am staying at the Fifth Avenue. That isn’t very far away, I
believe.”

“No, and you can get a car at the next block, if you want to.”

“I’d rather walk.”

He got up, and Patsy held his arm till they came to the corner.

“I don’t suppose your friend will tackle you again,” said the
detective, then: “but I haven’t anything to do, and if you like I’ll
walk with you to the hotel.”

“You are very kind,” Snell responded; “suppose you do. I confess that I
am very nervous.”

“He had it in for you, I suppose,” remarked Patsy.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want to speak to this policeman about it?”

An officer was approaching.

“No! no!” exclaimed Snell, hastily; “I have my reasons for keeping the
matter quiet. Don’t for Heaven’s sake, say a word.”

“All right. It’s no business of mine, but if any fellow had thumped me
like that I should want him put where he couldn’t try it again.”

“I don’t think he will try it again; at least, not in New York. I’d
rather not talk about it.”

“Just as you say, sir. Want to stop in at a drug store and get your
head bathed with arnica?”

“That would be a good idea.”

They entered the next drug store they came to, where it proved that
Snell had suffered nothing more than a painful bruise.

After that they went on to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

“I am very much obliged to you,” said Snell, halting in the doorway.

“Don’t mention it,” Patsy responded.

“Will you come in and have something?”

He looked as if he hoped Patsy would say no, but the detective was glad
of any excuse to stick to him.

“Yes,” said Patsy, “don’t care if I do.”

Snell nodded silently, and led the way into the hotel.

As they were passing the desk the clerk spoke to him.

“Mr. Snell,” he said, “there’s a telegram here for you.”

“Excuse me,” said Snell to Patsy, going quickly to the desk.

He took the envelope handed to him, and opened it with trembling
fingers.

When he had read the message he crumpled the paper in his hand and
frowned.

After a moment of thought, he turned to Patsy, saying, “Excuse me”
again, and went with him to the barroom.

Snell poured himself a stiff drink of whiskey.

“Once more,” he said, raising his glass, “I thank you for coming to my
rescue. Honestly, I believe I should be a dead man this minute if you
hadn’t. Here’s your health.”

“Thanks,” responded Patsy.

“Now,” continued Snell, “I don’t like to leave a man who has saved my
life, in this abrupt way, but I’ve got to. This telegram calls me out
of town, and I must lose no time in getting ready. Won’t you leave me
your name and address?”

“Why,” answered Patsy, “I’ll give you my name if you want it, and
address, too, but it isn’t likely that we shall meet again if you don’t
live in New York. My name is James Callahan,” and he gave an address
that the detectives sometimes used.

It was a place where any letters that came to strange names were
promptly taken to Nick’s house.

Snell made a note of the address.

“My name is Snell,” he said, “and I hope we shall meet again, Mr.
Callahan. I must say good-by now.”

They shook hands and Snell went to the elevator.

“I wish he had dropped that telegram,” thought the detective.

He looked at the clock. It was an hour and a half to midnight. If
Snell meant to leave town at once he could hardly hope to do so until
midnight, for that was the hour at which through trains started from
most stations.

There was time to make a report to Nick and get back again if that
should be necessary.

Accordingly Patsy hurried to Nick’s house, and told his chief what had
happened.

Nick looked very thoughtful.

“I had about decided that the man is crazy,” he said. “I sent a
telegram to the chief of police at Manchester, asking if he knew
of any robbery of jewels, State papers, or anything else of great
importance within a month. I also asked if there had been a mysterious
disappearance within the same time, and if he knew who George Snell
was. Here’s his answer, received five minutes ago.”

He handed a telegram to Patsy.

It read:

 “Nothing doing in crime here. Never heard of George Snell. No man of
 that name lives here.

  “DINSMORE.”

“Dinsmore,” said Nick, “is the chief at Manchester now. He used to be
on the New York force, and I know him well. Now, if there has been a
serious crime at Manchester, two thousand miles away, isn’t it strange
that I should hear of it in New York before it is known there?”

“It beats me,” said Patsy.

“And it looks as if Snell was the chief crook in the matter,” added
Nick. “But, if he is, I can’t see what he’s driving at. After getting
this telegram I thought he was crazy, that he imagined a crime had
been committed, and I didn’t mean to have anything more to do with the
matter.

“Now I am interested. What you have told me shows that there’s
something up, something very mysterious.

“I think we’d better keep our eyes on it, Patsy.”

“Well?”

“Go back to the hotel and get on Snell’s track. Follow him across the
continent if necessary, and keep me posted.”

“All right, boss.”

“Better take a cab. Leave your grip in it until you know what station
Snell is going to. Then stick to him like a burr. There may be more
attempts against his life.”

Patsy was gone in a minute.

When his cab halted at the Fifth Avenue he did not leave it, for he saw
Snell coming out.

The man got into a hotel carriage, and told the driver to take him to
the Pennsylvania Railroad station.

This was done, and, of course, Patsy followed.

Snell bought a ticket for Chicago, and Patsy, who stood close behind
him at the window, did the same.

They were almost side by side as they went to the ferry-boat, Patsy, of
course, so disguised that Snell did not recognize him.

Snell went to the forward end of the boat and stood near the rail.

The detective sat down in the men’s cabin.

Hardly had he taken his seat when a man came aboard whom he had seen
before.

It was the one whom he had suspected as shadowing Snell from Nick
Carter’s house.




                             CHAPTER III.

                          A GAME OF WATCHING.


Patsy thought that this was the same man who had come so near killing
Snell.

He had not been sure of that at the time, for he had not been able to
see the would-be murderer’s face.

Now it took only a sharp glance to satisfy him, for the man’s motions
were a little peculiar.

He had a way of bending his head to one side which Patsy had noticed in
the man who had shadowed Snell.

As he remembered it the same sideways hang of the head had been the
case with the would-be murderer in that instant when he saw him darting
after his victim.

“So,” thought Patsy, “he’s at his game again. Been watching Snell,
probably, ever since the attack. There’ll be trouble if he finds his
man on board.”

Nothing could have been plainer than that the man was looking for
somebody.

He went part way through the cabin, giving stealthy, side glances at
the men on the seats.

When he came to the doorway that led to the upper deck, he went up.

“He won’t find Snell up there, I think,” said Patsy to himself, as he
got up and went forward.

The detective went as far as the door that opened upon the forward deck.

Looking through it, he saw Snell leaning against the rail.

Nobody else was out there.

At that moment the boat had hardly got beyond the end of the ferry slip.

Patsy sat down where he could look the length of the men’s cabin and
also glance through the glass in the door at the forward deck.

In less than a minute he saw the stranger coming down the stairs from
the upper cabin.

He was still walking slowly, and peering sharply at the passengers.

When he had come as far as the door, he halted and looked through the
glass.

The detective could see his face.

He saw the man’s brow wrinkle first when he perceived that somebody was
standing alone by the rail.

Then his lips were pressed hard together, and he nodded as if satisfied.

Evidently he had recognized Snell.

For a moment longer he stood there, hesitating, perhaps.

Then he gave a side glance at Patsy, who sat so close that they almost
touched each other.

The detective seemed to be deeply engaged in reading a placard hung on
the opposite wall.

The man softly opened the door and went out.

Patsy was on his feet instantly.

Looking through the glass, he saw the stranger slink into the darkness
by the side wall of the boat, there being a space thus shut in between
the cabin door and the open deck where Snell stood looking at the water.

“What a chance,” thought Patsy, “to sneak up and pitch his man
overboard!”

The stranger stood motionless a moment.

Then he edged forward.

At that Patsy quietly opened the door and stepped out.

The man did not hear him.

His attention was too much taken with what he was going to do.

Snell was motionless.

The boat was about in midstream.

Patsy’s muscles quivered as the stranger glided swiftly up and placed
his hand on Snell’s shoulder.

Snell whirled around, with a gasp of surprise and alarm.

He put up his hands to push the man away, and tried to back from the
rail.

The stranger kept his hand firmly on Snell’s shoulder.

For a second or two the men jostled each other, but it could not be
said that they were struggling.

The stranger seemed merely trying to hold Snell still.

Patsy heard him say:

“Keep quiet! I am not going to hurt you!”

Evidently Snell was somewhat relieved at this, but he was still
frightened.

“I’ve a good mind to have you arrested,” he said.

The other laughed.

“You’ll think better of that as soon as you see a policeman,” he
retorted.

“You’ve tried to kill me once to-night,” said Snell.

“Well, let that pass. I didn’t succeed, and now that you’re starting
West I shan’t try again.”

“What do you want of me now?”

“I want to talk with you.”

“On the same subject?”

“The same.”

Snell gave a hasty glance at the river.

“Think of jumping in?” sneered the stranger.

“No,” replied Snell, with a shudder.

Then he looked back toward the cabin, and saw Patsy.

Seeing that he was perceived, the detective walked easily forward and
stood looking at the lights of Jersey City.

“This is no place,” said Snell, in a low tone.

“Of course not. I’ll go on the train with you.”

Snell started uncomfortably.

“I presume,” the other went on, with a harsh chuckle, “that you engaged
a stateroom on the sleeper, and thought that you would lock yourself in
and so be safe for the night. Fortunately, there’s room for two in a
stateroom.”

At this, Snell said nothing, but went back to the cabin.

The other followed, and both went inside.

“Well!” thought Patsy, “this is a puzzler, and no mistake. Are they
both crooks? and have they had a falling out?

“One is certainly a would-be murderer, and Snell is plainly in great
fear of him.

“I should think he would be.

“I wonder if they will actually occupy the same room on the train?”

They did.

Snell, as the stranger had said, had engaged a stateroom, and both went
into it immediately on going aboard the train.

Patsy secured a berth in the same car, and, as he turned in he wondered
whether one man or two would come out of that stateroom in the morning.

It seemed to him most likely that the stranger would make an attempt to
murder Snell during the night.

“If it were my business to take care of Snell,” thought the detective,
“I’d invent some way to do it; but it isn’t, and I’ll just wait and see
what happens.”

With that thought he went to sleep.

In the morning he touched the button beside his berth before getting up.

When the porter came he asked:

“Is there a dining car on the train, Charley?”

“Yessah,” replied the porter. “Breakfast will be ready in twenty
minutes, sah.”

“All right; then I’ll get up.”

“Sumfin else yo’ want, sah?”

“Yes. Put your head in here, Charley?”

The porter put his head in between the curtains.

“Have the gentlemen in the stateroom turned out yet?” asked Patsy.

“No, sah; ain’t seed nuffin’ of ’em.”

“Were they quiet all night?”

“Yassah. Leastwise, I didn’t hear nuffin.”

“All right.”

“Friends of yours, sah?”

“Not exactly, but I’m curious about them, that’s all. You needn’t say I
asked any questions.”

“No, sah—thank yo’ berry much, sah. Won’t say a word.”

The porter had received handsome pay for his silence, and Patsy knew he
could be trusted.

He dressed and went forward to the dining car.

As he passed Snell’s stateroom, he listened for the sound of voices,
but none came.

The detective wondered if there was one man in that room who couldn’t
speak.

Having plenty of time to kill, he spent an hour at the breakfast table.

Before he was ready to go, in came Snell and the stranger.

They sat at the same table and appeared to be in good spirits—at least,
the stranger was.

Snell looked rather haggard, but he talked with his companion, and
without any apparent fear of him.

“Strange!” thought Patsy; “but I’m glad my man is still alive. I want
to find out what it all means.”

He went to the smoker, and after he had been there half an hour or so,
Snell and the stranger came in also.

They did not talk much as they smoked their cigars, but no one would
have guessed that one had tried to kill the other less than twelve
hours before.

So it was all the way to Chicago.

The two men were together all the time, and there was hardly a minute
that the detective did not have them in view.

It was early morning when the train arrived in Chicago.

Snell and his companion got into a cab, and Patsy heard them tell the
driver to go to the Northwestern station.

Patsy arrived at the station at the same moment they did.

They breakfasted in the station restaurant, and after a time they went
to the ticket window.

Snell bought a ticket for Helena, Montana.

The stranger did not buy any.

This also seemed somewhat strange, and the detective was a little
disappointed.

He had hoped to keep them together.

But he bought a ticket for Helena, and in due time was again on the
same train with Snell.

The stranger stayed at the station until the train left, and Patsy saw
him on the platform as it rolled out.

Nothing of importance happened on the rest of the way to Helena.

Once the detective tried to scrape acquaintance with Snell, but the
latter answered him in a surly way, and made it plain that he did not
care to talk to anybody.

So Patsy gave it up for fear of making him suspicious.

Meantime, he had telegraphed Nick as to where he was going.

When they arrived in Helena, Snell did not go to a first-rate hotel, as
he had done in New York, but walked about the streets, as if looking
for some place that he had been sent to.

It was pretty clear that he was a stranger in the city.

At last he turned into a small building, on which there was a rough
sign, with these words:

 BRONCO BILL’S HOUSE.

The place was hardly larger than an ordinary saloon, and liquor selling
certainly was its principal business.

Patsy went in a moment after Snell.

He found himself in a cheap barroom, where a few men were loafing.

Snell was at one end of the bar, talking in a low voice with one who
seemed to be the proprietor.

The detective took his place at the other end of the bar and called for
a drink.

A moment later, Snell and the proprietor went out by a door at the
back, and he heard their steps going up a flight of stairs.

They were gone but a minute, and when they returned, Snell was saying:

“It may be only two or three days, you know, and I can get along all
right. I’ll pay for the room for a week, anyway.”

With this, he took bills from his pocket, and gave money to the
proprietor, who responded:

“O.K., then the place is yours.”

Then the landlord invited Snell to have a drink, and Snell accepted the
invitation.

“Well,” thought Patsy, “I shall have to find another place to stay.
Bronco Bill evidently isn’t used to having guests in real hotel
fashion, and two at a time would make him and everybody else suspicious.

“I couldn’t put up any sort of a yarn that would satisfy them. So I’ll
get a room somewhere else, and then drop in here when I feel like it.

“That will be safe enough, for it looks sure that Snell is bound to
stay for a while.”

As the detective left the saloon, he saw a sign in the window of a
house opposite:

 ROOMS TO LET.

“That will do,” he decided, “but not just yet.”

He was fearful that Snell might be watching him, for he could not tell
how suspicious that strange man might be.

So he walked around town a little while, made a complete change in his
disguise, and finally returned to the lodging house opposite Bronco
Bill’s.

There he hired a room that had a window opening on the street, at which
he sat for some time, with his face hidden behind the curtain.

He saw enough to know that Snell was still at the “hotel,” and he was
satisfied.

Late in the afternoon, Snell went out.

The detective followed, of course.

At first Snell did not seem to have any errand. He seemed to be walking
for exercise.

But at last he stopped and looked in at a store window.

Rifles, revolvers, and all sorts of things that hunters need were
displayed there.

Snell went in, and Patsy, looking in at the window, saw him buy a
revolver.

With this in his pocket, the strange man returned to Bronco Bill’s and
disappeared within.

That evening the detective loafed away most of the time in Bronco
Bill’s barroom, but he did not see Snell.

There was the ordinary crowd of idle workingmen, and a few roughs
who evidently came in from ranches at a distance, but there was no
disorder; none of the men seemed to be crooks, and nothing happened to
throw any light on Snell’s business in Helena.

It was much the same the next day and evening.

Snell took a long walk, but spoke to no one on the way, and when he
returned he apparently shut himself in the room he had hired.

He came into the barroom late during the evening, but it was only to
have a drink, and go upstairs again at once.

“Who’s the stranger, Bill?” asked one of the loafers.

“How should I know?” was the surly response. “A gent comes to my house
an’ takes a room an’ pays for it like a gent. Why should I ask him if
his father went to church reg’lar, or if he intends to start a faro
bank?”

“Do you think he does mean to start a faro bank, Bill?”

“Aw, come off!” returned Bill, scornfully. “Can’t you take a hint? I
don’t know the gent’s business, and, if I did, I shouldn’t shoot off my
mouth about it.”

Next day, Snell took several walks, but they were short ones. He always
returned quickly to Bill’s, and once Patsy heard him ask the landlord
if anybody had inquired for him.

Nobody had, but it was clear that Snell’s business, whatever it was,
was coming to a head.

In the evening quite a number of men galloped through the streets on
horseback.

They shouted and sang songs and made a good deal of a racket at every
place they visited.

By the time they arrived at Bronco Bill’s they were well loaded and
noisier than ever.

“Paint the place red,” yelled half a dozen of them, as they came
stamping in.

Patsy was standing at the farther end of the bar talking with Bill,
with whom he had picked up acquaintance.

Snell was seated at a table in the corner nearest the door.

“Everybody have a drink!” shouted the leader of the party, looking
around the room.

All except Snell got up and went to the bar.

“Come on, stranger,” yelled the leader.

Snell, seeing that he was spoken to, got up slowly and started toward
the bar.

His face was pale, and it was evident to Patsy that he wished he were
not there.

When he was halfway to the bar he turned suddenly and made for the
stairway door.

He passed through quickly, closed the door behind him, and all in the
room heard the click of the lock as he turned the key.

“Well, I’ll be durned!” exclaimed the leader.

As he spoke he drew a revolver from his belt, and, with the quick
motions of a Westerner, pointed it toward the door.

But he was not so quick as Patsy, who darted forward and knocked his
arm up.

The revolver went off, but the bullet, instead of crashing through the
door and thus endangering Snell’s life, flew into the ceiling.

“Now then, gents,” began Bronco Bill, who didn’t want a disturbance in
his place.

The leader was too mad to be stopped by talk.

Turning fiercely upon Patsy, he demanded:

“What in thunder do you mean, tenderfoot?”

“I was afraid you might hurt somebody,” responded the detective,
quietly; “then you’d be sorry.”

“Sorry! me sorry!” roared the ruffian; “reckon you don’t know who
you’re talking to. I’m Serpent Sam, of the Dead Hills, I am, and no
man tells me what I shall or shan’t do. I’ll make you dance for your
impudence, you measly tenderfoot!”




                              CHAPTER IV.

                        PATSY’S DANCING LESSON.


Serpent Sam, as he called himself, backed into the middle of the room
as he spoke.

The other men in the crowd yelled with joy, and got together at the
other end of the bar from Patsy, most of them.

A few stood almost behind their leader.

They were grinning at the fun they thought they were going to have with
the tenderfoot.

Patsy thrust his hands in the side pockets of his coat, and watched, as
if with curiosity.

He knew exactly what would happen, for he had met wild men from the
Western hills before.

So, when Serpent Sam blazed at his feet, he did not stir.

The first bullet tore a hole in the floor, just in front of his right
toe.

“Dance, you onery cuss! dance!” yelled Serpent Sam.

“I don’t know how,” replied Patsy.

“Jump then, you idiot! jump into the air, durn ye! I’ll teach ye!”

As he spoke, Serpent Sam fired again.

This time the bullet struck so close to the detective’s foot that it
jarred it.

But no harm was done, and Patsy never stirred.

He knew that the first shots would be aimed so as to scare him—not to
hit.

After that, Serpent Sam might be angered into firing to kill.

“For Heaven’s sake, stranger,” called Bronco Bill, “don’t be a fool.
Dance for the gentleman. It won’t last long, and nobody will be hurt.
Jump and let him have his fun.”

Patsy himself saw by the savage glare in Serpent Sam’s eyes that it
would be jump or get hit at the next shot.

Quick as a flash, therefore, without moving from his place, and before
Serpent Sam could cock his revolver again, Patsy drew one of his own
barkers and fired.

Nobody in the room knew what he was about till they heard the bang! and
saw the puff of smoke that rolled away from in front of the detective.

“I don’t dance for anybody,” said Patsy, quietly.

“Wow! ouch! damn!” howled Serpent Sam, as his revolver flew from his
hand.

Patsy’s bullet had struck it on the butt.

It not only caused Serpent Sam to drop the weapon, but it numbed his
fingers.

And the bullet did another thing.

Glancing from the place where it struck Sam’s revolver, it flew across
the room and hit another man on the cartridge belt, doing no harm, but
startling that man fearfully.

For that matter, all the men were startled.

Some of them ran behind the bar and crouched down.

Half a dozen of those who had been in the place when the horsemen came
ran for the outside door.

Serpent Sam, cursing with rage and pain, reached for his other revolver.

He could bend his numbed fingers just enough to draw it from his belt,
but he could not cock it.

While he was trying to do so, it dropped to the floor.

The fingers of his right hand would not hold it.

Patsy, knowing that he was disabled, was paying no attention to him.

He was sweeping his revolver carelessly around the room.

“It might go off,” he remarked. “It’s got a hair trigger. Look out!”

At that his weapon did go off.

One of the men was just getting the drop on him.

Patsy’s shot did for him just what had been done for Serpent Sam.

It knocked the gun out of his hand and caused him to leap back, cursing
with rage.

“If you gents enjoy dancing,” said Patsy, coolly, “just recollect that
I’m floor manager here. I’ll tell you when it’s your turn—yours, for
instance.”

With this he let drive at the feet of a man near the edge of the crowd.

The bullets splintered the floor at the man’s toe.

He jumped for fear, and the detective laughed.

“It’s more fun than I thought,” he cried; “we’ll try it again.”

He made as if he would empty all his cartridges at the men’s feet, but
he had done enough.

All except Serpent Sam were making a wild scramble to get behind the
bar, out of doors, underneath tables—any place, so as to be out of
range.

Sam had cooled down very suddenly.

“Hold on, stranger,” he called; “we uns know when we’re licked. You’ve
done us brown, an’ ef thar’s anything in the house you want, call for
it.”

Patsy understood the man.

His tone and manner showed that he meant what he said.

He was rubbing his sore hand and kicking his revolvers so that they
would lie where he could pick them up.

Of all the men there Sam was the only one who hadn’t shown fear.

The detective immediately pocketed his weapon.

“All right, pard,” he said, good-naturedly; “there is one thing in the
house I want.”

“Name it.”

“I want every man jack of you to wet up. The drinks are on me, gents.
Step lively.”

For an instant nobody stirred.

They looked at him as if they could not believe their ears.

Those who had crouched behind the bar gradually began to poke their
heads above it.

Naturally, Serpent Sam was the first to move.

Leaving his revolvers where they were on the floor, he strode to Patsy
with his hand outstretched.

“Put it there, pard,” he cried; “you’re a white man an’ no mistake. I
see I don’t need to ’pologize fer trying to hev some fun with yer.”

“Not at all,” replied Patsy, shaking the man’s hand.

Sam winced, for the detective’s grip hurt his sore fingers.

“Excuse me,” said Patsy, letting go; “I didn’t think.”

Then both laughed, and at that sound the other men came crowding up.

“Whar’d you learn to shoot?” asked one.

“Say, are you a walking Gatling gun?” inquired another.

Patsy smiled at them.

“I never learned to shoot,” he said. “I was born with a gun in my hand,
and I used to practice at the flies on the wall before I could walk.”

Everybody laughed at this.

Bronco Bill drew a long breath.

The shooting scrap had turned out pleasantly, with nobody the worse for
it, and everybody thirsty.

Glasses rattled on the bar, and bottles passed.

“Here’s how, pard,” said Sam.

He drained his glass at one gulp, and set it down.

“But say,” he added, “you’d oughter hev let us make the other cuss
dance. Friend of yourn?”

“No. I saw that he was scared half to death, and I was afraid he might
have a fit.”

“Rot! he’d ’a’ got over it. Jine us now, won’t ye, pard, and rout him
out?”

“We’ll let you do the shootin’,” said another, eagerly.

“Now, gents,” began Bronco Bill, fearful that the rough crowd would
break loose again.

He didn’t know Patsy.

“Rout him out?” echoed the detective; “why! he’s a mile from here by
this time.”

“Go on!”

“That’s what he’s doing. Bet your life on it.”

“We might break down the door and see,” somebody suggested.

Several of them began to move toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” called Patsy.

He was smiling, and they stopped to hear what he had to say.

“I’d rather you wouldn’t bother the fellow,” he went on; “I tell you
that straight, but if you’re dead anxious to have some fun with him and
want me to join, I’ll take the chance of a toss-up. What do you say?”

“It’s a go!” cried Sam, taking a coin from his pocket. “Heads or tails,
pard?”

“Is it a cent?” asked the detective.

“No—a dime.”

“Just as good. Throw it up to the ceiling, and if it comes down what
you call yourself, I’ll join you.”

Serpent Sam tossed up the coin.

“Tails!” he called.

It struck the ceiling with a ting, and began to fall.

The detective’s revolver flashed, to the great surprise of all, for
they were watching the coin.

Crack! bang! went the trusty barker twice in rapid order.

There was another ting at the further side of the room.

Sam went over there, and, after hunting a bit, picked up the dime.

He came back to the bar with it, his face fairly blue with wonder.

“Durned ef the stranger hain’t won,” he said; “the dime hain’t got
either a head or a tail.”

He laid the coin on the bar, and everybody crowded around to look at it.

Patsy’s first bullet had struck it on one side and his second on the
other, for the coin was spinning in the air and luck was with him to
the extent that both bullets did not hit the same side.

“Wal! ef that ain’t the durnedest shootin’ ever I seen!” said one of
the men.

All agreed with him.

“It means,” said Sam, gravely, “that we let the white-livered cuss
upstairs alone. But you must come with us to the next joint, pardner.”

“All right,” replied Patsy, “lead on.”

“An’ you’ll hev to make some galoot dance soon as we find one of the
right kind.”

“Go ahead. I’m agreed.”

The whole mob charged for the door.

On the sidewalk they paused to decide which way to go.

The street was not well lighted, and, while they were talking, Patsy
slipped a beard to his face.

“We’ll go to Danny Dineen’s next,” said Serpent Sam. “Come on, pard——”

He looked around.

“Where’s the sharpshooter?” he asked.

Patsy pointed down the street.

“He’s just scooted that way,” he said, in a disguised tone.

“Durned ef I don’t believe he’s tryin’ to shake us!” cried Serpent Sam;
“come on, boys, let’s catch up with him.”

Off they went, yelling like mad, some jumping to their horses, others
on foot.

When they had all disappeared around a corner, Patsy took off his beard
and went back into Bronco Bill’s.

Bill and his bartender were alone in the place.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Bill, “where’d you come from?”

“I thought I’d say good-night,” responded Patsy, laughing.

“Didn’t you go with that crowd?”

“You see.”

“Wal, I don’t see how you done it, but you done me and my house a good
turn, pardner. Gee! I thought they’d shoot the whole outfit to pieces.
Have something?”

“No, thank you. When they find that I’ve given them the shake, they may
come back here, and if they find me, it won’t be so easy to get rid of
them again. Tell ’em you don’t know where I went.”

“All right, no more I do. Call again?”

“To-morrow.”

The detective then went out and crossed the street to his lodging.

He sat at his window for more than an hour.

He saw the horsemen return after a time, heard them singing and
shouting in Bronco Bill’s, but he heard no more shooting, and he saw no
more of Snell that night.




                              CHAPTER V.

                         CAUGHT IN THE HILLS.


Next morning, in a fresh disguise, Patsy went over to Bronco Bill’s and
saw Snell eating breakfast.

The detective felt relieved.

He had feared that the man might have been so frightened by the drunken
horseman as to light out.

Patsy had now been studying the man for several days.

“I can’t make him out,” he said to himself, “but I don’t believe he’s a
regular crook.”

The detective was inclined to think that Snell had been up to crooked
work, but that he was new to it.

He went back to his lodging almost at once, and watched.

Snell came to the door of Bronco Bill’s and stood there a moment,
looking up and down the street.

“He wants to walk for exercise,” thought the waiting detective, “but
he doesn’t dare to get far away, for he’s expecting somebody. I won’t
bother to follow him.”

So Snell that morning took his walks alone.

They were not long ones.

He was always back at Bronco Bill’s within ten minutes from the time he
started.

At length he went in and stayed there.

Patsy went across and looked in long enough to see that Snell had found
an old book somewhere, and was reading it in the barroom.

It was almost noon when the man Snell had been expecting came.

The detective knew it before Snell did.

Watching from his window, he saw a man come rapidly up from the
direction of the railroad.

He walked as if he knew where he was going, and he turned in at Bronco
Bill’s.

It was the stranger who had come so near to murdering Snell a short
time before in New York City.

“Now we’re getting down to business!” thought Patsy, with great
satisfaction.

It had been a long wait, and he was a little tired of it.

Every day he had sent a telegram to Nick, saying, simply: “No change,”
or “Nothing doing.”

Meantime, he had received no word from his chief.

So he knew that there was nothing for him to do but stay there and
watch.

Of course, he crossed over to the saloon soon after the stranger went
in.

He was disguised so that neither knew him, and Bronco Bill did not
suspect that the man who asked for a cigar was the one who had done the
wonderful shooting the night before.

Snell and the stranger were eating dinner at a table in the corner.

They did no talking.

Patsy returned to his watching place.

After dinner, the stranger went away alone.

The detective would have liked to follow, but it was his business to
spot Snell.

So he stayed where he was.

Some three hours passed, and then the stranger returned.

He went into the saloon, and almost immediately came out again with
Snell.

They walked away rapidly.

Patsy was after them.

Thinking that there might be some such excursion as this, the detective
had bought a horse.

The animal was stabled a few doors from his lodging house, where he
could be got quickly, and he was kept saddled all the time.

But there was no use for him on this trip.

The men walked through the city, and they acted as if they were in a
hurry, but they walked, and Patsy thought it better to follow them in
the same way.

As long as they were in busy streets he had no difficulty in keeping
close to them.

When they came to a long street, where the houses were scattered, he
fell a little further behind.

And at last they were in the open country, with no house at all in
sight ahead.

Then the detective had to be very cautious.

He decided to get into a field alongside the road, where he could dodge
behind bushes.

It was well he took this precaution when he did.

He had hardly left the road when both men wheeled about suddenly.

They stood for a full minute, looking back toward the city.

There could be no doubt that some sudden fear of pursuit had made them
turn.

Patsy stooped behind a low bush and waited.

At last they went on, but Snell turned frequently, and Patsy was kept
on the dodge all the time.

This continued for two miles or more.

By then the road had brought them to hilly land, and the detective was
thinking that his pursuit would be easier, when the two turned aside
and began to climb a steep hill.

It was covered with trees, and there was no path.

Dead wood was on the ground everywhere.

A man’s footsteps could be heard a long way, no matter how carefully he
proceeded.

Therefore, it was not possible any longer to keep the men in sight.

Patsy took the chance of cutting across ahead of where the men seemed
to be aiming for.

In this way he thought he might come to the top of the hill before they
did.

Perhaps he succeeded. He could not tell, for, when he got to the
hilltop, they were not to be seen.

He waited a bit, and listened for a sound of their voices, or
footsteps, but heard nothing.

The hill dipped steeply on the other side, and there were many hills
beyond.

It was a very wild place, only partly wooded, and there seemed to be
deep gullies in every direction.

“They didn’t come out here for their health,” thought Patsy. “It was to
meet somebody.

“Probably that somebody is waiting in one of these gullies.

“Which one?

“It’s almost as good a place for hiding as a big city is.”

After some little thought he went part way down the hill, then along
the side until he came near the edge of a ravine.

While he was cautiously approaching the edge, he heard a laugh
somewhere below him.

In the ravine, undoubtedly.

Then that was where the men had gone.

Patsy saw a rock a short distance away, from behind which he thought he
might be able to look down into the ravine without being seen.

A few cautious steps and he was beside it.

Leaning far over it, he found that he had chosen the spot luckily; for
a little way below him he saw a group of men, most of them roughly
dressed.

Among them were Snell and his strange companion.

They were talking earnestly.

At that moment, Snell’s companion was speaking, and the others were
listening.

His words came faintly to Patsy’s ears.

“I tell you,” he said, “we’re ready to pay the price, but you’ve got to
deliver the goods. There’s nothing unfair in that. We’ve come out here
to tell you so, but you can’t deliver the goods here, can you?”

“That’ll be all right,” said one of the rough men.

“Oh! will it? How do we know?” demanded Snell’s companion. “We don’t
propose to put our feet into a trap.”

At this some of the men laughed hoarsely.

“Supposin’,” suggested one of them, “we don’t let you get out of this
gulch alive?”

Snell could be seen to start uncomfortably.

His companion was unmoved.

“In that case,” he retorted, “you’d leave a couple of worthless stiffs
here for the crows to pick. That’s all.”

“Do you mean that you haven’t brought the stuff with you?”

“That’s it, exactly.”

“Then what the dev——”

“Why!” interrupted Snell’s companion, “we’re here to let you know that
we’re acting on the square. Prove that you’re on the square, too, and
we can do business.”

The men looked at each other.

“Don’t like it,” grumbled one.

“Well,” said another, the youngest in the party, “I think they’ve got
the best of the argument. Here they are, just as they agreed to be.
They haven’t gone to any detectives, and it’s our business now to hand
over the goods——”

Patsy was greatly interested, wondering whether this young man would
persuade the gang to his way of thinking, when, without the least
warning, strong hands were laid upon him.

He turned like a flash at the first touch.

His hand raised the revolver that he had been clutching from the moment
when he lay down behind the rock.

But there was no use in firing it.

The bullet wouldn’t have hit anybody.

His assailants had every advantage of him.

He had been caught by both feet and yanked backward.

Others had grabbed him by the arms.

Still another dropped a noose over his head and pulled it tight.

A little more strain on that rope, and the detective would have been
choked to death.

In much less time than it takes to tell it, they had him with his hands
securely bound behind his back.

The detective was helpless.

And up to this moment, nobody had said a word, and no sound of the
capture had reached the ears of the men in the ravine.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                       PATSY IS FORCED TO SLEEP.


When they had him bound to their satisfaction, Patsy’s captors laid him
on his back and looked him over.

He saw, too late, how it had happened.

Close to the rock was a thick bunch of bushes.

His judgment had been perfect, for it had taken him to the exact spot
where there was an easy way down to the gulch.

It was the way these men always took to get there.

But, unluckily for the detective, they had posted sentinels at that
spot.

His captors had been within reach of him from the moment he arrived.

Why they had not attacked him at once could only be guessed.

Probably they were so surprised that they didn’t know what to do at
first.

And maybe they thought he might be a prospector, or anybody but a
detective, who would go away as soon as he had taken a look.

“Wal, by gosh!” muttered one who seemed to be the leader of the
sentinels, “I reckon this’ll make some difference with what they’re
jawin’ about down thar.”

Patsy tried a bluff.

“I’d like to know what you mean,” he began, indignantly. “I haven’t
done anything to you——”

“And we won’t do a thing to you,” interrupted the leader, harshly—“oh,
no! we won’t tech ye! Pick him up, boys.”

Two of the men took Patsy on their shoulders, and they went stumbling
down the side of the gulch.

Snell and the others looked up in the greatest surprise when they heard
the sentinels coming.

All the men got to their feet, for some had been sitting, and guns were
shown freely.

“What ye got thar?” demanded the chief of the gang.

“A spy,” replied the leader of the sentinels.

“Find him up thar?”

“Yes—behind that rock. He crep’ up jest as ef he knowed thar was
suthin’ to see below.”

“The skunk!”

“Prob’ly,” went on the sentinel, “he was put onto the thing by them
galoots,” and he pointed to Snell and his companion.

“That’s it!” roared more than one, angrily.

“So this is what ye call bein’ on the square, is it?” exclaimed the
chief, turning to Snell’s companion, fiercely. “Ye make a deal to meet
us here alone to talk business, and give the tip to a pryin’ detective,
do ye? An’ do ye think ye’ll git outen it with hull skins? Wal, I don’t
think!”

The ruffians were growling angrily and watching their leader.

It needed only his word to make every one of them empty their revolvers
into Snell and his companion.

Snell was horribly frightened.

“I don’t know anything about this,” he stammered; “I give you my word
of honor——”

“Rats!” interrupted the leader, scornfully, “what’s your word of honor
worth?”

“Plug ’em full of holes!” cried another.

The men raised their weapons, and it did look as if there would be a
double murder on the spot.

“He’s right!” said Patsy, quietly.

The leader turned swiftly toward him.

“What’s that ye say?” he demanded; “who’s right?”

“The man who just spoke.”

“Him?” pointing to Snell.

“Yes. I don’t know who he is.”

“And I s’pose ye don’t know him, nuther,” pointing to Snell’s companion.

“I certainly don’t.”

It was plain enough that nobody believed the detective, but he breathed
easier.

His interruption had gained time.

The men were not so likely now to shoot in a hurry and ask questions
afterward.

Patsy had been set on the ground with his back to a rock.

Snell’s companion was looking at him sharply.

It was to him the leader spoke next.

“I s’pose, Jim Leonard,” he said, “thet you’ve got a word of honor to
stack up thet ye never seen this man afore, eh?”

“He’s a stranger to me,” replied Leonard. “I never saw him before, and
we took all the pains we could to keep from being followed. Snell’s
been in town three days without seeing anybody who was on his track.
Why should anybody be on his track, anyway?”

“Why!” roared the leader, “to get us behind the bars, you fool! Ain’t
that reason enough?”

He turned again to the detective.

“P’r’haps you’ll tell us how ye come here?” he said.

“Certainly,” replied Patsy. “I saw these two men in town. It was plain
enough that they had good business of some kind on. I took ’em for
prospectors and thought they’d struck a good thing somewhere. It wasn’t
a straight thing to do, but I followed ’em to see what they’d got.”

This was a story that it was very easy for the rough Westerners to
believe.

Evidently they were struck by it, for they looked at each other
doubtfully.

All except the leader.

He turned his eyes from Snell to his companion, and then to Patsy, and
remarked, calmly:

“You lie—every one of ye.”

Then he addressed his men.

“We won’t go off at half-cock,” said he; “these geezers hev done us
dirt, but mebbe we’d better talk it over afore we do anything.”

He spoke then to the sentinels.

“Stay here and use yer guns, ef any of ’em tries to scoot. We’ll go
further down the gulch and chin about it.”

The sentinels nodded and the leader and the rest of his men went down
the ravine until they were out of sight.

Now and then their voices could be heard as they argued, but what they
said could not be told.

Once they sent a couple of men up to take Snell’s companion, Jim
Leonard, down to talk with him.

They sent him back after half an hour, and continued their discussion
until the sun was setting.

Then they all came slowly back to the spot where Patsy lay.

The young man who had been speaking when Patsy was captured, was
talking with the leader.

“I’m sure it’s the best way,” he was saying.

“Wal, Harry,” returned the leader, “you’ve got a sound nut on yer
shoulders, an’ you can talk better’n most of us, but I dunno.
Howsomever, we’ll try it. As you say, the main thing is to get the
stuff.”

“We certainly can’t get the ransom, if we don’t give ’em a chance to
pay it,” said Harry.

The leader nodded.

“After dark,” he said, shortly.

It grew dark early in that deep ravine, but it was not till fully two
hours had passed that the gang began to move.

In the meantime, they smoked and talked in low voices, or lay on the
ground and snoozed.

At last the leader stood up and said:

“Bring ’em along.”

Patsy had tried at first to see if he could free his hands. In the
darkness he tried again, but it was of no use.

These fellows had known how to tie a knot, and they kept the noose
around his neck, with a warning that they wouldn’t mind leaving him
there for crows to pick.

That was only too plain. They cared little for the detective. It was
Snell and Leonard that they were interested in.

The gang returned to Helena in pairs mostly.

Two went beside Patsy, and one each with Snell and Leonard.

The rest trailed along—some in advance, some behind.

When they came to the edge of the town they scattered over different
streets.

No one meeting any of them would have suspected that a score of men
were coming into the city together.

Patsy’s guides took the noose from around his neck then, and cautioned
him that if he tried to break away they would shoot.

The caution wasn’t necessary, for the detective had no idea of doing
anything except stick to the gang until he had found out all about the
business that had brought them together.

They came at length to a house in a quiet street.

Patsy’s guides took him in there, opening the front door with a key,
and led him to the kitchen.

The house was dark when they arrived, but it had gas, and this was lit.

Curtains were pulled down at the windows, and they waited in silence.

Others came in from time to time.

The last to arrive were Snell and Leonard, and the men who had been
walking with them.

It was understood that they had been to Bronco Bill’s, where Snell had
hidden the “stuff.”

When all were there, the leader said:

“Now, ef ye’re ready fer business at last, let’s git at it without any
palaver.”

“We’re ready,” responded Leonard.

“Prove it.”

Leonard glanced at Snell, who slowly drew a wallet from his pocket, and
took from it a number of one-thousand-dollar bills.

The eyes of the men in the gang flashed greedily.

“I’d ruther ’twas gold,” muttered the leader, “but it looks straight
enough.”

“It’s perfectly straight,” said Snell, closing the wallet.

“Wal, but what are ye doin’ now? You brought that stuff to hand over,
didn’t ye?”

“Certainly; when you deliver the goods.”

It was Snell who responded, and his voice was calm now.

He seemed to feel that his victory was won.

Leonard, on the other hand, looked worried.

“Guess that’s right enough, then,” remarked the leader. “We’ve got the
goods, an’ we’ll show thet we can meet ye. Harry——”

He interrupted himself suddenly, with a glance at Patsy.

“’Twon’t do,” he added, in a decided tone; “not jest yet. We don’t
want no witnesses to this perceedin’. I don’t perfess to say thet this
geezer’s a detective, but dead men tell no tales. I wisht we’d bored
holes in him out thar in the hills.”

“Better not do any shootin’ here,” suggested one of the men.

“Right; but thar’s a good way, jest as quiet an’ peaceable as a
graveyard. Take him into the basement.”

“What!” exclaimed Harry, “you wouldn’t do that?”

“Wouldn’t I? In course I would,” replied the leader, harshly. “You go
an’ git the goods, Harry, an’ mind yer own business. Two or three of ye
gag that geezer and tie his feet. Then take him to the basement. Hear?”

They heard.

Patsy saw young Harry’s face pale as he went slowly from the room.

Others proceeded promptly to obey the leader.

“I wonder if my time has really come at last?” thought the detective.

He could make no resistance, and tried none.

It was useless, too, to bluff the men or try to plead with them.

They stuffed his own handkerchief in his mouth and tied a cord tightly
around his ankles.

Then they lifted him, while the rest of the gang and Snell and Leonard
looked silently on, and took him from the room by a door that opened
upon a stairway.

Down the stairs and along a short passage they carried the helpless
detective, and at last laid him upon a cemented floor.

Not a ray of light was there.

The men stumbled in the darkness as if they were not familiar with the
place.

“Say yer pra’rs, tenderfoot,” remarked one of them, with a harsh
chuckle, as he started away.

“He’s got nerve,” said another, noticing that no sound came from their
victim’s throat.

“More likely he’s scared silly,” returned the first.

One of them was feeling along the wall.

“Hurry up,” said the other.

“It’s all right, I’ve found it,” was the reply from a corner.

“Full on,” said the first.

“So ’tis.”

“Come on, then.”

They went out.

Patsy heard the door close behind them.

Then their steps stumbling along the passage and upstairs.

At last he heard the opening and shutting of a door at the top.

The sound of the leader’s rough voice came to him, evidently asking a
question.

“Is the trick done?” or something of that sort.

He could imagine the men’s short answer.

Then probably the gang got down to business again with Snell and
Leonard.

It would do no good to try to tell what Patsy’s thoughts and feelings
were.

He had been unlucky enough before to get captured by men who meant to
kill him.

On other occasions he had worked himself free, or Nick or Chick had
come just in time to rescue him.

Nick was thousands of miles away.

Chick wasn’t on this strange case at all.

The cords upon his hands and legs were very firm.

And yet the young man felt no despair.

“Somehow!” he thought, and he went to rubbing his back as well as he
could against the hard cellar floor.

He thought he might wear the cords through in time.

In time—good Heaven! would there be time?

What was that he smelled?

An enemy more fearful than the bullets of assassins.

He understood now what he had been doing when the man had been feeling
along the way.

The villain had been hunting for the gas jet.

He had found it and turned the cock “full on!”

The close cellar was filling rapidly with the poisonous stuff.

Patsy’s throat tickled.

He coughed and partly dislodged his gag, but it was only to take more
gas into his lungs.

With all his might he wriggled so that the cord might be cut or worn
enough to break.

He could make no effect on it, so far as he could tell.

Every strain simply made the cord cut deeper into his flesh, and he was
as helpless as before.

The poisoned atmosphere choked him.

He felt his head whirling.

The whole house seemed to be going around and around.

In the confusion of his mind he seemed to hear voices in a loud
discussion.

They ceased—there was no sound—except a fearful roaring as if he lay at
the bottom of Niagara Falls.

And then, a dreadful feeling that he might as well give it all up.

A man had to die some time.

One time was probably as good as another.

He had done what Nick told him to as well as he knew how.

He hoped that Nick and Chick would somehow get at this gang.

Patsy was very tired and sleepy.

The whirling and the noises ceased. His brain was at rest.




                             CHAPTER VII.

                     THE MYSTERY OF GEORGE SNELL.


Nick Carter had said good-by to his bright young assistant at about
half-past ten of an evening.

He gave little further thought to the case that night, for he knew that
it was in good hands.

“I shall probably hear from the boy in the morning,” he thought, as he
went to bed.

No message came from Patsy in the morning, because the young man had
been too much occupied in watching Snell and Leonard in the Jersey City
station to send one.

But a message came from Dinsmore that gave Nick a bit of a surprise.

It was as follows:

“Important robbery just reported. Don’t know if it is the one you
referred to last night, but it is very important and mysterious. Wish
you would come on.”

Nick took the next train for the West.

Dinsmore’s telegram was sent from Manchester, the capital of Wenonah,
and there, of course, the detective went.

The journey was without incident, and was made as rapidly as possible,
considering that there are no through trains between New York and the
distant Canadian town.

Dinsmore met him at the station.

“I’ve got a telegram for you,” he said, as soon as they had shaken
hands. “It was forwarded from New York, after you left.”

Nick opened and read it. It was the one Patsy had sent from Chicago to
say that he was going with Snell to Helena.

“All right,” said Nick. “Now, what’s the case?”

“It was reported by the lieutenant governor,” replied Dinsmore, “Gov.
Bradley being away. His absence makes the thing very peculiar, and I
don’t understand it at all. How you should know in New York that a
robbery had taken place in Manchester before anybody here suspected
such a thing, is quite a mystery.”

“I believe,” responded Nick, “that I begin to see how that happened.
But go on. Some State papers have disappeared.”

“That’s it, and that’s what makes me suppose it the same affair that
you seemed to have in mind when you telegraphed from New York.”

“Anything else?”

“Do you mean anything else stolen? Not that I am aware of, but the
papers are very important. I thought you ought to come on, as you
seemed to know something of the matter.”

“I am afraid I don’t, but I’m interested. You say there’s been no
abduction, or kidnaping?”

“I didn’t say so, but I know of no such case.”

“Well, tell me all you know about the loss of the papers.”

“That’s very little. The lieutenant governor called me up late on the
night you telegraphed me. In fact, I think it was about two hours after
I had sent my answer.

“‘Dinsmore,’ said he, ‘there’s been a very strange robbery, or
something that looks very much like it. Some papers that cannot be of
value to ordinary thieves, but for which the government would pay a
handsome reward, have disappeared.’”

“I asked him when they were taken.

“‘I’ve no idea,’ he answered. ‘I only discovered the loss this
afternoon.’

“Then I asked him why he had not called on me sooner.

“‘Because,’ he replied, ‘we’ve been hunting high and low for the
papers. We supposed they must be somewhere in the government building.
But we’ve looked everywhere. They’re gone, and that’s all there is to
it.’”

“I thought of your telegram, Nick, but said nothing. After I had asked
the usual questions about where the papers were kept, and so forth, I
inquired if he had any suspicions.

“The questions seemed to make him uneasy.

“‘I cannot suspect anybody,’ he replied.

“I remembered you, Nick, and I said:

“‘That means that you suspect everybody.’”

“What did he say to that?” asked Nick.

“Huh! he smiled in a queer way, and simply said: ‘Well?’ Of course, I
pressed him to be frank with me, but didn’t succeed at first.

“Finally, though, he let the cat out of the bag in a kind of roundabout
way.

“I saw that he actually suspected Gov. Bradley himself.”

“Well!” exclaimed Nick, “that’s rather interesting.”

“Yes—and mysterious. I’ll tell you a fact or two without stopping to
say how I squeezed them from the lieutenant governor.

“Some six or seven weeks ago a man unknown here called on Gov. Bradley.
We know his name was Leonard and that he and the governor had been in
some sort of business deal together years before.

“That much is known, because a part of their conversation was
accidentally overheard.

“Nobody thought anything of it at the time, of course, for it all
seemed natural and straight enough.

“The lieutenant governor heard Leonard asking about some papers of some
kind.

“‘They’re safe,’ Gov. Bradley told him.

“‘That’s all well enough for you to say,’ Leonard responded, ‘but I’d
rather keep them myself. Then I’d know.’”

Dinsmore paused.

“Does anybody know what the governor said to that?” asked Nick.

“He was heard to say something to the effect that that would give
Leonard the whip hand.

“The men were evidently on bad terms, and that is all that is known of
that matter.

“Now, some time later—it is rather more than three weeks ago—Gov.
Bradley left town. He hasn’t been back since.”

“Is there anything strange in that?”

“Not exactly. He went away openly enough. Told everybody that he was
tired and needed rest. That was natural. He also told the lieutenant
governor secretly that he was going to travel without letting anybody
know where he was.

“‘I don’t want to be bothered with letters,’ he said.”

“That was natural enough, too, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose so; but just now the lieutenant governor is putting two and
two together, and I can see that he is suspicious. He hasn’t said so in
so many words, you understand, but that’s what he feels, just the same.”

“You haven’t told me all, Dinsmore.”

“Not quite. Governor Bradley told the lieutenant governor that he would
manage to be within reach at all times, but that his movements and
address must be kept private.

“‘I will take the name of George Snell,’ said he, ‘and keep you
informed where you may telegraph to me, if anything of real importance
comes up.’

“So, for some days, the lieutenant governor received a telegram every
day, saying: ‘Snell, Auditorium, Chicago,’ or ‘Snell, Planter’s, St.
Louis,’ and so forth.

“Then there was a break of a few days, after which came word that
‘Snell’ was at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York.

“Meantime, nothing had happened that the lieutenant governor couldn’t
attend to alone.

“Then came the discovery that papers were missing.

“As soon as it was certain that the papers had disappeared, the
lieutenant governor telegraphed the fact to ‘Snell,’ and told him in
the same message that the matter would be placed in my hands.

“If the lieutenant governor had thought twice, he would have called me
up before wiring to Bradley, alias Snell, but he didn’t think quick
enough, and since that time not a word has been heard from ‘Snell.’ And
there you are.”

“I see,” said Nick; “it’s very interesting. When does the next train go
to Helena, Mont.?”

“To Helena! There’s no direct train to that point, in any case; but
what the mischief do you want to go there for?”

“Because that’s where Gov. Bradley is, or where he went. I think,
Dinsmore, that I shall have to hunt for your governor, as well as for
the thieves who stole the papers. I hope I may find the governor alive.”

“Good gracious! what——”

“Look up the trains, please. I want to catch the first that goes.”

With a wondering face, Dinsmore studied a railway guide for a few
minutes.

Presently, he looked at his watch.

“There’s a train in half an hour,” he said, “that will get you pretty
well started, and you can probably make connections that will take you
through so as to reach Helena in about thirty hours. Will that do?”

“How can I tell? I must take that train, and I think, Dinsmore, it
would be as well if you should come along, too.”

“I’ll do it, gladly.”

“Anything to do to get ready?”

“No.”

“Let’s start for the station, then.”

They went out, and on the way Nick asked:

“Dinsmore, do you know anybody in Manchester whose name is Cecil West?”

“Slightly,” replied Dinsmore. “Friend of yours?”

“No, I never saw him. What sort of a man is he?”

“Tiptop, from all I hear. Not rich, you know, but honest and
industrious. First-rate fellow, every way. By the way, he’s in love
with the governor’s daughter, Estelle.”

“So?”

“Yes, and the old man won’t have him. He’s sent the girl away, so as to
keep them from meeting.”

“The governor sent his daughter away, did he?”

“That’s what I hear. She dropped out of sight after a big party at the
governor’s house some five weeks ago, and it is understood that she was
packed off to visit a distant aunt, or something, in the hope that she
would forget young West.”

“I wonder if West hears from her?” mused Nick.

“If he does, he doesn’t say so.”

“Of course not.”

Nothing more was said on this subject, and Dinsmore did not suspect
what was in the detective’s mind.

Nick asked one other question about the case:

“I understand that nothing has been reported, except a theft of
government papers. Is that right?”

“Yes, and I have wondered a little, for in your telegram to me you
mentioned jewelry.”

“I did. I heard some was taken.”

“Nick,” said Dinsmore, “who gave you the tip about all this?”

The detective looked his old friend in the eyes for a moment, and
answered, quietly:

“Gov. Bradley.”

“The deuce you say! Why didn’t you jump on the case?”

“Because I didn’t know till I arrived in Manchester that it was the
governor who called on me. He said his name was Snell. I doubted it,
but I had no suspicion as to who he really was. I could see that he was
holding some facts back, and that made me turn him down. That was where
Bradley made a bad mistake.”

The detective and Dinsmore made good connections, and arrived in Helena
at six o’clock in the evening of the following day.

They began at once to trace the men they wanted to find.

Dinsmore made inquiries for a man answering the description of Gov.
Bradley.

Nick, knowing that Patsy must have come to Helena, hunted for some
trace of him.

He had the more difficult task, for Patsy, of course, had been
disguised when he arrived in the town, and, as Nick presumed, he
changed his disguise almost daily.

Calculating from the telegram, Nick reckoned that Patsy must have
reached Helena on a certain day and by a certain train.

He asked men employed at the station about the passengers who arrived
on that day.

From one he got a tip as to a man who might be Patsy who left his grip
at the station and walked away.

The grip was sent for later, the man said, and was taken to a street
that he named.

Nick went to that street.

He walked the length of it twice.

There was no good hotel on it, but several boarding houses, and any
number of saloons.

Among others was Bronco Bill’s.

Nick looked at it each time he passed.

It was not the first one he entered, but, after dropping in at two
or three other places, he entered Bronco Bill’s place just as the
proprietor was telling a customer about a shooting scrap that had taken
place there recently.

“They wanted to make the tenderfoot dance,” said Bill, grinning, “but
durn me ef he didn’t make them dance and holler afore he got through
with them. Such shootin’ I never did see! I thought ’twould be the last
of Bronco Bill’s house, but the young stranger just brought them crazy
galoots to their senses in no time. Say! he hit a dime——”

And Bill went on to tell the whole story.

“Patsy!” said Nick to himself, as he slowly put down a glass of beer at
the other end of the bar. “I wonder how long it will take Dinsmore to
follow his trail to this joint?”

Nick sat down to wait, and had supper meantime.

Shortly after nine o’clock, Dinsmore came in, looking sour and hopeless.

“Ah! there you are,” said he. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why didn’t you come here, then?” asked Nick.

“Because I didn’t expect to find you here. I seemed to trace a man who
looked like the governor to this hole several times. Plenty said they’d
seen such a man hanging around, but the governor wouldn’t put up in
such a place, not he!”

“It’s where he put up, just the same,” said Nick.

“Who told you?”

“I guessed it. My assistant has been here, and he wouldn’t stay in such
a place, either, unless there was business in it. The business that
brought Patsy here was——”

Nick did not finish.

Instead, he caught up a newspaper and held it in front of Dinsmore.

“Read it!” he whispered, “and don’t show your face!”

Four men were coming in from the street.

One of them was the man whom Nick had known as George Snell.

As the detective was now disguised, he did not hesitate to show his
face.

It looked, however, as if his disguise would have been unnecessary, for
Snell walked quickly across the room and out by a door at the back.

One of the four went with him.

The other two stepped up to the bar and called for drinks.

Snell came back in a short time with the man who had gone out with him.

“Have something?” asked a man at the bar.

“No,” replied Snell; “let’s be going.”

The four then went out at once.

“Great Scott!” whispered Dinsmore, “that was Gov. Bradley’s voice!”

“Of course it was,” replied Nick. “Come on.”

They kept on the track of the four men, and followed them to a house in
a quiet street.

There was a light in the kitchen windows.

“Crooked work here,” whispered Dinsmore.

“Sure!” replied Nick. “We must get a line on it, if possible.”

They had not gone very near the house, presuming that there might be
men on guard who would give warning to the others.

It seemed best to try to get at the kitchen windows from behind, and,
accordingly, they went around to another street, through a yard, and
over a fence.

This took some time, but the lights were still there, and all was quiet
within.

Although the curtains were down, they managed to get a glimpse inside
through a small hole.

It was just enough to show a good many tough-looking men around a
table, with Snell in the middle.

He was counting out a big roll of bills.

“Buying back the papers,” whispered Nick, “and paying the ransom for
his daughter.”

“What! you don’t mean——”

“Miss Bradley was kidnaped. That’s what I mean. Ah! if the governor had
had the sense to tell me the whole truth!”

Nick was thinking.

“There are a good many of them,” whispered Dinsmore; “shall we go to
headquarters for a squad of police?”

“No. They’ll be through in a minute. We must make a bluff, and they’ll
think they’re surrounded. You go to the front door, and I’ll tackle
them here.”




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                              THE RANSOM.


Harry had brought down what the leader of the gang called “the goods.”

This was a parcel of papers done up in red tape.

It was laid on the kitchen table, and Snell began to count out the
money that he had shown a few minutes before.

“I have forty thousand dollars here,” he remarked.

“Ought to be twice that!” growled the leader.

“That was the price agreed on with Leonard, wasn’t it?”

“Go ahead.”

“You haven’t produced the goods.”

Snell, or, rather, Gov. Bradley, stopped counting out the money, and
looked straight at the leader.

“Plank down the money!” ordered the leader, harshly.

Just then there was a furious knocking at both the back and front doors.

Loud voices—there seemed to be a dozen of them—were crying:

“Surrender, in the name of the law!”

“We’re done!” gasped the leader, starting up, and lifting his revolver,
“and by thunder! I know who done it! You, Harry, you sneak, with your
argument——”

“I haven’t given you away, Hamilton,” cried Harry, “I swear——”

He got no further, for Hamilton, the leader, fired.

Harry groaned and staggered to the cellar door.

He grasped the handle to keep from falling.

It turned, the door opened, and he plunged headlong down the stairs.

All the other men were starting up in great confusion.

“Kill the governor!” they cried.

“No!” shouted Hamilton; “there’ll be more in him than in anything else.
Take him with us.”

Then he added, in a lower tone:

“Side door, boys. Nobody seems to be there. They’ve forgotten the side
door!”

He seized the governor as he spoke, and pushed him from the room.

Others helped, and both the governor and Leonard were hustled out.

All the things on the table—money and papers—were swept off by
somebody.

A door crashed in, and next instant Nick Carter leaped into the room.

He was greeted by a pistol shot from one of the ruffians.

It missed him.

Many voices were heard, calling, ordering, cursing.

Dinsmore rushed in from the front.

“Heaven!” he gasped, “the governor’s voice. He’s calling for help.
After him, Nick, and rescue him.”

Together they made for the side door.

They overtook some of the gang there and Nick laid them flat with giant
blows from his fists.

Then they went on.

Over a fence at a little distance a number of men were seen climbing.

A pistol shot from Nick dropped one.

The rest ran on.

Nick and Dinsmore dashed off in pursuit, their one hope being to rescue
the governor, who had foolishly tried to do his own detective work.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Patsy felt as if a fearfully heavy blanket lay upon him.

Slowly, for he was less than half-awake, he put up his hands to brush
the blanket away.

It was too heavy, and he wondered.

Then he opened his eyes.

It was rather a dark place, and rough, unfinished ceiling overhead.

He saw that first, naturally, for he was lying on his back.

“By Jumbo!” he muttered, beginning to remember, “I thought I was dead.”

He looked down, raising his head a little, and saw with horror that
what he thought was a heavy blanket was the body of a young man.

There was an open knife in the young man’s hand.

“It’s the fellow they called Harry!” said Patsy to himself, sitting up
now and carefully lifting the body away. “What the mischief does it all
mean?”

His memory was returning fast.

He recalled now how he had been carried down to this cellar to be
suffocated with gas.

That was early last night.

It was now day, as he could tell from the light at one dusty window.

Besides, the cellar door was open, the one opening into the passage
through which he had been taken.

His hands had been bound so hard that he could not loose them, and now
they were free!

“How did that hap——”

He looked at the cord that had been around his wrists.

It was cut through.

Nothing could be clearer than that smooth mark of a sharp knife.

The detective looked at the knife in Harry’s dead hand.

“That’s it!” he said, softly. “The poor fellow tried to save me, and he
came pretty near doing it.”

He tried to take the knife from Harry’s hand, but the stiffened fingers
held it tight.

His own knife was in his pocket, and with that he cut the cord around
his ankles.

Then he got up.

His head still swam, and he was weak, but his strength came back
rapidly.

Going to the wall, he found the gas jet.

The cock had been turned square off.

“Harry did it,” he whispered. “Poor fellow! I remember how he couldn’t
stand the idea of my being murdered. His coming in and leaving the
door open, ventilated the place, and so I didn’t die of suffocation.
Poor chap! he meant well. I wonder how he came to be shot?”

Shot he was, as the detective could see from the wound in the young
man’s breast.

Patsy stood still for a full minute.

“Hang me!” he exclaimed, “if it doesn’t seem as wonderful as if I was
dead!”

He felt for his revolver.

One had been taken away from him, but he had the other, and, with this
in his hand, he went upstairs.

The house was very still.

In the kitchen he found overturned chairs and other signs of disorder.

“There was a ruction of some kind,” he concluded.

He wasn’t sure just what he ought to do, and decided that before he
tried to form a plan he would explore the house.

Nothing attracted his attention in the rooms of the ground floor, and
it was the same on the next floor.

They were ordinary rooms, furnished cheaply.

The detective looked into bureau drawers, not because he was expecting
to find anything, but to see if there was any evidence that the house
was regularly occupied.

There was none. All the drawers were empty.

Opening a door, he found himself at the foot of the stairs to the attic.

“Might as well take it all in,” he thought, and he started up.

The third step was loose, and came up when he put his foot on it.

At once he pulled the board away.

He saw something that made his eyes bulge.

A box had been made beneath the step, and, lying in it, were two
packets of papers done up in red ribbon, and a great quantity of money
in big bills.

He took out and counted twenty one-thousand-dollar bills, and twenty
thousand more dollars in bills of five and one hundred.

“Whew!” he whistled, sitting down and looking at his find.

A sound startled him.

It came from above.

A faint, weak voice—a woman’s, apparently.

It seemed to be calling for help.

Patsy stuffed the money in his pockets, and bounded up the attic stairs.

Under the unfinished loft on a couch of blankets he saw a young woman
lying.

She was tied to the place so that she could turn over only with
difficulty.

“Good gracious!” he cried, “who are you? What does this mean? Have you
been hurt?”

“No,” she answered, weakly, “but I am so weak and hungry. They haven’t
given me anything to eat or drink for more than a day. I suppose they
have forgotten me. I am Estelle Bradley, sir. If you would only get
word to my father! He is the Governor of Wenonah, and I know he would
reward you!”

“Don’t try to talk, Miss Bradley,” interrupted Patsy.

He was stooping to cut the cords that bound her to the floor.

When this was done, he helped her to her feet and then downstairs. On
the way, he took the papers he had seen in the box, and put them in his
pockets.

She told him, when he explained that he was a detective, how she had
been deceived by a message that was supposed to be sent by her lover,
Cecil West.

“It was handed to me during a party at my father’s house,” she said,
“and it told me that Cecil was lying dangerously wounded not far away.
I went at once to see him, and was seized by rough men, who brought me
here and have kept me ever since.”

Patsy took her to a hotel, where they had breakfast.

Then, knowing nothing of Nick’s journey to the West, he arranged for
taking her home.

They started on a train that left Helena just as Nick and Dinsmore
returned after a successful chase of the ruffians.

It had taken them most of the night, but they had rescued the governor
and caught three of the gang, though Hamilton, the leader, had escaped.

Leonard had been shot through the heart by the leader when it came to
the last fight out in the hills miles beyond Helena.

The governor confessed bitterly that he and Leonard had been engaged in
a business that could not be called quite square years before.

“For my reputation,” said the governor, “I had to keep certain papers,
and Leonard wanted them, fearing that I would give them up some time,
and so ruin him. We feared each other.

“So he hired a band of ruffians to steal the papers. They not only
stole mine, but, without knowing it, a number of government documents,
also. Then, to make a complete job of it, they kidnaped my daughter.

“I dared not trust my secrets to the police, or to you, Mr. Carter.
When Leonard found that the ruffians would not give up the papers
without an immense ransom, that he was unable to pay, he told me what
he had done. It was for the interest of both of us to keep the matter
dark, and he thought he could drive a bargain with the thieves.

“So I got together all the cash I could and we tried it.

“We went from city to city, but whether Leonard saw the leader
anywhere, I do not know. At last, I told him I should give the matter
to Nick Carter.

“Leonard threatened to kill me if I did so. He nearly succeeded, as,
perhaps, you know. At last, he said we should find that gang in Helena,
and that by this time they would be willing to come to my terms—forty
thousand dollars—their first bid having been for a hundred thousand.

“We came to Helena, Leonard taking a different route from Chicago, in
order to give the word to the gang, who, he said, were mostly at the
North.

“I came here and went, as he told me, to a low saloon, where I stayed
till he came, and the rest you know.”

“Not quite all,” said Nick; “wasn’t there a man on your track all this
time?”

“Not that I know of, though yesterday a stranger was found spying on
us. The gang killed him.”

“How? When? Where?” demanded Nick, anxiously.

Gov. Bradley told him about the way the stranger was put down the
cellar.

“And I was there,” thought Nick, with deep sorrow, “perhaps in time to
save him! I wish I had let the governor go.”

They went to the house, and found it deserted by all, save the dead
Harry.

What Nick saw, though, the open knife, the cut cords, convinced him
that Patsy had made his escape.

But the case did not seem to be finished, for the valuable papers and
the governor’s daughter were still missing, to say nothing of the great
ransom that had been paid down.

So Nick went with the governor to Manchester, and there found Patsy,
Miss Estelle, and all that the governor had been looking for.

It is supposed that one of the gang hid the papers and the money in the
box under the stairs during the confusion of the attempt to escape.

“It was a clever move,” said Nick, discussing it; “for the rascal must
have known that some, if not all the gang, would be captured, and it
would be foolish to have the stuff captured with them. So he took the
chance of hiding it, meaning to go back some time, next day, probably,
and get it.”

Gov. Bradley offered to pay Nick and Patsy for their services.

“I don’t think we want any pay,” replied Nick. “We’ve had a good time
out of it, and we weren’t engaged on the matter at all. But I’d like to
ask two favors.”

“They shall be granted,” said the governor.

“First, then, when you have detective work to do in the future, don’t
try to do it yourself.”

“That’s easy,” laughed the governor; “you may be sure I shan’t try that
sort of thing again.”

“The second,” said Nick, “is that you consent to the marriage of your
daughter and Cecil West. He’s a fine young man——”

“I yield,” interrupted Gov. Bradley. “I will send for West at once.”




                              CHAPTER IX.

                          A CALL TO COLORADO.


“Patsy, here’s a letter from a friend of mine in Colorado who asks me
to go around that way and look at some mining property he’s got.”

“Just the thing,” said Patsy. “I’m pretty sick of British America, and
I guess Colorado is about as good a way as any other to get back to
old New York. I don’t suppose we’ll ever strike that gang of villains
again.”

“You think not?” queried Nick. “I’m not usually disposed to plume
myself on any prophetic gifts, but something tells me that before we
sight the Brooklyn Bridge again we’ll have some of the members of that
gang to deal with once more. In the meantime, however, we’ll accept
this invitation to Colorado.”

It is not necessary to dwell on the trip; suffice it to say that Nick
finished the examination of the mines and prepared to resume his return
journey.

While on the train he received a telegram that disarranged his plans
and gave him the first inkling that his prophetic vision was to
materialize.

The telegram was from a man named Folsom, whom Nick had met while
examining his friend’s mining property. It intimated that a tragic
occurrence was disturbing the people of Mason Creek, and that the
services of Nick Carter would be appreciated in clearing up the mystery.

Nick decided to reply in person to the telegram, and started
immediately for Denver.

It is necessary to go back a little to understand why Folsom had
telegraphed for Nick.

A day or two before, two men had met on a rocky plateau, some three
miles from the village of Mason Creek, in Colorado, and a little
farther from Denver, near which city the overland express was bearing
Nick Carter and his assistant eastward.

One of the men was a farmer, the other a clergyman.

The farmer was vociferating wildly, while the clergyman strove to
pacify him.

“It ain’t right! it’s swindling, and you can’t make it anything else!”
declared the farmer.

The clergyman raised his hand, and there was a look of pain on his pale
face.

“I wish you wouldn’t swear,” he said, gently. “Be calm, and tell me
just what you mean.”

The farmer looked ashamed of himself, and probably would have answered
in a quiet way if another man who was standing near had not put in:

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Mr. Judson. Let him rave. If he’s such
a fool that he can’t make money, it’s not your fault, and he has no
business to complain to you.”

“But,” said Mr. Judson, “he makes a serious charge——”

The farmer did not hear this, for he was angry almost beyond his
control, “mad clean through,” as the saying is in that part of Colorado.

He did not hear, because he broke in violently:

“I’ve been swindled, robbed, do you hear? and you’re just as much to
blame as if you’d been the only one in the scheme. You wear the clothes
of a preacher, but, by thunder! you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and
you deserve to be shot on the spot. If you want to keep that pious skin
of yours whole, you’d better not come around Hank Low’s way.”

“But, Mr. Low, listen to me,” the clergyman begged.

“Not a word, you black-coated villain! When I think of the way my wife
and children have been cheated by a sneak-thief of a minister, it puts
murder in my heart, it does! I won’t talk to you, for fear I’ll forgit
and take the law into my own hands. Geddap, Jenny.”

The farmer’s old mare responded to the command and a lash of the whip
and jogged away, dragging the rickety old wagon in which sat the angry
Hank Low alone.

The clergyman turned, with a sigh, to his companion.

“I’m afraid, Mr. Claymore,” he said, “that all is not as it should be
in this matter.”

“Pooh!” returned Claymore, easily; “you mustn’t mind the howling of
such a wild man. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He won’t hurt
you.”

“Oh! that isn’t what I fear. I don’t like to hear a man talk like that,
because it shows that he believes he has been wronged. There might be
some truth in it. If so, I should be the first to make it right.”

“But there isn’t anything wrong. It was all a plain matter of business.
Hank Low had a lot of land that he couldn’t do anything with. We asked
him his price for it, we had a dicker with him, and he sold. What could
be simpler, or fairer, than that?”

Instead of answering, the clergyman looked over the ground where they
were standing.

It was a level, but rocky, spot between high hills.

No house was in sight, but half a mile farther up the valley was Hank
Low’s cabin.

This spot where they stood had been part of Hank Low’s farm.

He had had a hard struggle trying to make a living out of his land, and
had not succeeded very well.

There was a heavy mortgage to be lifted, besides.

One day a couple of men came to Mason Creek and spent a good deal of
time tramping about the country.

One of them was William Claymore.

After a few days of tramping about, Claymore offered to buy the most
useless part of Hank Low’s farm.

He mentioned the name of Rev. Elijah Judson as a man who was interested
with him in some kind of a plan.

Nothing very definite was said about it, but Low understood that the
clergyman meant to put up a private school for young ladies, and wanted
the land for that purpose.

A deal was made by which Low was able to pay off his mortgage, but
nothing more.

He would have been content with that if he had not discovered, when
it was too late, that the parties who bought his land had no idea of
putting up a school or anything of that sort.

It was at the time when the fact was just becoming known that oil could
be found in great quantities in the far Western lands.

Claymore and his companion, by making secret tests of the soil, had
come to the conclusion that this worthless end of Hank Low’s farm was
the best place in the State for oil wells.

So they bought several acres for next to nothing.

It might be supposed that their next step would be to sink wells and
build a refinery, or a pipe line.

But such things cost money, and neither Claymore nor his partner had
any left to speak of.

They had to raise it, and in this task they had the assistance of the
Rev. Elijah Judson.

The clergyman had not been in Colorado when Hank Low’s land was bought.

In fact, he did not half understand the scheme.

He had not been a success as a preacher, but he had a little money,
some two or three thousand dollars, and Claymore had persuaded him
that with it he could make his fortune in oil.

There was nothing dishonest in discovering oil and digging for it.

If there had been, the clergyman would not have touched the scheme.

Supposing that it was all right, he had put in his money, and had been
made the president of the company.

His name was printed in large type on the letters sent out by Claymore.

These letters were sent to people in the far East, who had been members
of the Rev. Mr. Judson’s church.

They were sent to other places where his name was known, and they told
all about the wonderful discovery of oil.

Friends of the clergyman were to be allowed to invest in the company,
if they wanted a sure thing.

The letters did not state that money was needed for digging the wells
or building a refinery.

Oh, no! Persons who received the letters were given to understand that
this was their chance to get rich quickly.

And the Rev. Elijah Judson’s name as president of the oil company was
enough to make everybody sure that it was all right.

For, of course, the clergyman would not go into any business that was
not perfectly straight and sure.

That was quite the case—at least, the clergyman thought it was. He
meant well, and he really believed that the company was square, and
that there would be great profits in the business.

There were many answers to the letters, and money came in rapidly. Not
many persons invested large amounts, but the sum total was considerable.

All this operation of raising money for the work took several months.

At last the clergyman went to Colorado to look over the plant and do
his share of the work.

He was surprised to find that there wasn’t any plant.

There was the land that had been bought; on it were a few small mounds
of loose dirt to show where borings had been made; and in Denver there
was an office of the company.

Nothing more.

Claymore explained that it took time to get the machinery for sinking
the wells, and Mr. Judson was satisfied.

They went out to the land, and there happened to meet Hank Low, as he
was driving to the city with a small load of farm stuff for the market.

By that time, of course, Low had learned just why his land had been
bought.

The farmer honestly believed that he had been swindled, because nobody
had told him that the land he was selling was very valuable.

“They might have let me in on the deal,” he grumbled. “The land was
mine. S’pose it had been gold they found. Wouldn’t it be swindling to
make me sell it dirt cheap just because I didn’t know what ’twas worth?”

His neighbors told him he mustn’t expect any better treatment in a
business deal.

“But,” he argued, “they sprung the preacher on me, made me believe
there was to be a school there. Ain’t that false pretenses? You bet,
’tis!—an’ ef ever I git my hands on that preacher, I’ll make him
suffer!”

He hadn’t had his hands on the Rev. Elijah Judson, but he had made him
suffer, just the same.

“I hate to be called a swindler,” sighed the clergyman, as he stood
there with Claymore.

“Mr. Judson,” responded Claymore, “business is business, and the man
who gets left in a trade is always sore. That’s all there is to it, and
you mustn’t think anything more about it.”

“Well,” said Mr. Judson, “I’ll try to think it’s all right, but if I
should find that any wrong has been done, I shall insist on making
things right with Low.”

There was a sneering expression on Claymore’s face, but he said
nothing, and they returned to the city.

Mr. Judson found new trouble there. He met one of his old church
members on the street and shook hands with him.

“I didn’t know you were in this part of the country, Mr. Folsom,” said
the clergyman.

“I suppose not,” snapped Mr. Folsom, in reply, “and I presume you’d
have liked it better if I had stayed away.”

“Why! what do you mean?”

“I came out here to look into the oil company I put my money in. That’s
what I mean.”

“Well——”

“There isn’t any well. There ought to be several, but there isn’t one,
and, what’s more, there won’t be any, and what’s more yet, you know it.”

“Why! Brother Folsom——”

“Don’t brother me! You’ve lent your name to a swindle, and you ought to
be ashamed of yourself. I can stand my loss, and it will teach me not
to trust a minister again, but there are others, widows and orphans,
who have put their all into your infernal scheme, and they can’t stand
it. You’ve made them beggars just to fatten yourself.”

The clergyman grew ghastly pale as he listened, and even Claymore, who
was still with him, looked troubled.

“This is dreadful!” gasped Mr. Judson. “I’d die if I believed it to be
half true!”

“Then you’d better die,” retorted Folsom. “That’s all I’ve got to say.
I’ve looked at that wonderful land the company bought, and there isn’t
enough oil in it to fill a lamp. Not a dollar that’s been put into it
will ever be got out again. But you’ll be fairly well off with the
money you’ve got from the widows and orphans—if you don’t get into jail
for swindling.”

With this Mr. Folsom strode away.

“What does it mean?” asked Mr. Judson.

“Sore head, that’s all,” responded Claymore. “He doesn’t know what he’s
talking about——”

“But he seems to. Mr. Claymore, if I find that there has been any
dishonest work in this business I shall expose it all, understand that.
I shall die of the shame of it, but I will not commit suicide until I
have seen that the really guilty parties are punished.”

“Come, Mr. Judson, don’t talk of suicide. That’s foolish. You’re not
used to business, that’s all.”

“It is not all—ah! there’s Mr. Low’s wagon in front of that store. I am
going to speak to him.”

Claymore objected, but the minister was stubborn, and they went into
the store.

Low was there, and the clergyman asked him to call at the hotel to talk
over matters.

“I want to know all the facts,” said Mr. Judson.

“Wal,” answered Low, slowly, “I’ve got some business to attend to, but
ef ye’re in at half-past three I’ll be thar.”

“I shall look for you at that hour.”

It was then about noon, and while they were at dinner Claymore tried
to make the clergyman think that the business was all straight, but
evidently he did not succeed.

“I shall go to my room and think quietly till Low comes,” said Mr.
Judson when they got up from the table, “and I repeat that if all does
not seem to be honest and aboveboard I shall take measures to right the
wrongs that have been done.”

“Go ahead, then,” grumbled Claymore. “I shall be at the office if you
want any information.”

They parted, and did not meet again.

Half-past three came, and, prompt to the minute, Hank Low drove to the
hotel entrance and went in.

Mr. Judson’s room was on the fourth floor, the clerk told him, and
called a boy to show the visitor up.

“Never mind,” said Low, “I’ve been here before, and I know the way.”

He therefore went up alone.

Within five minutes he came down the stairs again, an angry look upon
his face.

He said nothing to anybody, but hastened to his wagon, got in, said,
“Geddap, Jenny,” and drove away as rapidly as the old nag could take
him.

As nearly as anybody could make out, it was just previous to Low’s
departure that two or three persons on a street that ran along one side
of the hotel were fearfully startled by the sight of a man falling
from an upper story window.

He struck head first on the sidewalk, and was instantly killed.

Men were at his side before his heart stopped beating, but no word came
from the unfortunate man’s lips.

He was unknown to those who saw his end, but they knew from the cut of
his clothes that he was a clergyman.

Information was taken to the hotel office at once, and the clerk went
out.

He immediately identified the body as that of a guest of the house, the
Rev. Elijah Judson.




                              CHAPTER X.

                       WAITING FOR NICK CARTER.


In the first horror of this discovery nobody thought of murder.

It was taken for granted that the unfortunate clergyman had been
leaning from his window, and lost his balance.

It was not long, however, before men began to look at the thing in
another way.

The minister’s body was left on the walk under guard of policemen until
an undertaker came to take it away.

Up to that time no friend of the dead man had appeared.

The clerk had been so shocked that he could not remember whom he had
seen with Mr. Judson.

So the hotel manager had engaged the undertaker.

At last the clerk recalled that Judson had been with Claymore early
in the morning, and that the two had dined together in the hotel
restaurant at noon.

Accordingly, a messenger was sent to the oil company’s office to inform
Claymore of what had happened.

It was while the messenger was gone on this errand that a man went into
the hotel, and laid his card on the clerk’s desk.

“Send it up to Mr. Judson, please,” he said.

“Mr. Judson!” gasped the clerk, looking first at the man and then at
his card.

“Yes,” replied the caller, “Rev. Elijah Judson. He’s stopping here,
isn’t he?”

“Yes—that is, he was, Mr.——” The clerk looked at the card. “Mr.
Folsom,” he added, “but he’s—he’s gone.”

“Gone! when?”

“A short time ago—ah! you see, Mr. Folsom, he’s dead!”

“Dead!” cried Folsom, “dead! Mr. Judson dead?”

“Instantly killed, sir.”

Mr. Folsom echoed these words as if he were in a dream.

“What do you mean?” he whispered then; “how did it happen?”

“Nobody knows, sir,” replied the clerk, “except that he pitched
headforemost out of his window. He struck the sidewalk; was just
outside there——”

The clerk’s explanation was not heard by Mr. Folsom.

“Great Heavens!” he gasped, pressing his hand to his brow; “he took me
in earnest and committed suicide.”

“Suicide!”

It was the clerk who repeated the word, but he had not time to say more
when Claymore rushed breathlessly up.

He had caught the last of Folsom’s remark.

“What’s that you say of suicide?” he demanded, excitedly.

Folsom looked at him, blankly.

“I said,” he answered, slowly, “that my old friend had committed
suicide, and I fear it was some hasty, angry words of mine that drove
him to it.”

Claymore looked sharply at the speaker.

He remembered him.

That conversation on the street was not easy to forget, though Claymore
had taken no part in it.

Evidently, Folsom did not remember that he had ever seen Claymore
before.

He had spoken to the clergyman without noticing that a stranger stood
near.

“I think you’re wrong,” said Claymore, still looking straight at Folsom.

“I wish I could think so,” responded Folsom, sadly; “but I spoke to
Judson very harshly. I thought I had reason to be angry, and I guess I
had, but I should not have spoken in that way. I came here just now to
beg his pardon. He said at the time he should die, and I told him he’d
better. Great Heaven! to think that I should have hounded him to his
death!”

Mr. Folsom was terribly distressed.

The crowd that had gathered at the clerk’s desk listened breathlessly.

“You may be entirely right,” said Claymore, quietly, “but I think not.
I heard the conversation you refer to.”

“You heard it?”

“Yes; I was with Mr. Judson at the time.”

“Ah! I didn’t see you. Then you heard his words?”

“I did, and, as I say, you may be right, but I think differently.”

“How can you?” asked Mr. Folsom, eagerly; “if there’s a ray of hope for
a different explanation, in the name of Heaven speak up, man!”

“Mr. Judson had a bitter enemy,” said Claymore.

“An enemy? Do you know this?”

“I heard a man threaten to kill him this morning.”

For an instant Mr. Folsom was too astonished to speak.

He stood with his mouth open, staring at Claymore.

Then he brought his fist down on the clerk’s desk with a bang, and
exclaimed:

“Then, I’ll be responsible for tracking that enemy to the ends of the
earth, if necessary. I’ll telegraph for Nick Carter to come. He’s in
this part of the country, and I can get him here by evening, if not
sooner.”

There was a murmur from the crowd.

Everybody, unless it was Claymore, seemed to think that this would be
the best possible plan.

After a moment, he asked:

“Is Nick Carter a friend of yours?”

“I met him not long ago,” replied Folsom. “He’ll come; I know he’ll
come if he’s not too far away. I can’t rest as long as there’s any
shadow of doubt that I worried poor Judson to his death.”

“The local police on such a plain case,” began Claymore, but Folsom
interrupted:

“I said I’d take the responsibility, and I will. Let the local police
do all they can. It won’t do any harm to have Nick Carter also on the
spot. I’ll wire him at once.”

He reached for a pad of telegraph blanks, and wrote a dispatch, which
he gave to the clerk with a request that it be sent to the office in a
hurry.

A bell boy went off with it on the run.

Then Folsom turned again to Claymore.

“Who is this enemy of Judson’s you speak of?” he asked.

A man who had been quietly listening to the conversation touched
Claymore on the shoulder.

“Don’t answer that question just yet,” he said.

At the same time he pulled aside the lapel of his coat.

Claymore and Folsom both saw a badge pinned to his vest.

“Come into the office a minute, both of you,” added the stranger.

The two men followed him into the hotel manager’s private room, and the
door was closed.

“My name is Kerr,” the stranger said then. “I am a detective, and
belong to the regular force here. I shall be very proud to work with
Nick Carter on this case if he comes, but it is my duty to get ahead
on it, and clear it up before he arrives, if possible.”

“Of course,” responded Claymore.

Folsom nodded.

“Now,” said Detective Kerr, “you may answer this gentleman’s question.
Who is the enemy you refer to?”

“You mean the man I heard threaten Mr. Judson’s life?” asked Claymore,
cautiously.

“Yes.”

“It was a farmer named Hank Low. He lives out beyond Mason Creek a few
miles.”

Kerr made a note of the name.

“What led to the threat?” he asked.

“The men had high words about a business transaction, in which Low
thought he’d been badly used. As a matter of fact, Low was treated with
perfect fairness.”

“But he was hot about it, eh?”

“I should say so!”

“Out there.”

“Near Mason Creek?”

“Yes; on the oil company’s land.”

“Well, do you mean to say that this Hank Low followed Mr. Judson to
the city for the purpose of murdering him?”

“No, I don’t mean to say anything of the kind.”

“Then I don’t see how we can suspect Low. Mason Creek is some miles
away——”

“Yes, but Low was on his way to the city when we saw him.”

“Oh! that’s different. Now perhaps we are getting down to business. The
first question is, did anybody see him in town?”

“I saw his wagon in front of the store,” said Claymore, hesitatingly.

“Why do you hesitate?” demanded the detective sharply.

“Well, just begin to feel that it’s a pretty serious thing to bring a
charge of murder against a man. You see, Low was hot and his tongue was
uncontrollable. I presume he didn’t mean what he said.”

“It isn’t our business to think what he meant,” declared Kerr. “And
we’re not bringing any charge against him. If he’s innocent he can
stand a little inquiry. So you’d better tell all you know frankly, and
not wait till you are examined in court.”

“Oh, I’ll be frank enough,” said Claymore, “I know that Mr. Judson
asked him to call here at half-past three.”

“You ought to have said that before.”

Folsom, who had been listening quietly to the conversation, here
suggested that an investigation should be made to find whether this
Hank Low had been seen in the hotel.

“I was just going to,” said Kerr.

He opened the door, and asked the clerk to step in.

“Do you know anybody named Low?” asked Kerr, when the clerk was with
them.

“Yes,” replied the clerk; “there’s a farmer named Hank Low, from Mason
Creek——”

“That’s the man.”

The clerk said nothing further, and Kerr asked:

“When did you see him last?”

“This afternoon,” was the reply.

“Here?”

“Yes—great Heaven!”

The clerk looked suddenly startled.

“What’s the matter?”

“Why! Hank Low called on Mr. Judson just before he died—or was it
afterward?”

“That’s a mighty important point,” said Kerr, gravely. “Isn’t there any
way by which you can fix the time?”

The clerk thought a moment.

“Yes,” he said, “I can fix it to the minute, but I can’t do it offhand.”

“Why? How can you fix it, then?”

“Just as Low came to the desk a telegraph boy came with a message for a
guest. I had to sign the boy’s book.”

“Yes. Well?”

“I had to enter the time, you know, and I looked up at the clock as I
did so.”

“Did you enter the exact minute?”

“I did.”

“What was it?”

“That I can’t remember.”

“The boy’s book will show?”

“Sure.”

“Then,” said Kerr, rising, “we’ll look up that boy, and also try to
find the exact minute at which Mr. Judson fell or was thrown from the
window.”

The detective cautioned the others to say nothing about their
conversation, and went out to talk with the men who had seen Judson
fall.

They agreed pretty nearly as to the time of the event.

One said twenty-five minutes of four.

The other thought it was two minutes later.

When their watches were compared it was found that one was two minutes
ahead of the other’s.

The testimony of several other persons was taken on this matter, and it
was agreed that twenty-five or twenty-six minutes of four was the time
when Mr. Judson met his death.

A bell boy was quietly questioned also.

He remembered seeing Hank Low leave the hotel office.

“’Twas just after he had gone up alone,” the boy said. “I remember,
’cause the clerk was going to send me up with him, and he saved me a
trip upstairs by going alone.”

This was important, and Kerr asked a number of other questions as to
how it happened that Low went up alone, and so forth.

Next he found a man who remembered seeing Low drive rapidly away.

This man did not know when he was being questioned that Low was
suspected of murder.

“I says, ‘Hello, Hank,’ says I,” he told the detective, “and he said,
‘Hello,’ and got into his wagon.

“‘How’s things up at the farm?’ says I.

“‘Can’t stop to chin,’ says he, kind of mad, and he whipped up his
critter, and went away. Never seen Hank in such a hurry.”

All this was important, and Kerr made a note of the names of all
witnesses.

“I’ll try to show Nick Carter,” he thought, “that I can work up a case.”

He was just about to leave the hotel, when Folsom approached him with a
telegram in his hand.

He gave it to Kerr, who read the one word it contained:

“Coming.”

It was signed “N.C.”

“All right,” said Kerr; “when he gets here I shall probably have the
guilty man in the lockup. He doesn’t say when he will arrive.”

“No,” responded Folsom, “but as this was sent from Pueblo, it shows
that he is on the way. I’ve looked up the trains, and should say that
he’d be here early in the evening.”

“Well, I’m going down to the telegraph office to look up that
messenger’s book. If it gives the time I think it does, I shall start
for Mason Creek without waiting for Carter.”

“I suppose that’s right,” said Folsom.

Kerr was sure it was.

He went to the telegraph office, but was disappointed to learn that the
boy who had the book he needed to see had been sent to a distant part
of the city, and could not be back before six o’clock at the earliest.

Then Kerr was in doubt as to what he ought to do.

“It would make me look like thirty cents,” he reflected, “if I should
arrest Hank Low, and bring him to the city, only to find that the boy’s
book showed that he couldn’t have done the thing.”

“Suppose, for example, the book shows that the clerk signed it at
twenty minutes to four.

“By that time Judson had been dead at least five minutes, and, of
course, Low couldn’t be guilty.

“I think I’ll wait for the boy to get back. Carter may be here by that
time, and I’d rather take his judgment.”

And Kerr left it that way. He went down to the railroad station at a
quarter to six with Folsom, hoping to meet the great detective on the
train due to arrive from Pueblo at that hour.




                              CHAPTER XI.

                        A SUSPECT AND AN ALIBI.


They were not disappointed.

Nick was on the train, and Patsy was with him.

Nick greeted Folsom warmly when they met on the platform, and then he
was introduced to Detective Kerr.

“I’m glad to see you, Mr. Kerr,” said Nick. “I suppose there’s no
mystery about this case?”

“Well, I don’t know,” replied Kerr, doubtfully. “I think not.”

“I thought it was all settled.”

“Settled, Mr. Carter? What do you mean?”

Nick smiled, and glanced at Folsom.

“Usually,” he said, “my friends do not have a brass band to meet me
when I begin to work.”

Folsom started, and looked uncomfortable.

He had heard it said that Nick Carter had a great objection to working
on a case when it was known that he was at work.

“I beg your pardon,” said Folsom, hastily; “I’ve been excited this
afternoon, or I would have sent for you secretly, but there’s no brass
band about it. Mr. Kerr is the only one who knows that you are here.”

“It’s all right, Folsom; don’t worry,” responded Nick, “but I’ll bet
the cigars that more than Mr. Kerr know.”

“You’d win,” said Kerr. “Mr. Folsom spoke of sending for you in the
presence of fifty men.”

“That’s so!” exclaimed Folsom, looking very awkward.

Nick laughed.

“Let it go,” he said, good-humoredly. “I don’t need to bother with the
case if I don’t want to. I presume Mr. Kerr has the hang of it, anyway.
So, unless there is real trouble, Patsy and I can take the night train
for the East.”

“I hope you won’t, Mr. Carter,” said Kerr, earnestly. “I do think that
I can put my hand on the murderer, but I’d like very much to get your
opinion if not your assistance.”

“All right. There’ll be time enough for that while we get dinner
somewhere. Can you take us to a quiet place?”

“We were going to the hotel where the crime was committed. The Western
Union manager is going to send a boy there with a piece of evidence we
need just as soon as the boy gets back from a long errand.”

“Very well,” said Nick; “we’ll go to the hotel, but we won’t go
together, if you please. You and Folsom go back together, and if
anybody asks you about Nick Carter, give them any kind of an evasive
answer you choose, as long as you make them understand that I’m not in
town. Then engage a private room for dinner——”

“We have done that already, Mr. Carter.”

“Good! What’s the number?”

“Fourteen, second floor.”

“Patsy and I will join you there in half an hour unless there’s some
hurry.”

“No,” said Kerr, a little doubtfully, “I don’t believe there’s any
hurry, for we can’t act till we get the messenger boy’s evidence.”

“So long, then.”

Kerr and Folsom left Nick and Patsy inside the station, where they had
met.

“You don’t really hope to conceal the fact that you’re in Denver, do
you, Nick?” asked Patsy.

The great detective smiled.

“When fifty men heard that I was sent for?” he returned, quietly; “not
quite.”

“Then, why do you make such a fuss about it? Why not go along to the
hotel openly?”

“Patsy,” said Nick, as he pretended to consult a pocket time-table, “if
the guilty man was one of that fifty, don’t you think it likely that he
would shadow Folsom and Kerr, and follow them to the station to see if
I came?”

“Yes! I hadn’t thought of that.”

“And if he did so, of course, he’s seen me.”

“Sure.”

“And he wouldn’t follow the others out, but would wait to see what
became of me.”

“That’s it.”

“Well, then——”

“You needn’t say any more, Nick. I see now. I’ve spotted every man who
had been in sight since we stepped off the train.”

“About a dozen of them, eh?”

“Fully that.”

All through this talk each had been carefully looking around the
station, though no one there could have suspected that they were
paying attention to anything but themselves.

In fact, Nick had been taking in the situation from the moment he met
Kerr and Folsom.

“Let’s go into the waiting-room,” he said, as he put away his
time-table, “and buy a cigar and a newspaper.”

As they crossed the large room they watched very carefully to see if
any man was observing their movements.

The crime had happened too late in the afternoon for the regular
editions of the evening papers, but extras were now out, and a big pile
of them had just been brought to the newsstand.

Several men were at the counter buying the papers.

Patsy went to the cigar case, and Nick asked for a paper.

The boy behind the counter was very busy just then.

Nick had to wait his turn, which didn’t trouble him any.

“Mr. Claymore!” the boy called, suddenly; “you forgot your change.”

“Oh! did I?” said a man, who had bought several papers, and was
hurrying away.

He came back and reached his hand across the counter.

“Keep a nickel of it for your honesty,” he said.

“Thankee, Mr. Claymore.”

Nick bought his paper next, and Patsy joined him.

They went slowly to a corner of the waiting-room, and sat down.

“Well?” said Nick, as he unfolded the paper, and began to read about
the death of the Rev. Mr. Judson.

“Well,” repeated Patsy, “there’s nobody around now who was here when we
came.”

“I thought not.”

Nick read for a moment, and then remarked:

“That’s an honest newsboy.”

“Yes,” returned Patsy, who had heard the talk about the forgotten
change.

“The man he spoke to was on the platform when we arrived.”

“He was.”

That was all they said about it.

As a matter of fact, neither of them had the slightest suspicion of
Claymore, any more than they had of any of the dozen others who had
stayed in sight while Kerr and Folsom were there; but they remembered
his face and name.

That was a matter of habit with them.

“Look it over,” said Nick, passing the paper to Patsy.

While the young man read, Nick thought.

At last he said:

“I think we’ll call at the undertaker’s.”

The name of the undertaker who had taken charge of Judson’s body was
printed in the paper, and Nick inquired the way to his place from the
first policeman they met.

There was a crowd of curious idlers at the door, and a man stood there,
who at first was not going to let the detectives in.

“We want to see the body of the clergyman who——” Nick began.

“I know you do!” interrupted the man, crossly, “and so does everybody
else, but you can’t see!”

“Can’t see when I have eyes,” retorted Nick, with a queer smile, and he
pushed by the man into the building.

The man was astonished.

He had not expected this stranger to defy him, and there was something
so commanding in Nick’s quiet way of doing things that he had let both
detectives pass before he knew it.

Then he followed them into the office, blustering:

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“It’s my business to be here,” said Nick, coldly. “I am a detective,
and my name is Nicholas Carter.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the undertaker, and his eyes grew large. He did not
seem to be able to take them off the famous man, of whom he had heard
so much. “Oh!” he added, after a pause.

“If that makes a difference,” said Nick, “you may show us the body.”

“Certainly, anything you want, Mr. Carter. Only too proud.”

He led the way to a back room, and for a minute or two Nick and Patsy
stood there studying the still, cold form.

“Can I do anything more for you?” asked the undertaker, as they turned
away.

“No, thank you.”

“I suppose you’ll see the clergyman’s friend, won’t you?”

“Do you mean Mr. Folsom?”

“Yes, sir. The hotel people, you see, Mr. Carter, told me to take
charge of the body, and I supposed it would be a kind of charity case,
as, of course, the hotel people had no interest in the unfortunate man.
But if Mr. Folsom was his friend, perhaps he’d like to order a better
casket, don’t you see. If——”

“I’ll speak to Mr. Folsom about it.”

“Thank you, sir. Perhaps you’d like to look at some of my caskets, and
advise Mr. Folsom——”

“I’ll leave that to him.”

“Oh! very well, sir; but if you don’t mind speaking to him about the
matter. It would be too bad to bury a clergyman in an ordinary——”

By this time Nick and Patsy were out of hearing.

When they were about halfway to the hotel, Nick remarked:

“It wasn’t suicide.”

“No,” responded Patsy. “I could see that. The thing that killed him was
the breaking of the back of his skull on the sidewalk; but he had a
black and blue mark over the right eye. That wasn’t made by his fall.”

“Certainly not. It was made by the blow that sent him reeling through
the window.”

“That information will make your friend Folsom feel better, won’t it?”

“I judge so, as his telegram told me that he feared suicide, and hoped
that it was murder.

“But,” added Nick, “I don’t think I shall be in a hurry to ease
Folsom’s mind. We’ll wait till we have heard the whole story before
letting him know what we think. It may be handy to give out the report
that we believe it a case of suicide.”

“I’m on,” said Patsy.

They found Kerr and Folsom waiting for them in room fourteen, and they
sat down at once to dinner.

While they were eating, Kerr told the whole story as far as he knew it.

Naturally, he mentioned Claymore’s name as the witness to Hank Low’s
threats.

“Who is this Claymore?” asked Nick, as he lighted a cigar at the end of
the meal.

“He’s a Denver business man,” replied Kerr. “I have no acquaintance
with him. I believe he hasn’t been here more than a year or so.”

“Less than a year, I guess,” said Folsom.

“Why, do you know him?” asked Nick.

“No,” replied Folsom, “except as I have talked with him this afternoon,
but I remember now that his name is on the letters sent out by the oil
company of which Judson was president. Claymore is the secretary of the
concern, I believe.”

“But you hadn’t met him before?”

“No; and I didn’t hear his name till late in the day, and even then
I didn’t connect him with the company, though I remember wondering a
little how he knew so much about poor Judson. You see, I was terribly
excited.”

“No wonder.”

“It worries me a great deal,” continued Folsom, “to think that my angry
words might have led Judson to suicide. He meant well, I am sure of
that, and he was deceived by the rascals as much as the rest of us.”

“Hum!” murmured Nick; “seems to me that’s setting Claymore out in
rather a black light.”

“Yes, it is. I hadn’t given it much thought, for my attention was
taken up with the death of Judson, but I have no doubt that Claymore
is crooked. A dishonest promoter, you know. One of these fellows who
knows how to swindle and keep on the right side of the law. Don’t you
think so?”

“Maybe.”

Folsom looked as if he wished that Nick would say more, but the
detective was silent.

Shortly after this, a waiter came to the room to say that a telegraph
messenger wished to see Mr. Kerr.

“Send him up at once!” exclaimed Kerr.

The boy came in with his book.

“Boss said you wanted to see it,” said he, laying it on the table, and
going out again at once.

Kerr opened the book with great eagerness.

After looking down the columns of names and time marks until he came to
the one he wanted, his eyes glowed with delight, and he passed the book
to Nick, with his finger on a certain line where the hotel clerk’s name
was written.

“There!” he cried, triumphantly; “see that?”

Nick looked.

He saw the clerk’s name in one column, and against it in another column
the figures, “3-31.”

“You see!” added Kerr, too excited to wait for Nick’s opinion, “Hank
Low did it.”

“I see,” responded Nick, slowly, “that Hank Low could have done it.”

The reply disappointed Kerr.

He began to argue, but Nick interrupted.

“Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” he said.

He arose and looked at Patsy.

They withdrew to a corner of the room, and whispered together a moment.

Then Patsy went out.

Nick returned to the table.

“Excuse me,” said Nick, again. “I don’t mean to interfere with your
handling of the case, Mr. Kerr——”

“Oh! bless you!” exclaimed Kerr, “that’s what we all want. You do just
what you think best, Mr. Carter.”

“Thank you. I was going to say that I had forgotten something and sent
my assistant out to look after it. Now, as to this time mark, it is
very important. I can see that.”

“Of course,” said Kerr, encouraged by the great detective’s tone. “The
testimony of the clerk cannot be doubted. Here is the sure testimony
that Hank Low started for Judson’s room four minutes before the man
fell from his window. It is known that Low left the hotel and drove
away just before word was brought in that the man had fallen out. See?”

“Yes.”

“Then do you think we ought to lose any time before arresting Low?”

“Do you say that he lives some eight miles from here?”

“Yes—about eight.”

“If he’s running away, he’s got a pretty good start.”

“All the more reason why we should get after him at once. I declare, I
wish I had run out there and hauled him in before you came.”

“That might have been a good idea, but I don’t believe there’s any use
in hurrying now.”

Neither Kerr nor Folsom could understand Nick’s delay.

The fact was he was waiting for Patsy.

He kept them talking for several minutes, and then Patsy returned.

“Speak out,” said Nick. “I want these gentlemen to hear what you have
to report.”

“Well,” said Patsy, “Claymore was in his office all the time from one
o’clock to ten minutes of four, when a messenger came to tell him of
Judson’s death.”




                             CHAPTER XII.

                      THE JOURNEY TO HANK LOW’S.


Kerr and Folsom stared at each other and at Nick.

They were no fools.

It was clear enough what Patsy’s errand meant.

“Then,” said Folsom, in a low voice, “you suspected Claymore?”

“Oh, no, not exactly,” Nick replied, “but I thought it would be just as
well to make it impossible to suspect him. That was all.”

This remark did not convince either of the men.

“You wouldn’t have gone to this trouble,” said Folsom, “if you hadn’t
believed that he had a motive for the crime.”

“As to motive,” replied Nick, “I can only guess, but if Claymore
is crooked and Judson was straight, isn’t it possible that Judson
threatened an exposure, and that Claymore would try to prevent it?”

Kerr nodded.

“That’s all right,” he said, “but in the face of this evidence,” and he
tapped the messenger’s book.

“It looks very bad for Hank Low,” admitted Nick.

“You think that Claymore set Low up to it?” remarked Folsom.

“Do I?” inquired Nick, mildly.

“Well,” responded Folsom, “what are we to think?”

“Anything you please. I am willing to take hold of this case, but, as I
start under unusual difficulties, I want you to let me go at it in my
own way.”

“Certainly, Mr. Carter,” said Kerr; “but I don’t see the difficulties
with all this evidence——”

Nick raised his hand.

“You’ve done first-rate work, Mr. Kerr,” he said. “The evidence
is sound as far as it goes. But it don’t go quite far enough. The
difficulties I refer to are the fact that so many men know that I am
here, and that the only man who can say that Judson was murdered is
dead.”

“I see.”

It was Kerr who spoke.

Folsom turned pale.

“You think, then,” he said, hoarsely, “that it was not a case of murder
at all?”

“I didn’t say so,” responded Nick; “but this I will say, for, as I am
in it now pretty deep, there’s no use in concealing my thoughts from
you two—but you mustn’t let it go any further.”

“Certainly not, Mr. Carter.”

“Well, then, I don’t believe that Hank Low did it.”

Both Kerr and Folsom stared open-mouthed.

“By thunder!” said Kerr, slowly, “if any man but Nick Carter said
that——”

He hesitated.

“You’d say he was a fool,” remarked Nick.

Kerr laughed uneasily.

“I am afraid I should,” he admitted.

“That’s all right,” said Nick; “you can think that of me just as well
as not, if you want to. Meantime, I’ll go out and get acquainted with
Hank Low.”

“To-night?”

“Now.”

“Won’t you want help?”

“Oh, no. If I don’t come back with him as a voluntary prisoner, Mr.
Kerr, I’ll help you arrest him in the morning and give you all the
credit.”

“Credit be hanged, Mr. Carter! I’m not a jealous idiot.”

“Glad to hear you say so. You will lie low, then, till you hear from me
again?”

“Yes, but if it was any other man——”

“You’d lock him up as a dangerous lunatic. I know. If I’m mistaken,
I’ll own up frankly. Now, tell me the way to Mason Creek.”

Kerr told him and advised him where to get a horse.

“It seems to me,” said Nick, “you’ve described a roundabout way.”

“Yes, the road runs along a crooked valley, and around the base of a
big hill. If it was daylight, I might tell you of a short cut over the
hill, but you wouldn’t be able to keep to the trail in the dark, to say
nothing of the fact that the woods on the hill are not safe just now.”

“Not safe?”

“No. There’s a scare about panthers out that way.”

“Ah! I shall have to keep my revolver handy.”

“It will be as well, but, of course, you’ll stick to the road?”

“Yes, though you might tell me where the trail strikes off.”

“It’s about four miles from here. You pass a perfectly bare ledge a
hundred yards long at your right, and then come to a stream. Instead
of crossing the bridge, you can follow up the stream. In the daytime,
it’s plain enough, and not a bad ride for a good horse.”

“All right.”

Nick then gave some private instructions to Patsy, and left them.

He went to the stable that Kerr had spoken of and hired a horse.

It was about eight in the evening when he galloped away, and at that
hour it was quite dark.

The road took him quickly out of the city, and he was soon in a wild
country, where it would have been easy to imagine that there wasn’t a
town within a hundred miles.

The sky was clear, but the moon had not yet risen.

Nick did not ride hard, for he felt in no hurry.

It was somewhat less than half an hour after he started when he noticed
a long, high ledge at his right.

“Probably the place Kerr spoke of,” he thought.

He was glancing up at it, when his horse suddenly leaped violently.

At the same instant there was a flash and a report from the bushes at
the other side of the road.

Nick’s hat flew from his head.

It had been singed by a rifle bullet.

His hand caught his revolver, but before it was drawn, another shot
came, and the horse staggered.

Nick slipped off quickly.

He ran a few paces and fell.

Then he lay still and watched.

The horse fell in earnest.

He was some two rods from the detective, and, as he did not struggle
after he went down, Nick knew that he had been instantly killed.

Not another sound came from the bushes across the road.

“Confound them!” thought Nick, who was not scratched, except for the
slight mark on his forehead. “Why don’t they come out to make sure of
their business?”

It was clearly a case of murder intended, for, if the unseen villains
had been robbers they would have crept forward to go through the
supposed dead man.

And, of course, it was plain that they knew whom they were firing at.

Nobody would have shot at a stranger like that.

“This,” muttered Nick, “is what comes of starting on a case with a
brass band at the head of the procession.”

He meant by this that he believed the attempt to kill him was connected
with the death of Judson.

“It’s only too easy to see how it happened,” he thought. “Everybody
knew I was sent for, and there isn’t a doubt that my arrival was
spotted.

“Then it was easy to guess that I would go out to look up Hank Low,
and, as this is the only way to his place, they were sure of having a
shot at me.”

Nick listened as he lay there, but could hear no sound of steps on the
other side of the road.

The rushing of the stream a little beyond would have drowned ordinary
noises, so that the would-be murderers could have got away without
being noticed.

Apparently, that was what they did, for the detective neither heard nor
saw them.

He could only guess whether they believed that their shots had done
their work.

While he was waiting the moon rose.

As the sky was perfectly clear the land became almost as light as day.

Nick at last got up cautiously and went to his horse.

The animal had fallen at the side of the road, and so was out of the
way of anyone passing.

Nick took off the saddle and bridle and hid them in the bushes near.

“I’ll pay for the horse,” he thought, “but there’s no sense in giving
the saddle to the first thief who comes along.”

He went back to the spot from which the shots had been fired, and lit
up the place with his pocket lantern.

If the scoundrels had accidentally dropped anything that could serve as
a clew, the detective would have found it.

Nothing was there that could be of any use to him.

He saw traces of footprints on the grass and leaves, but they were too
faint to be measured.

Having satisfied himself on this matter, Nick started on foot to finish
his journey.

When he came to the stream, he did not cross the bridge, but turned
into the trail that Kerr had told him about.

The moon made the path perfectly plain at the start, and Nick took it,
not only to save the long walk around the base of the hill, but to save
time.

For some reasons, he would have liked to go straight back to Denver.

There was no doubt in his mind that his would-be murderers had gone to
the city.

If he was there, he might run across them.

But he believed it to be his first business to have a talk with Hank
Low, and so he went on.

The trail followed along the bank of the stream for some distance, and
then crossed it on a bridge of fallen trees.

After that, it was very steep until it reached the summit of the hill.

Although the trees were rather thick, the moonlight came in on the
eastern slope sufficiently to make the way clear.

It was different when Nick began to descend upon the other side.

That slope was in shadow, for the moon was not high enough to light it,
and more than once he found it difficult to keep on the path.

Once he thought he had lost it, and he was thinking that it would make
him feel rather foolish to get lost at night in these woods.

“Better have kept to the road,” he muttered, standing still.

There was a very steep descent just before him.

He could see hardly anything, but he felt that the ground was dipping
sharply.

At the left there was a ridge of bare rock, and it seemed that the
trail led along the underside of it.

“This must be right,” he argued to himself. “By daylight a horse would
get down here easily enough. It’s the right general direction, anyway,
and I’ll chance it.”

Putting his hands on the bare rock at his left to steady himself, he
went slowly down.

It was not a high ledge, and he had come, as he thought, about to the
bottom, when there was a slight noise behind and almost overhead that
startled him.

His revolver was in his hand instantly.

There was a blinding flash not ten feet in front of him and a deafening
report.

Swish! went a bullet past his face.

Then there was a blood-curdling scream in the air above, and the
detective fell flat under a heavy body.




                             CHAPTER XIII.

                              AN ARREST.


Nick’s breath was knocked out of him, but he was not stunned.

He knew partly what had happened.

It was a wild beast that had borne him to the ground.

Kerr’s remarks about the “panther scare” flashed upon his memory.

Evidently, this beast had sprung upon him from the top of the ledge.

He could feel the great limbs quivering, and one of the claws scratched
his hand.

All this was in a quarter of a second.

In the next second, Nick had exerted all his giant strength, and rolled
the beast over.

He got upon his knees and fired his revolver three times in rapid
succession at the huge carcass that he could feel but not see in front
of him.

Then a rough, surprised voice interrupted him.

“Geewhilikins! how many of ’em be ye, anyway?”

“Only one, stranger,” replied Nick, getting to his feet.

“Gosh! I thought it mought be a regiment by the way ye fired. Got a
double-quick action repeater, ain’t ye?”

Nick did not reply at once.

The beast was still clawing the ground frantically, and he was not sure
that another dose of lead was not necessary.

Then a little flame glowed in the darkness near by.

The man who had spoken to him had struck a match.

He held it first over the dying panther, for such it was, and then
remarked, in a satisfied tone:

“Done for. Four times dead, I reckon.”

Then he took a step forward and held the match close to Nick’s face.

The men looked at each other in silence for a moment.

Nick saw a surprised, honest-looking face—that of a hardy
backwoodsman—and he caught a glimpse of the rifle that the man held
loosely in the hollow of his arm.

The backwoodsman saw a well-dressed tenderfoot, whose coat was torn by
the panther’s claw, whose face was grimed with dirt and smeared with
blood.

“By golly, stranger,” said the backwoodsman, “you’re not jest fit to
enter a beauty show—not but what ye may be a slick-lookin’ chap when
yer face is washed.”

The detective laughed heartily.

“I reckon, pard,” he said, “that you saved my life.”

“Reckon I did,” returned the other, quietly, “but I come close to
killin’ you to do it.”

“I felt your bullet hiss past my face.”

“So? Should ha’ thought that mought have scared ye to death.”

“Oh, no, I’m used to that.”

“You don’t say!”

“But I’m not used to enemies that spring on a man in the dark without
making any noise of warning. That’s what the panther did.”

“Yes, he’d ha’ had ye, sure, ef I hadn’t been here to fire.”

“It was good luck.”

“Wal, I dunno about the luck of it. I was here on purpose. Been
a-lookin’ fer that critter.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; the pesky varmint has been worryin’ the life out of us, and
to-night I jest made up my mind that I’d get him. I was pretty durn
certain he’d be on the trail somewhere, fer there’s enough as comes
over it, you know, to give the scent. I thought he’d be watchin’ fer
prey, but I didn’t have no idee that he’d git a chance at any. That’s
whar I’m s’prised. How come ye here, stranger?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Nick answered; “just explain to me first
how you managed to take that shot in time. I heard the beast springing
just as you fired.”

“Why!” said the backwoodsman, “I was waitin’ here, hopin’ the scent of
me would bring the varmint along, and, of course, I wasn’t makin’ no
noise about it.

“Then I heard steps—your’n, you know—and I was wondering about it as
you come down the steep part of the trail.

“Ef you look up at the top of the ledge thar you’ll see that the risin’
moon makes the top line quite clear.

“Wal, I had my gun up, fer I didn’t know but what you might be an
enemy, when, all of a suddent, I saw a black mass on the clear edge of
the rock up thar.

“I knowed what it was, and the thing jumped.

“Thar wasn’t no time to think about it.

“I knowed the critter had spied you, and was springin’ fer ye, and I
had to fire then, or not at all.

“So I blazed while the beast was in the air.

“It was too late to save you from a knock down, but the critter was
dead when he hit you. Them shots of yours was mighty slick ones,
comin’ as fast as they did, just as ef you was out practicin’ at a
target, but they was good powder and lead throwed away.”

“I can spare the powder and lead,” Nick responded, “and at the time I
couldn’t believe that the panther had been hit in the heart. He was
making a furious struggle.”

“Yes,” drawled the backwoodsman, “it takes them critters some time to
die. But how’d you come here?”

“I was going along the road on horseback when the animal died suddenly.”

“Died!”

“Shot.”

“Gosh!”

“It was meant for me.”

“Huh! Robbers?”

“Perhaps, but they let me alone.”

“Mebbe they knowed you was handy with a gun?”

“I shouldn’t wonder. Anyhow, I had business out this way, so I came
along. I took the trail to save time.”

“So! Business out here, you say.”

“Yes. I’m looking for Hank Low’s place. I presume it’s not much
further, is it?”

“Hank Low’s! No, it ain’t much further—’bout two gunshots.”

There was surprise and suspicion in the man’s tone.

“This trail will bring me there, I suppose,” said Nick.

“’Twill if ye follow it far enough.”

“Then I shall have to go on. I’m much obliged——”

“Hold on, stranger! What’s yer business with Hank Low?”

“I’ll tell that to Low.”

“Then you can tell it to me.”

“Why, are you——”

“Yes, I am. My name’s Hank Low.”

Nick had guessed as much.

He held out his hand in the darkness and grasped that of the man who
had saved his life.

Low returned the grasp rather feebly.

“Mr. Low,” said Nick, “I am more obliged to you than ever.”

“What do you want of me?” demanded Low, in a surly tone.

“I want to talk to you about the land you sold some months ago.”

“Do you belong to the company that bought it?”

The question came quickly, and Low’s voice was harsh.

There was no longer the good-natured tone in which he had spoken while
talking about the panther.

“No,” replied Nick, “I haven’t anything to do with the company. I heard
you were swindled.”

“That was it, stranger!” cried Low; “nothing short of it. People say
I was beat in a business deal, but I’m tellin’ ye it wasn’t a squar’
deal.”

“I’d like to know all about it.”

“What’s yer name?”

“Nicholas.”

“Be you a lawyer?”

“Not exactly, but I may be able to set you right in some ways that you
may not have thought of.”

“Wal, Mr. Nicholas, come down to the house. I’ve got nothin’ to hold
back, and ef you’re interested, you can hear the whole story.”

Low talked as they walked along through the woods.

His voice continued to be harsh, as he told of the trick that had been
played upon him, but Nick saw that Claymore had kept well within the
law.

“It wasn’t fair,” thought the detective, “but it was what would be
called a business deal, and Low was beaten. No wonder he feels sore,
but he can’t do anything about it.”

Of course, Low mentioned the Rev. Elijah Judson in the course of his
story.

His voice was more angry at this point.

“I can’t understand an out-an’-out villain,” said he, “but it seems a
durned sight worse when a preacher takes to swindling, now don’t it,
Mr. Nicholas?”

“I should say so,” replied Nick, “if I was sure that the preacher had
known that the scheme was unfair.”

“Know! How could he help it? Ain’t he president of the company?”

“He was.”

“Was? Ef he ain’t now, then thar’s been a mighty sudden change. Will ye
come into the house, Mr. Nicholas?”

They had come to cleared land at the bottom of the hill, and Low’s
house was plainly seen in the moonlight a few rods away.

None of the windows were lighted.

“No,” said Nick; “your wife and children are asleep by this time, and
we might wake them up. We can talk out here just as well, can’t we?”

“Sure.”

They sat down on a log near a shallow brook that crossed the farm.

The moon rays reflected from the water straight into Nick’s eyes, and
his attention was curiously attracted.

“Must be handy having running water on your place,” he remarked.

“Huh!” returned Low, “that’s whar you reckon wrong. I thought so when I
took this land, and I found out my mistake too late.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Durned ef I know. The cattle won’t drink it, and I don’t like the
taste myself. I’ve had to dig a well up on the hill thar and run the
water to my house and barn through pipes. That cost a good bit, but it
was the only way I could get water that would do.”

They were silent for a moment. Then Low said:

“I seen that cuss, Judson, to-day.”

“So?”

“Yes. He was up here with Claymore in the early morning. I met ’em and
we had a jawin’ match. I spoke pretty hot, I reckon, but I can’t help
it when I think how I’ve been used. Thar’s my wife and children, you
see. I never have been able to give them the nice things I’d like to.
Ef they had let me in on the deal I mought ha’ got money enough to
dress my children right smart and send them to school in the city.”

“What should you say,” suggested Nick, “if you heard that the company
had got left in buying your land.”

“Eh? Got left? What do you mean?”

“Suppose that, after all, the land proves to be as worthless as you
thought?”

“B’gosh! ’twould serve ’em right.”

“I guess that’s the case.”

“Wal, I’m durn glad to hear it, but it don’t make me feel any better
toward those swindlers. I kind o’ thought the preacher chap wanted to
squar’ things, but I found I was mistaken.”

“So? How was that?”

“He met me again in the city, and asked me to call on him at the hotel.
Reckon he had some new, slick scheme up his sleeve.”

“Did you call on him?”

“Yep.”

“Well?”

“He wouldn’t see me.”

“That’s odd.”

“I thought so at the time. I told him I’d be there at half-past three,
and he said he’d wait for me. I was there on time, and I went right up
to his room.”

“What did he say?”

“Say? He didn’t say nothin’. I didn’t see him. He wouldn’t let me in.”

“Did he know you were there?”

“Sure! I knocked, and heard somebody stirrin’ in the room. I’m sure of
that. So, when he didn’t say ‘Come in,’ I knocked again. ‘It’s Hank
Low,’ says I, loud and sharp. ‘Ef you want to see me, speak up quick,
fer I ain’t got any time to waste on ye.’

“Thar wa’n’t no answer to that, so I sung out that he was off, and I
waltzed downstairs fast.

“I was kind o’ ’fraid he might call me back, and I didn’t want to hear
him, for I was as mad as a hornet, and I was afraid that ef him and me
got together thar’d be trouble.”

“Did you leave the hotel at once?”

“Yep. Drove straight home and didn’t see him then, nor since.”

“Did you notice any excitement around the hotel as you drove away?”

“Excitement? Reckon not. A feller I know spoke to me, but I was too durn
mad to answer him decent.”

“But didn’t you notice anything else?”

Low thought a moment.

“Now I think of it,” he said, “I do remember seein’ two or three men
runnin’ down the street at the side of the hotel, but I was so durn mad
that I didn’t turn my head. The hull town mought ha’ been on fire fer
all I cared. I was thinkin’ of how I’d been cheated.”

“I understand.”

If Nick had had any doubt of this man’s innocence it was all gone now.

Low was no actor; just a plain, honest farmer—bullheaded,
quick-tempered and unreasonable, perhaps, but no murderer.

He couldn’t have told his story of the afternoon in that
straightforward way, if he had been guilty.

“Mr. Low,” said Nick, after a pause, “Judson is dead.”

“Dead!” repeated the farmer, in a tone that showed the greatest
surprise. “How long since, Mr. Nicholas?”

“He died while you were at the door to his room.”

“You don’t mean it!”

“He was murdered.”

“Wha-a-a-t!”

“Thrown from his window to the sidewalk.”

“Good Lord! Then that was what those men were runnin’ for.”

“Yes—they went to pick him up.”

The farmer sat with his elbows on his knees, staring open-mouthed at
Nick.

“That’s awful, ain’t it?” he whispered.

“It is,” said Nick, “and there’s something else that is still more
awful.”

He paused, but Low said nothing.

“It is perfectly well known,” Nick added, “that you started up to
Judson’s room just before the deed.”

Low became very attentive, but it was plain that the truth was not
dawning on him yet.

“And that you came down again in a hurry,” added the detective,
“immediately afterward. It is also well known that you threatened Mr.
Judson——”

This was enough.

The light burst upon the honest farmer suddenly.

In the moonlight, his face was ghastly white, and his voice almost
choked, as he said:

“Mr. Nicholas, you don’t mean to set thar an’ tell me thar’s folks as
say I done it?”

“That is what they say,” returned Nick, quietly.

Low groaned, and buried his face in his hands.

“My wife has often told me,” he sobbed, “that that sharp tongue of mine
would git me into trouble. I see! It all fits in like the handle into
an ax.”

“Listen,” said Nick. “There isn’t going to be as much trouble as you
think for. I told you that I was not a lawyer, but that I might be able
to help you. I am a detective, Mr. Low.”

The farmer uncovered his face and looked frightened now.

“I said my name was Nicholas,” the detective went on, “and that was the
truth, but only a part of it. My last name is Carter.”

Low started.

“From New York?” he gasped.

“Yes.”

The farmer shook from head to toes. He laid his trembling hands on
Nick’s arm, and began:

“Mr. Carter, I’ve hearn tell of you, that you’re keen and hard when it
comes to criminals, but you’re straight with innocent men. I swear——”

“You don’t need to,” interrupted Nick; “you are as innocent as I am,
and I know it. I believed it when I started out to see you, but I am
going to arrest you for murder, nevertheless.”

“Mr. Carter! I don’t understand! What will my poor wife say?”

“You needn’t let her know. I want you to understand, though. Suspicion
has been put on you by an enemy of yours. Now, if I lock you up over
night, it will make this enemy believe that I have finished my work.
See?”

“You want to blind him?”

“Yes. Then I can hunt for the real murderer in my own way.”

“All right, Mr. Carter.”

Low was perfectly quiet. He did not talk or act like the hot-tempered
man who had threatened Mr. Judson.

“You can tell your wife,” said Nick, “that a man wants you to go to
the city on business about the land deal. Let her think that some good
luck has come your way. I don’t think you’ll have to disappoint her
afterward. Then hitch up your horse, and we’ll go back together.”

Low agreed to this without argument. He went into the house and was
gone several minutes. Then he went into the barn and hitched up. A
little later, he and the detective were jogging over the road toward
Denver.




                             CHAPTER XIV.

                               SNAPPED.


Kerr was at police headquarters when Nick arrived with his prisoner.

His eyes glowed triumphantly when he saw them come in.

“You got him?” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Nick, “he surrendered when I told him how strong the
evidence was against him.”

“I wonder he hadn’t run away.”

“Well, you see, he didn’t know that a messenger had come in with a
telegram just ahead of him.”

Kerr chuckled.

“This will be a great story for the newspaper fellows,” he said.
“They’ve been here all the evening till about half an hour ago. I told
them to come back later.”

Nick looked thoughtful.

He wondered if it would be necessary to give the honest farmer the
shame of having it printed that he had been arrested for murder.

“I suppose the newspaper boys know that I am on the case,” said Nick.

“Oh, yes—everybody knows it.”

“But they don’t know that I went to Mason Creek?”

“Well, I reckon they’ve guessed it. Newspaper reporters are good at
that, you know.”

“Do they know that Low was under suspicion?”

“Sure! They got that from the hotel clerk.”

“Humph!”

Nick was a little disgusted.

When he handled a case in his own way, hotel clerks and others were not
allowed to tell what they knew, and he took pains that nobody should
know too much, anyway, until he got ready to tell them.

“See here, Kerr,” he said, earnestly, “I’d hold the reporters off for a
time, if I were in your place.”

Kerr glanced at the clock.

It was not far from midnight.

“They’ll be hungry for news pretty soon,” said he.

“And perhaps I can give them a little more, and a better story, if they
wait a bit.”

“Why——”

“Low isn’t the only one.”

“Ah!”

“I want to consult with my assistant before telling about this arrest.”

“You have a clew that you haven’t spoken of, then?”

“Maybe. Just lock Low up without putting anything on the blotter for a
little while. Give me an hour to see what I can do.”

“All right, Mr. Carter, if you say so. But what shall I tell the
reporters?”

“Nothing. I’ll be back inside an hour.”

Nick whispered a few words to Low, telling him to keep his courage up
and his mouth shut, and went away.

He had asked Kerr to wait an hour, without any idea as to what he
should or could do.

Nick felt that he had only got to the beginning of the case.

He was certain of Low’s innocence, though he might not be able to
convince a jury of it.

It was necessary, then, to find the proof of Low’s innocence, as well
as proof that somebody else was guilty.

Who that somebody else was, he could not guess.

He still thought of Claymore, in spite of the alibi that Patsy had
found to be sound.

Claymore evidently had not committed the murder, but that he knew more
than he had told, Nick was certain.

Could any evidence be got in an hour that would save Low from being
published in the papers as a suspected murderer?

Low’s horse and wagon were at the door of the station.

Nick got in and drove to the stable where he had hired a horse.

There he explained what had happened to the horse, paid the damage, and
returned the saddle and bridle that he had picked up on the way back
with his prisoner.

Then he went to the hotel in the hope of finding Patsy.

He made the round of the rooms on the ground floor without finding him.

As he was passing the desk, the clerk spoke to him.

“Excuse me,” said he, “but aren’t you Mr. Carter?”

“I am,” said Nick.

“There’s a young man waiting here to see you. Your assistant told me to
point him out to you as soon as you came in.”

“Where is he?”

“That man sitting near the door with a parcel in his hands.”

Nick went up to the young man.

“Are you waiting for Mr. Carter?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied the young man, rising.

“I am he.”

“Oh! well, sir, I understand you are working on the Judson matter. The
man who is supposed to have committed suicide.”

“I have been looking into it a little.”

“Well, sir, I’ve got something here to show you. I showed it to your
assistant, and he said it would interest you.”

The young man went to undoing his parcel, and three or four idlers drew
near.

“Wait,” said Nick.

He led the young man to the desk and asked for a room.

Shortly afterward, they were in a room alone, and Nick took the parcel.

Unfolding the paper with which it was wrapped, he found a photograph.

It was a clean-cut picture of the Rev. Mr. Judson’s fall from the hotel
window.

Nick looked earnestly at the picture.

“How did you happen to get this?” he asked.

“I am an amateur photographer,” was the reply. “I work in the office
at the top of the building just across the Street from the hotel.
Yesterday I got hold of some new plates that a friend had advised me to
use, but I had no time to try them till this afternoon.”

“And you tried them on this scene?” asked Nick, quickly.

“Without meaning to, yes. You see, I knew it would be Sunday before I
would have time to take any pictures that I cared about, but I wanted
to be sure that the plates were all right.

“So, when there was a dull time in the office work, I got out my
camera, which I had with me, and went to the window.

“There isn’t much of a view from here, but I thought I’d take a couple
of shots at the roofs, just to test the plates.

“I had the camera all ready, when I accidentally touched the button.

“That made me hot, for I had spoiled a plate.

“I pointed it carefully from the best view I could get from there, and
tried again.

“Just as I pushed the button, I heard cries on the street, and, looking
down, saw a man lying on the sidewalk, and several others running
toward him.

“Of course, I went down to see what was the matter.

“It was Mr. Judson.

“Later I went back, and as soon as possible after supper, while there
was yet sunlight, I developed my second plate.

“I didn’t bring that with me, for it wouldn’t interest you. But it came
out so good that I thought I might as well see what I had caught on the
first plate, when the thing went off before I knew.

“That picture in your hand was what I caught.”

He paused, but Nick said nothing, and the young man added:

“I had heard your name mentioned in connection with the matter, and,
as people said it was a case of suicide, I thought I ought to show you
what I had caught.”

Nick drew a long breath.

“Well!” he said, “for once the brass band has been useful. I wanted
to work unknown, but the fact that I am known to be on the case has
brought me a piece of evidence that otherwise I might never have
discovered.”

Again he looked at the picture.

“This lets Low out of it,” he murmured.

Kerr’s theory was that Low had made a mad rush for the clergyman as
soon as he entered the room, pushed him from the window, and then
hurried out and down the stairs.

The amateur photograph showed not only the unfortunate clergyman
falling headforemost toward the sidewalk, but above him the forms of
two men at the window.

They were not looking out, but rather in the act of dodging back.

These two were outlined very dimly, but the picture was clear enough to
show that there were two of them, and that their arms were half-raised,
as would be natural if they had just thrown a body away from them.

Unluckily, the faces were not at all distinct.

Try as he would, and Nick used his magnifying glass, he could not make
them out to his satisfaction.

While he was still studying it, there came a knock at the door, and
Patsy hurried in.

“The clerk told me you were here?” he said. “Well?”

“It’s a good piece of evidence,” responded Nick; “if only this young
man had had a little more luck! We could get along without the picture
of Judson if we only had a clean-cut picture of the two murderers.”

“That’s all right,” said Patsy, confidently, “I know who they are.”

Nick looked quickly at his assistant.

Then he turned to the photographer.

“Will you leave this with us?” he asked. “I shall see that you are well
paid for it.”

“Oh! I don’t care for any pay,” replied the young man. “I shall be glad
if it helps you. Good-night.”

He left them, and Patsy made his report.

“I laid for Claymore, as you told me,” he said, “and after chasing him
around town for a while, I found at last that he had gone to the office
of the oil company. He spent the whole evening there.”

“Well?”

“There was nothing for me to do but stay around. I was pretty sure
that any attempt to find out what Claymore was doing would make him
suspicious. So I didn’t go into the building even, but stayed outside
on the other side of the street.

“It was a dull wait till a while ago.

“Then something happened.

“A man came hurrying up the street and another man after him. I
thought I had seen them both before somewhere, from their motions,
but I couldn’t see their faces in the dark. I suppose I wouldn’t have
bothered to get a closer look, if they hadn’t stopped right in the
entrance to the building where Claymore has his office.

“That interested me, and I crossed over.

“One man was holding the other back.

“‘’Tain’t safe to wait any longer,’ said the one who got there first.

“‘And it ain’t half so safe to try to see him here,’ the other
answered. ‘Don’t be a fool! You see, his windows are still lighted, and
he’s busy. When he gets through, he’ll come, as he said he would. Let
him alone now and come back.’

“They talked a little more back and forth, and finally the second man
got the first one to go away.

“I didn’t know then what they were talking about, and I don’t know
now, but I dropped Claymore for a time and followed those two men.”

“Why?” asked Nick.

“Because I knew them. One was Nat Hamilton, the leader of the gang we
had a tussle with in Helena, and the other was his right-hand man, Jack
Thompson.”




                              CHAPTER XV.

                          DADDY DREW’S DIVE.


“What! those two scoundrels!” cried Nick.

“Yes, you were right when you prophesied that we would come upon them
again.”

Nick looked suddenly at the picture.

“By Jove!” he muttered, “I believes I know them now.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” said Patsy, “but you couldn’t swear to it to
the satisfaction of a jury.”

“True, and the jurymen could look at the picture for themselves, and
see that the likenesses are not there. We’ve got to get more evidence
than this, Patsy. Nobody saw them do the deed. This picture almost
tells the story, but not quite. But go on. You must have more to tell.”

“A little. I shadowed Hamilton and Thompson to a dive where you and I
have been before—Daddy Drew’s.”

“Whew!” whistled Nick. “It means a fight with all the crooks in Denver,
if we go there.”

“Well, that’s where they are, and they’re waiting for Claymore.”

“All right. We’ll go there and get them, then, if we decide we’d better
arrest them. Is that all?”

“Not quite. Knowing they were there to stay, I ran back to Claymore’s
office. He had just put out his lights and was leaving the building.

“He went to police headquarters.”

“Did you go in, too?”

“With a disguise, yes. I saw that Claymore had a private talk with
Kerr. Then he went out again.”

“How did he look?”

“Rocky, but he was saying, ‘Very good,’ and ‘Quite right’ to Kerr.”

“That means that Kerr told him,” said Nick.

“Told him what?” asked Patsy.

“What I have done. He shouldn’t have said a word, but I can understand
how he should make such a slip, for Claymore was the first to direct
suspicion at Hank Low. What became of Claymore?”

“He went home. He lives in a boarding house——”

“We must have him! Come on!”

They left the hotel together hurriedly.

                   *       *       *       *       *

In a corner of Daddy Drew’s dive—the worst place in Denver—sat the two
men who had escaped from Nick Carter in Helena a short time before.

They had liquor in front of them, but they drank little.

Every time the door opened to admit a newcomer, they looked that way
eagerly.

The place was pretty well filled.

All the scum of the city seemed to drift in there, for it was known
that once inside the doors a man need not leave until morning.

Daddy let his customers sleep on the floor, if they had nowhere else to
go.

At last it was closing hour.

The doors were locked, and the curtains pulled tightly across the
windows.

Jack Thompson muttered an oath.

“He’s going to bilk us,” he muttered.

“Not him,” responded Hamilton. “Wait, I tell you. The night’s young
yet. He can’t afford to bilk us, don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t. He might skip——”

“But he’s not suspected! He’s got every reason to stay, for here is
where the money is. He’ll get around before the night is over.”

“I hope he brings his wad with him.”

“He will.”

They were silent for a moment, and then Jack muttered:

“I’d have liked it better if he’d paid us for the other job and not
asked us to tackle the detective.”

“Pooh! what scares you so?”

“Nick Carter. Ain’t that enough?”

“Nick Carter is dead.”

“Do you believe it, Nat?”

“I’m going to tell Claymore so.”

Jack shuddered.

“I see you don’t believe it,” he said; “But I hope Claymore comes along
and believes it. Then he’ll pay us, and we can skip before the cuss
comes to life.”

Nat Hamilton smiled.

“He won’t come to life if he’s dead,” he remarked, coolly, “any more
than the preacher chap will.”

“Ugh!” grunted Jack, and they were silent again.

Not less than thirty men were in the place.

They were fairly quiet, for they knew that loud noise might bring the
police down on the dive, and then their night’s shelter would be closed
up.

But they were a tough lot, and every man of them would have joined in
to help anybody there if a policeman, or a dozen of them, had come in
to make an arrest.

This was so well known that the police usually waited for their men to
come out before trying to arrest them.

There hadn’t been a murder in Daddy Drew’s for a long time, and a tough
present on this night remarked to another that one was about due.

A few minutes after twelve, there was a light knock at the door.

The bartender, who went to it and looked through a slide, came back to
Nat.

“Feller out there askin’ fer youse,” he said.

Both men got up, but Nat pushed Jack back into his chair.

“I’ll see who ’tis,” he said.

He went to the door and looked through the slide.

Claymore’s face appeared there as if it were a picture in a frame.

“He’s all right,” said Nat to the bartender; “friend o’ mine. Let him
in.”

The door was opened, and Nat’s friend came in.

As he went to the back of the room silently with Nat, many curious
glances were cast at him.

“Who is he?” asked one of another.

And those who answered came pretty near to guessing the truth.

“Some fellow,” said they, “who gets others to do his work for him.”

Two or three knew Claymore by sight, and they were not surprised.

“Well?” said the newcomer, when he sat down at the table in the corner,
and three heads were put close together.

“We done it,” said Nat.

“Sure?”

“He’s dead as a nail.”

There was a short pause. Then, in a low voice:

“You lie, Nat.”

Both the criminals started angrily, but they gritted their teeth and
looked at the man, who added:

“He’s just as alive as I am. Less than an hour ago he brought Hank Low
in on a charge of murder.”

“Then,” exclaimed Jack; “it’s all right, ain’t it?”

“No! it isn’t all right. Carter believes that Low is innocent, and he
has arrested him for a bluff. He knows that you did it.”

Jack turned ghastly pale.

Nat looked as if he didn’t believe it.

“He can’t have any evidence against us,” said he.

“He’ll get it. You know Nick Carter.”

“But how can he get it? Nobody saw us.”

“Somebody must have seen you enter the hotel.”

“No,” said Nat, positively; “I swear, Claymore, we got in without being
seen.”

“You haven’t told me how you managed that.”

“No, for you sent us down the road on the chance of a pot shot at the
detective. I’ll tell you. There’s an office building next to the hotel,
you know, with an alley between.”

“Yes.”

“We went in there and found an empty room. It was easy enough to pick
the lock and get in. Then we found that a short board would reach from
the window to an open window in the hotel. Jack went out and swiped
a board from the place where they’re putting up a new building. At
twenty-five minutes past three we put the board out, crawled across
and got to the preacher’s room without meeting anybody.”

“And left the board there?”

“Not on your life!” replied Nat. “We took the board in and hid it in
a closet until we had tumbled the preacher out of the window. Then we
slipped back, returned to the office building by the same way, and so
went down to the street.”

“And left the board——”

“Of course! We weren’t going to lug it around in daylight. What harm
could it do in an empty room?”

“Oh, no harm, of course,” very sarcastically. “Nobody would find it,
and wonder about it; oh, no!”

“What do you mean, Claymore?”

“I mean this: Nick Carter has that infernally sharp Patsy along with
him. I believe you know Patsy.”

“Yes, confound him!”

“So I say! but while Nick went out to get Low, Patsy was nosing around
town. He probably found that board; he probably saw you two fellows,
and knew you; then he put two and two together, and the long and short
of it is that Carter is after you.”

“We’ll be hanged, sure!” groaned Jack.

“There’s only one way out of it, boys.”

“Well?”

“Carter will come here to a dead certainty. He knows the town, and
knows that this is the place where you would most likely hang out.
He’ll come here.”

“Then he’ll get a warm time of it,” said Nat.

“If you think so, stay. But you know the Carters. If you want a chance
to escape, take it now. There’s a train for San Francisco runs through
here in half an hour. You can catch it.”

“Come on,” said Jack, rising.

“Hold on a bit,” said Nat. “Who pays the freight? We haven’t had our
money yet.”

“I’ve got it, but I’ll be hanged myself if I pay you in here. Get out
on the street. I’ll go with you part way to the station, and settle
with you.”

“Don’t wait,” urged Jack.

“That’s good advice. Carter may break in here any minute, or he may
sneak in in disguise. That’s his most likely way, and then you’ll be
nabbed before you know it.”

Nat was rather pale now.

“I’ll give him a fight for it, if he comes,” he muttered, but he got
up, and the three went out.

When they were on the street Nat turned.

“Will you settle now?” he asked.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” was the sharp reply. “Your only safety is
to get away from this place. Walk along toward the railroad. I’ll be
close at your heels until I think it’s safe to stop and settle.”

Nat hesitated.

“Don’t you dare to try to skip without paying!” he hissed, savagely.

“I’ll settle with you both before you get to the station. Get a move
on! Carter may be here the next second.”

The crooks started away, looking back frequently to see that Claymore
was following.

He kept about half a block behind them.

Nobody but themselves seemed to be on the streets.

There was a drunken man staggering along some distance ahead, but he
didn’t count.

He, too, disappeared around a corner before the crooks came to it.

When they were about to pass that corner a quiet voice behind them said:

“This will do. We’ll settle here.”

“All right,” responded Nat.

Both men halted and turned about.

They looked into the muzzles of two revolvers.

The face back of the hands that held the weapons was not that of their
employer, Claymore, but that of their deadly enemy, Nick Carter.




                             CHAPTER XVI.

                           HANK LOW’S LUCK.


Claymore was not in his boarding house when Nick and Patsy arrived
there.

He had come in and gone out shortly afterward.

Where he had gone, or in what direction, nobody could say.

Possibly to Daddy Drew’s to meet the desperadoes he had hired to commit
murder; but Nick didn’t believe it.

“That long work in his office this evening means something else,” said
Nick. “He’s got another plot up his sleeve. I’ll go to Daddy Drew’s and
get those men.”

Accordingly, he had turned his face into a copy of Claymore’s and had
been admitted easily.

Nat had said he would put up a stiff fight if he should meet Carter,
and he kept his word.

Probably he reckoned that the detective would wish to take him alive,
for he did not surrender when he saw the revolver pointed at his heart.

Instead, he made a quick rush at Nick, trying to knock up both his
arms.

The detective was quite ready for that.

It was true that he wished to take the men alive, and he did not fire.

He had hoped they would be scared into quiet surrender.

When the attack came, he dropped both weapons to the sidewalk.

Letting drive with his fists, he caught Nat on the chest, and knocked
the wind out of him.

But the crook did not fall.

He staggered against Jack, who at first was going to give up.

Seeing that the weapons had been dropped, Jack joined in and made a
desperate effort for freedom.

He caught his partner and kept him from falling.

Then both together sailed into the detective.

“Why!” said Nick, with a laugh, “come on, if that’s what you want.”

His arms shot out like lightning flashes, and every blow landed, but
the crooks kept too close for him to give them settlers.

And, after a moment, Jack retreated and drew his revolver.

That was a moment of peril for Nick, as he was busy just then with Nat.

And Nat, seeing the chance, pretended to be knocked down.

This was to give Jack a chance to shoot.

Up came the ruffian’s revolver, but before he could aim, around the
corner rushed the drunken man whom they had seen.

This man threw his arms about Jack’s neck, and bore him silently to the
ground.

“Put the bracelets on him, Patsy,” called Nick.

“They’re on,” replied the “drunken man,” calmly.

Nick had leaped upon Nat, and in a second had him ironed.

“This is the way I settle,” he said, as he stood up.

The prisoners cursed furiously, but if that did them any good nobody
knew it.

Nick picked up his revolvers, and then he and Patsy marched the
prisoners to headquarters.

Kerr was still there, and he was surrounded by eager reporters.

“Here are the murderers,” said Nick. “Low is innocent.”

He produced the amateur’s photograph, and told the story as briefly as
possible.

“The chief villain is yet to be caught,” he concluded. “I think we
shall find the clew to him in his office.”

There was a great deal of excitement at headquarters, and many
questions were asked.

Nick told the reporters to make it plain that Low’s arrest had been a
fake.

“When it’s all settled,” he said, “I’ll give you the details, or you
can get them from Kerr, who deserves a great deal of credit for the way
he picked up evidence. I’ve got work ahead between now and morning.”

Low was released, of course, and he went with Nick, Patsy and Kerr to
Claymore’s office.

Everything seemed to be in order there, but Nick picked the lock of
Claymore’s desk, and found a lot of papers there on which the man had
been at work during the long evening.

There were maps of the country around Mason Creek, some printed, some
roughly drawn with a pencil.

There was also the deed which Low had given to the oil company when he
sold a piece of his land.

Using his magnifying glass, Nick saw that some changes had been made in
the deed.

Words and figures had been carefully scratched out and others inked in.

“I had an idea this was what he was up to,” said Nick. “We shall find
Claymore out at Low’s farm.”

The four men set out for Mason Creek soon after.

Nick went in Low’s wagon, and Patsy and Kerr in one they hired.

When they came to the beginning of the trail, Nick got down and told
the others to drive slowly on.

“I’ll take the short cut,” said he. “You keep on by the road, and if he
escapes me he’ll run into your hands.”

As it was late in the spring, light came early.

The day was beginning to break when Nick passed the dead body of the
panther.

As he approached nearer Low’s house he moved cautiously.

Coming to the edge of the cleared land, he saw a man busy with a shovel
at a little distance.

It was Claymore.

He was digging a hole for the purpose of setting a boundary post in it.

The post had been taken up from a spot some distance farther down the
stream that crossed the farm.

Claymore’s scheme was to change the boundaries of the land bought by
the oil company so that they should include twice as much as had been
bought.

That was why the deed had been changed, and it explained the maps in
Claymore’s desk.

Nick watched the rascal for a few minutes, and then walked toward him.

“Why don’t you put the post up where it will take in Hank Low’s house
and barn?” he asked.

Claymore turned at the sound, and caught up a revolver that was lying
on the ground beside him.

He fired hastily, and the bullet went wild.

Nick had him covered.

“Try again,” said the detective, “if you think you can do your own
murdering.”

As he spoke, he was advancing upon the man.

Claymore gave one desperate look around.

He saw two wagons coming up the road.

Then he dropped his weapon, sat down on the ground, and put his hands
to his face.

“You haven’t as much nerve as I thought you had,” remarked Nick.

He put handcuffs on the prisoner, and waited for the others to come up.

“I can tell you all about it,” said Nick, then. “This man Claymore
found that he had bought land where the oil was scarce. He was
so anxious to get the land cheap that he didn’t dare to prospect
thoroughly. If he had done his work well, he would have seen that the
place for oil wells is further up the stream and nearer Low’s house.

“He found that out after a while, and then schemed to get possession of
the rest of the farm without paying for it.

“Seeing that Judson would expose the crooked work of the company, he
had him murdered by a couple of desperadoes who drifted into Denver
just in time for the job.

“Then he did some forgery work on the deed to make it show that he had
bought a good many acres more than he really had, and to back up the
deed he had to come out here and change the boundary posts.

“His best chance for doing that was while Low was locked up.

“That was why he didn’t go to meet his confederates early at Daddy
Drew’s.

“His confederates have told me all about the murder of Judson, so that
they are sure to be hanged, and one of them, Jack Thompson, is ready to
confess and tell just how Claymore hired them to do the deed.

“Between Jack’s confession and what I heard them say, we have got a
complete case.

“If I was in Hank Low’s place I’d give up farming on land where the
water is covered with oil, and dig wells.

“I noticed the appearance of the water in the stream when I was talking
with Low earlier in the night, and I knew that the place to dig for oil
is near his house.”

It was soon proved that Nick was entirely right.

The upper part of Low’s farm was rich in oil.

The farmer acted more than honestly about it.

With the help of Folsom, who was greatly pleased to learn that the
clergyman had not committed suicide, Low got the names and addresses
of all who had put money into the scheme of which Judson had been
president. And in the end nobody who had invested with the clergyman
lost anything.

No attempt was made to get back the part of the farm that was sold, for
the land wasn’t worth the trouble.

Jack Thompson confessed, but that did not save him from severe
punishment. He was put in prison for life, and Claymore and Hamilton
were hanged.

Nick Carter and his faithful assistant, Patsy, were content at last.


                               THE END.


“Millions at Stake” is the title of NEW MAGNET No. 1210, by Nicholas
Carter. A story in which Nick Carter’s brilliant young assistants all
help to solve a mystery that involves millions in the Stock Exchange.




                          POPULAR COPYRIGHTS

                           New Eagle Series

                   _Carefully Selected Love Stories_


There is such a profusion of good books in this list, that it is an
impossibility to urge you to select any particular title or author’s
work. All that we can say is that any line that contains the complete
works of Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, Charles Garvice, Mrs. Harriet Lewis,
May Agnes Fleming, Wenona Gilman, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, and other
writers of the same type, is worthy of your attention.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

     1—Queen Bess                              By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
     2—Ruby’s Reward                           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
     7—Two Keys                                By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
     9—The Virginia Heiress                       By May Agnes Fleming
    12—Edrie’s Legacy                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    17—Leslie’s Loyalty                             By Charles Garvice
    22—Elaine                                       By Charles Garvice
    24—A Wasted Love                                By Charles Garvice
    41—Her Heart’s Desire                           By Charles Garvice
    44—That Dowdy                              By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    50—Her Ransom                                   By Charles Garvice
    55—Thrice Wedded                           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    66—Witch Hazel                             By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    70—Sydney                                       By Charles Garvice
    73—The Marquis                                  By Charles Garvice
    77—Tina                                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    79—Out of the Past                              By Charles Garvice
    84—Imogene                                      By Charles Garvice
    85—Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold                      By Charles Garvice
    88—Virgie’s Inheritance                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    95—A Wilful Maid                                By Charles Garvice
    98—Claire                                       By Charles Garvice
    99—Audrey’s Recompense                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   102—Sweet Cymbeline                              By Charles Garvice
   109—Signa’s Sweetheart                           By Charles Garvice
   111—Faithful Shirley                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   117—She Loved Him                                By Charles Garvice
   119—’Twixt Smile and Tear                        By Charles Garvice
   122—Grazia’s Mistake                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   130—A Passion Flower                             By Charles Garvice
   133—Max                                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   136—The Unseen Bridegroom                      By May Agnes Fleming
   138—A Fatal Wooing                             By Laura Jean Libbey
   141—Lady Evelyn                                By May Agnes Fleming
   144—Dorothy’s Jewels                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   146—Magdalen’s Vow                             By May Agnes Fleming
   151—The Heiress of Glen Gower                  By May Agnes Fleming
   155—Nameless Dell                           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   157—Who Wins                                   By May Agnes Fleming
   166—The Masked Bridal                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   168—Thrice Lost, Thrice Won                    By May Agnes Fleming
   174—His Guardian Angel                           By Charles Garvice
   177—A True Aristocrat                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   181—The Baronet’s Bride                        By May Agnes Fleming
   188—Dorothy Arnold’s Escape                 By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   199—Geoffrey’s Victory                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   203—Only One Love                                By Charles Garvice
   210—Wild Oats                               By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   213—The Heiress of Egremont                   By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   215—Only a Girl’s Love                           By Charles Garvice
   219—Lost: A Pearle                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   228—The Lily of Mordaunt                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   223—Leola Dale’s Fortune                         By Charles Garvice
   231—The Earl’s Heir                              By Charles Garvice
   233—Nora                                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   236—Her Humble Lover                             By Charles Garvice
   242—A Wounded Heart                              By Charles Garvice
   244—A Hoiden’s Conquest                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   250—A Woman’s Soul                               By Charles Garvice
   255—The Little Marplot                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   257—A Martyred Love                              By Charles Garvice
   266—The Welfleet Mystery                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   267—Jeanne                                       By Charles Garvice
   268—Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake              By Charles Garvice
   272—So Fair, So False                            By Charles Garvice
   276—So Nearly Lost                               By Charles Garvice
   277—Brownie’s Triumph                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   280—Love’s Dilemma                               By Charles Garvice
   282—The Forsaken Bride                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   283—My Lady Pride                                By Charles Garvice
   287—The Lady of Darracourt                       By Charles Garvice
   288—Sibyl’s Influence                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   291—A Mysterious Wedding Ring               By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   292—For Her Only                                 By Charles Garvice
   296—The Heir of Vering                           By Charles Garvice
   299—Little Miss Whirlwind                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   300—The Spider and the Fly                       By Charles Garvice
   303—The Queen of the Isle                      By May Agnes Fleming
   304—Stanch as a Woman                            By Charles Garvice
   305—Led by Love                                  By Charles Garvice
   309—The Heiress of Castle Cliffs               By May Agnes Fleming
   312—Woven on Fate’s Loom, and The Snowdrift      By Charles Garvice
   315—The Dark Secret                            By May Agnes Fleming
   317—Ione                                       By Laura Jean Libbey
   318—Stanch of Heart                              By Charles Garvice
   322—Mildred                                  By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   326—Parted by Fate                             By Laura Jean Libbey
   327—He Loves Me                                  By Charles Garvice
   328—He Loves Me Not                              By Charles Garvice
   330—Aikenside                                By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   333—Stella’s Fortune                             By Charles Garvice
   334—Miss McDonald                            By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   339—His Heart’s Queen                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   340—Bad Hugh. Vol. I.                        By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   341—Bad Hugh. Vol. II.                       By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   344—Tresillian Court                          By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   345—The Scorned Wife                          By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   346—Guy Tresillian’s Fate                     By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   347—The Eyes of Love                             By Charles Garvice
   348—The Hearts of Youth                          By Charles Garvice
   351—The Churchyard Betrothal                By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   352—Family Pride. Vol. I.                         By Mary J. Holmes
   353—Family Pride. Vol. II.                        By Mary J. Holmes
   354—A Love Comedy                                By Charles Garvice
   360—The Ashes of Love                            By Charles Garvice
   361—A Heart Triumphant                           By Charles Garvice
   362—Stella Rosevelt                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   367—The Pride of Her Life                        By Charles Garvice
   368—Won By Love’s Valor                          By Charles Garvice
   372—A Girl in a Thousand                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   373—A Thorn Among Roses.
       Sequel to “A Girl in Thousand”          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   380—Her Double Life                           By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   381—The Sunshine of Love.
       Sequel to “Her Double Life”               By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   382—Mona                                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   391—Marguerite’s Heritage                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   399—Betsey’s Transformation                 By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   407—Esther, the Fright                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   415—Trixy                                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   440—Edna’s Secret Marriage                       By Charles Garvice
   449—The Bailiff’s Scheme                      By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   450—Rosamond’s Love.
       Sequel to “The Bailiff’s Scheme”          By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   451—Helen’s Victory                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   456—A Vixen’s Treachery                       By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   457—Adrift in the World.
       Sequel to “A Vixen’s Treachery”           By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   458—When Love Meets Love                         By Charles Garvice
   464—The Old Life’s Shadows                    By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   465—Outside Her Eden.
       Sequel to “The Old Life’s Shadows”        By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   474—The Belle of the Season                   By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   475—Love Before Pride.
       Sequel to “The Belle of the Season”       By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
   481—Wedded, Yet No Wife                        By May Agnes Fleming
   489—Lucy Harding                             By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
   495—Norine’s Revenge                           By May Agnes Fleming
   511—The Golden Key                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   512—A Heritage of Love.
       Sequel to “The Golden Key”              By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   519—The Magic Cameo                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   520—The Heatherford Fortune.
       Sequel to “The Magic Cameo”             By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   531—Better Than Life                             By Charles Garvice
   542—Once In a Life                               By Charles Garvice
   548—’Twas Love’s Fault                           By Charles Garvice
   553—Queen Kate                                   By Charles Garvice
   554—Step by Step                            By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   557—In Cupid’s Chains                            By Charles Garvice
   630—The Verdict of the Heart                     By Charles Garvice
   635—a Coronet of Shame                           By Charles Garvice
   640—A Girl of Spirit                             By Charles Garvice
   645—A Jest of Fate                               By Charles Garvice
   648—Gertrude Elliott’s Crucible             By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   650—Diana’s Destiny                              By Charles Garvice
   655—Linked by Fate                               By Charles Garvice
   663—Creatures of Destiny                         By Charles Garvice
   671—When Love Is Young                           By Charles Garvice
   676—My Lady Beth                            By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   679—Gold in the Gutter                           By Charles Garvice
   712—Love and a Lie                               By Charles Garvice
   721—A Girl from the South                        By Charles Garvice
   730—John Hungerford’s Redemption            By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   741—The Fatal Ruby                               By Charles Garvice
   749—The Heart of a Maid                          By Charles Garvice
   758—The Woman in It                              By Charles Garvice
   774—Love in a Snare                              By Charles Garvice
   775—My Love Kitty                                By Charles Garvice
   776—That Strange Girl                            By Charles Garvice
   777—Nellie                                       By Charles Garvice
   778—Miss Estcourt; or Olive                      By Charles Garvice
   818—The Girl Who Was True                        By Charles Garvice
   826—The Irony of Love                            By Charles Garvice
   896—A Terrible Secret                          By May Agnes Fleming
   897—When To-morrow Came                        By May Agnes Fleming
   904—A Mad Marriage                             By May Agnes Fleming
   905—A Woman Without Mercy                      By May Agnes Fleming
   912—One Night’s Mystery                        By May Agnes Fleming
   913—The Cost of a Lie                          By May Agnes Fleming
   920—Silent and True                            By May Agnes Fleming
   921—A Treasure Lost                            By May Agnes Fleming
   925—Forrest House                                 By Mary J. Holmes
   926—He Loved Her Once                             By Mary J. Holmes
   930—Kate Danton                                By May Agnes Fleming
   931—Proud as a Queen                           By May Agnes Fleming
   935—Queenie Hetherton                             By Mary J. Holmes
   936—Mightier Than Pride                           By Mary J. Holmes
   940—The Heir of Charlton                       By May Agnes Fleming
   941—While Love Stood Waiting                   By May Agnes Fleming
   945—Gretchen                                      By Mary J. Holmes
   946—Beauty That Faded                             By Mary J. Holmes
   950—Carried by Storm                           By May Agnes Fleming
   951—Love’s Dazzling Glitter                    By May Agnes Fleming
   954—Marguerite                                    By Mary J. Holmes
   955—When Love Spurs Onward                        By Mary J. Holmes
   960—Lost for a Woman                           By May Agnes Fleming
   961—His to Love or Hate                        By May Agnes Fleming
   964—Paul Ralston’s First Love                     By Mary J. Holmes
   965—Where Love’s Shadows Lie Deep                 By Mary J. Holmes
   968—The Tracy Diamonds                            By Mary J. Holmes
   969—She Loved Another                             By Mary J. Holmes
   972—The Cromptons                                 By Mary J. Holmes
   973—Her Husband Was a Scamp                       By Mary J. Holmes
   975—The Merivale Banks                            By Mary J. Holmes
   978—The One Girl in the World                    By Charles Garvice
   979—His Priceless Jewel                          By Charles Garvice
   982—The Millionaire’s Daughter
       and Other Stories                            By Charles Garvice
   983—Doctor Hathern’s Daughters                    By Mary J. Holmes
   984—The Colonel’s Bride                           By Mary J. Holmes
   988—Her Ladyship’s Diamonds,
       and Other Stories                              By Chas. Garvice
   998—Sharing Her Crime                          By May Agnes Fleming
   999—The Heiress of Sunset Hall                 By May Agnes Fleming
  1004—Maude Percy’s Secret                       By May Agnes Fleming
  1005—The Adopted Daughter                       By May Agnes Fleming
  1010—The Sisters of Torwood                     By May Agnes Fleming
  1015—A Changed Heart                            By May Agnes Fleming
  1016—Enchanted                                  By May Agnes Fleming
  1025—A Wife’s Tragedy                           By May Agnes Fleming
  1026—Brought to Reckoning                       By May Agnes Fleming
  1027—A Madcap Sweetheart                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  1028—An Unhappy Bargain                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1029—Only a Working Girl                        By Geraldine Fleming
  1030—The Unbidden Guest                  By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1031—The Man and His Millions                     By Ida Reade Allen
  1032—Mabel’s Sacrifice                       By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1033—Was He Worth It?                           By Geraldine Fleming
  1034—Her Two Suitors                                By Wenona Gilman
  1035—Edith Percival                             By May Agnes Fleming
  1036—Caught in the Snare                        By May Agnes Fleming
  1037—A Love Concealed                         By Emma Garrison Jones
  1038—The Price of Happiness              By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1039—The Lucky Man                              By Geraldine Fleming
  1040—A Forced Promise                             By Ida Reade Allen
  1041—The Crime of Love                             By Barbara Howard
  1042—The Bride’s Opals                        By Emma Garrison Jones
  1043—Love That Was Cursed                       By Geraldine Fleming
  1044—Thorns of Regret                    By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1045—Love Will Find the Way                         By Wenona Gilman
  1046—Bitterly Atoned                        By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1047—Told in the Twilight                         By Ida Reade Allen
  1048—A Little Barbarian                        By Charlotte Kingsley
  1049—Love’s Golden Spell                        By Geraldine Fleming
  1050—Married in Error                    By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1051—If It Were True                                By Wenona Gilman
  1052—Vivian’s Love Story                    By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1053—From Tears to Smiles                         By Ida Reade Allen
  1054—When Love Dawns                            By Adelaide Stirling
  1055—Love’s Earnest Prayer                      By Geraldine Fleming
  1056—The Strength of Love                By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1057—A Lost Love                                    By Wenona Gilman
  1058—The Stronger Passion                      By Lillian R. Drayton
  1059—What Love Can Cost                            By Evelyn Malcolm
  1060—At Another’s Bidding                         By Ida Reade Allen
  1061—Above All Things                           By Adelaide Stirling
  1062—The Curse of Beauty                        By Geraldine Fleming
  1063—Her Sister’s Secret                 By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1064—Married in Haste                               By Wenona Gilman
  1065—Fair Maid Marian                         By Emma Garrison Jones
  1066—No Man’s Wife                                By Ida Reade Allen
  1067—A Sacrifice to Love                        By Adelaide Stirling
  1068—Her Fatal Gift                             By Geraldine Fleming
  1069—Her Life’s Burden                   By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1070—Evelyn, the Actress                            By Wenona Gilman
  1071—Married for Money                       By Lucy Randall Comfort
  1072—A Lost Sweetheart                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1073—A Golden Sorrow                         By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1074—Her Heart’s Challenge                         By Barbara Howard
  1075—His Willing Slave                         By Lillian R. Drayton
  1076—A Freak of Fate                          By Emma Garrison Jones
  1077—Her Punishment                             By Laura Joan Libbey
  1078—The Shadow Between Them            By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  1079—No Time for Penitence                          By Wenona Gilman
  1080—Norma’s Black Fortune                        By Ida Reade Allen
  1081—A Wilful Girl                           By Lucy Randall Comfort
  1082—Love’s First Kiss                        By Emma Garrison Jones
  1083—Lola Dunbar’s Crime                           By Barbara Howard
  1084—Ethel’s Secret                          By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1085—Lynette’s Wedding                   By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1086—A Fair Enchantress                           By Ida Reade Allen
  1087—The Tide of Fate                               By Wenona Gilman
  1088—Her Husband’s Other Wife                 By Emma Garrison Jones
  1089—Hearts of Stone                            By Geraldine Fleming
  1090—In Love’s Springtime                       By Laura Jean Libbey
  1091—Love at the Loom                           By Geraldine Fleming
  1092—What Was She to Him?                By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1093—For Another’s Fault                     By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1094—Hearts and Dollars                           By Ida Reade Allen
  1095—A Wife’s Triumph                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1096—A Bachelor Girl                             By Lucy May Russell
  1097—Love and Spite                             By Adelaide Stirling
  1098—Leola’s Heart                           By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1099—The Power of Love                          By Geraldine Fleming
  1100—An Angel of Evil                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1101—True to His Bride                        By Emma Garrison Jones
  1102—The Lady of Beaufort Park                      By Wenona Gilman
  1103—A Daughter of Darkness                       By Ida Reade Allen
  1104—My Pretty Maid                      By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1105—Master of Her Fate                         By Geraldine Fleming
  1106—A Shadowed Happiness                 By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1107—John Elliott’s Flirtation                   By Lucy May Russell
  1108—A Forgotten Love                           By Adelaide Stirling
  1109—Sylvia, The Forsaken                    By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1110—Her Dearest Love                           By Geraldine Fleming
  1111—Love’s Greatest Gift                 By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1112—Mischievous Maid Faynie                    By Laura Jean Libbey
  1113—In Love’s Name                           By Emma Garrison Jones
  1114—Love’s Clouded Dawn                            By Wenona Gilman
  1115—A Blue Grass Heroine                         By Ida Reade Allen
  1116—Only a Kiss                         By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1117—Virgie Talcott’s Mission                    By Lucy May Russell
  1118—Her Evil Genius                            By Adelaide Stirling
  1119—In Love’s Paradise                      By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1120—Sold for Gold                              By Geraldine Fleming
  1121—Andrew Leicester’s Love              By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1122—Taken by Storm                           By Emma Garrison Jones
  1123—The Mills of the Gods                          By Wenona Gilman
  1124—The Breath of Slander                        By Ida Reade Allen
  1125—Loyal Unto Death                    By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1126—A Spurned Proposal                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1127—Daredevil Betty                               By Evelyn Malcolm
  1128—Her Life’s Dark Cloud                     By Lillian R. Drayton
  1129—True Love Endures                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1130—The Battle of Hearts                       By Geraldine Fleming
  1131—Better Than Riches                             By Wenona Gilman
  1132—Tempted By Love                      By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1133—Between Good and Evil                   By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1134—A Southern Princess                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  1135—The Thorns of Love                            By Evelyn Malcolm
  1136—A Married Flirt                     By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1137—Her Priceless Love                         By Geraldine Fleming
  1138—My Own Sweetheart                              By Wenona Gilman
  1139—Love’s Harvest                         By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1140—His Two Loves                                By Ida Reade Allen
  1141—The Love He Sought                        By Lillian R. Drayton
  1142—A Fateful Promise                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1143—Love Surely Triumphs                  By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1144—The Haunting Past                             By Evelyn Malcolm
  1145—Sorely Tried                             By Emma Garrison Jones
  1146—Falsely Accused                            By Geraldine Fleming
  1147—Love Given in Vain                     By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1148—No One to Help Her                           By Ida Reade Allen
  1149—Her Golden Secret                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1150—Saved From Herself                         By Adelaide Stirling
  1151—The Gypsy’s Warning                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  1152—Caught in Love’s Net                         By Ida Reade Allen
  1153—The Pride of My Heart                      By Laura Jean Libbey
  1154—A Vagabond Heiress                    By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1155—That Terrible Tomboy                       By Geraldine Fleming
  1156—The Man She Hated                   By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1157—Her Fateful Choice                      By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1158—A Hero For Love’s Sake               By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1159—A Penniless Princess                     By Emma Garrison Jones
  1160—Love’s Rugged Pathway                        By Ida Reade Allen
  1161—Had She Loved Him Less                     By Laura Jean Libbey
  1162—The Serpent and the Dove              By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1163—What Love Made Her                         By Geraldine Fleming
  1164—Love Conquers Pride                 By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1165—His Unbounded Faith                     By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1166—A Heart’s Triumph                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1167—Stronger than Fate                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  1168—A Virginia Goddess                           By Ida Reade Allen
  1169—Love’s Young Dream                         By Laura Jean Libbey
  1170—When Fate Decrees                      By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1171—For a Flirt’s Love                         By Geraldine Fleming
  1172—All For Love                        By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1173—Could He Have Known                    By Charlotte May Stanley
  1174—The Girl He Loved                          By Adelaide Stirling
  1175—They Met By Chance                           By Ida Reade Allen
  1176—The Lovely Constance                       By Laura Jean Libbey
  1177—The Love That Prevailed                By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1178—Trixie’s Honor                             By Geraldine Fleming
  1179—Driven from Home                               By Wenona Gilman
  1180—The Arm of the Law                            By Evelyn Malcolm
  1181—A Will of Her Own                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1182—Pity—Not Love                             By Laura Jean Libbey
  1183—Brave Barbara                        By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1184—Lady Gay’s Martyrdom                  By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1185—Barriers of Stone                              By Wenona Gilman
  1186—A Useless Sacrifice                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  1187—When We Two Parted                  By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1188—Far Above Price                               By Evelyn Malcolm
  1189—In Love’s Shadows                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1190—The Veiled Bride                           By Laura Jean Libbey
  1191—The Love Knot                         By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1192—She Scoffed at Love                    By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1193—Life’s Richest Jewel                   By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1194—A Barrier Between Them                        By Evelyn Malcolm
  1195—Too Quickly Judged                           By Ida Reade Allen
  1196—Lotta, the Cloak Model                     By Laura Jean Libbey
  1197—Loved at Last                              By Geraldine Fleming
  1198—They Looked and Loved               By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1199—The Wiles of a Siren                 By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1200—Tricked Into Marriage                         By Evelyn Malcolm
  1201—Her Twentieth Guest                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  1202—From Dreams to Waking                  By Charlotte M. Kingsley
  1203—Sweet Kitty Clover                         By Laura Jean Libbey
  1204—Selina’s Love Story                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1205—The Cost of Pride                         By Lillian R. Drayton
  1206—Love Is a Mystery                      By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1207—When Love Speaks                              By Evelyn Malcolm
  1208—A Siren’s Heart                      By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1209—Her Share of Sorrow                            By Wenona Gilman
  1210—The Other Girl’s Lover                    By Lillian R. Drayton
  1211—The Fatal Kiss                      By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  1212—A Reckless Promise                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  1213—Without Name or Wealth                       By Ida Reade Allen
  1214—At Her Father’s Bidding                    By Geraldine Fleming
  1215—The Heart of Hetta                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1216—A Dreadful Legacy                          By Geraldine Fleming
  1217—For Jack’s Sake                          By Emma Garrison Jones
  1218—One Man’s Evil                       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1219—Through the Shadows                    By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  1220—The Stolen Bride                              By Evelyn Malcolm
  1221—When the Heart Hungers                  By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1222—The Love that Would Not Die                  By Ida Reade Allen
  1223—A King and a Coward                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1224—A Queen of Song                            By Geraldine Fleming
  1225—Shall We Forgive Her?                 By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1226—Face to Face with Love                    By Lillian R. Drayton
  1227—Long Since Forgiven                    By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1228—As Light as Air                         By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1229—When Man Proposes                        By Emma Garrison Jones
  1230—Wedded for Wealth                         By Lillian R. Drayton
  1231—Only Love’s Fancy                            By Ida Reade Allen
  1232—Alone with Her Sorrow                 By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1233—Her Life’s Desire                       By Mrs E. Burke Collins
  1234—For Her Husband’s Love                  By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1235—Bound by Gratitude                        By Lillian R. Drayton
  1236—A Splendid Man                       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1237—The Vanished Heir                       By Mrs E. Burke Collins
  1238—Somebody Loves Me!                           By Ida Reade Allen
  1239—A Question of Honor                   By Charlotte May Kingsley
  1240—No Mother To Guide Her                  By Mrs E. Burke Collins
  1241—The Seed of Hate                              By Evelyn Malcolm
  1242—A Wife Yet No Wife                        By Lillian R. Drayton

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1927.

  1243—One of Life’s Roses                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  1244—With Beauty Beaming                      By Emma Garrison Jones


                   To be published in August, 1927.

  1245—She Could Not Forsake Him                      By Grace Garland
  1246—After She Promised                     By Adelaide Fox Robinson


                  To be published in September, 1927.

  1247—Bewitched                                     By Evelyn Malcolm
  1248—His Love for Her                           By Geraldine Fleming


                   To be published in October, 1927.

  1249—Between Love and Conscience             By Charlotte M. Stanley
  1250—The Web of Life                              By Ida Reade Allen
  1251—Love’s Bitter Harvest                By Effie Adelaide Rowlands


                  To be published in November, 1927.

  1252—Just for a Title                         By Emma Garrison Jones
  1253—A Little Impostor                     By Charlotte May Kingsley


                  To be published in December, 1927.

  1254—The Wife He Chose                      By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  1255—The Wine of Love                          By Lillian R. Drayton




                     ROMANCES THAT PLEASE MILLIONS

                        The Love Story Library

                   _This Popular Writer’s Favorites_


There is unusual charm and fascination about the love stories of Ruby
M. Ayres that give her writings a universal appeal. Probably there
is no other romantic writer whose books are enjoyed by such a wide
audience of readers. Her stories have genuine feeling and sentiment,
and this quality makes them liked by those who appreciate the true
romantic spirit. In this low-priced series, a choice selection of Miss
Ayres’ best stories is offered.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

                           By RUBY M. AYRES

   1—Is Love Worth While?
   2—The Black Sheep
   3—The Waif’s Wedding
   4—The Woman Hater
   5—The Story of an Ugly Man
   6—The Beggar Man
   7—The Long Lane to Happiness
   8—Dream Castles
   9—The Highest Bidder
  10—Love and a Lie
  11—The Love of Robert Dennison
  12—A Man of His Word
  13—The Master Man
  14—Nobody’s Lover
  15—For Love
  16—The Remembered Kiss
  17—The Littl’st Lover
  18—Amid Scarlet Roses
  19—The One Who Forgot
  20—Sacrificial Love
  21—The Imperfect Lover
  22—By the Gate of Pity
  23—The Scarred Heart
  24—The Winds of the World
  25—The Second Honeymoon
  26—The Uphill Road

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1927.

  27—The Man Without a Heart                          By Ruby M. Ayres
  28—The Phantom Lover                                By Ruby M. Ayres


                   To be published in August, 1927.

  29—The Rose of Yesterday                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  30—As Pictured in Dreams                            By Ruby M. Ayres
  31—Her Second Marriage                               By Viola Tyrell


                  To be published in September, 1927.

  32—The Dancing Master                               By Ruby M. Ayres
  33—A Life’s Love                          By Effie Adelaide Rowlands


                   To be published in October, 1927.

  34—The Ring on her Hand                              By Viola Tyrell
  35—The Fortune Hunter                               By Ruby M. Ayres


                  To be published in November, 1927.

  36—The Triumph of Love                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  37—The Woman Pays                                    By Viola Tyrell


                  To be published in December, 1927.

  38—The Little Lady in Lodgings                      By Ruby M. Ayres
  39—Why Did She Shun Him?                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands




                          BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN

                           MERRIWELL SERIES

                        ALL BY BURT L. STANDISH

                  Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell

                   Fascinating Stories of Athletics


A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers will
attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures of
two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves, as well as with
the rest of the world.

These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports and
athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be
of immense benefit to every boy who reads them.

They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition to become a
good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous,
right-thinking man.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

    1—Frank Merriwell’s School Days
    2—Frank Merriwell’s Chums
    3—Frank Merriwell’s Foes
    4—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West
    5—Frank Merriwell Down South
    6—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery
    7—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour
    8—Frank Merriwell in Europe
    9—Frank Merriwell at Yale
   10—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield
   11—Frank Merriwell’s Races
   12—Frank Merriwell’s Party
   13—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour
   14—Frank Merriwell’s Courage
   15—Frank Merriwell’s Daring
   16—Frank Merriwell’s Alarm
   17—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes
   18—Frank Merriwell’s Skill
   19—Frank Merriwell’s Champions
   20—Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale
   21—Frank Merriwell’s Secret
   22—Frank Merriwell’s Danger
   23—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty
   24—Frank Merriwell in Camp
   25—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation
   26—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise
   27—Frank Merriwell’s Chase
   28—Frank Merriwell in Maine
   29—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle
   30—Frank Merriwell’s First Job
   31—Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity
   32—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck
   33—Frank Merriwell’s Protégé
   34—Frank Merriwell on the Road
   35—Frank Merriwell’s Own Company
   36—Frank Merriwell’s Fame
   37—Frank Merriwell’s College Chums
   38—Frank Merriwell’s Problem
   39—Frank Merriwell’s Fortune
   40—Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian
   41—Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity
   42—Frank Merriwell’s Stage Hit
   43—Frank Merriwell’s Great Scheme
   44—Frank Merriwell in England
   45—Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards
   46—Frank Merriwell’s Duel
   47—Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot
   48—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories
   49—Frank Merriwell’s Confidence
   50—Frank Merriwell’s Auto
   51—Frank Merriwell’s Fun
   52—Frank Merriwell’s Generosity
   53—Frank Merriwell’s Tricks
   54—Frank Merriwell’s Temptation
   55—Frank Merriwell on Top
   56—Frank Merriwell’s Luck
   57—Frank Merriwell’s Mascot
   58—Frank Merriwell’s Reward
   59—Frank Merriwell’s Phantom
   60—Frank Merriwell’s Faith
   61—Frank Merriwell’s Victories
   62—Frank Merriwell’s Iron Nerve
   63—Frank Merriwell in Kentucky
   64—Frank Merriwell’s Power
   65—Frank Merriwell’s Shrewdness
   66—Frank Merriwell’s Setback
   67—Frank Merriwell’s Search
   68—Frank Merriwell’s Club
   69—Frank Merriwell’s Trust
   70—Frank Merriwell’s False Friend
   71—Frank Merriwell’s Strong Arm
   72—Frank Merriwell as Coach
   73—Frank Merriwell’s Brother
   74—Frank Merriwell’s Marvel
   75—Frank Merriwell’s Support
   76—Dick Merriwell at Fardale
   77—Dick Merriwell’s Glory
   78—Dick Merriwell’s Promise
   79—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue
   80—Dick Merriwell’s Narrow Escape
   81—Dick Merriwell’s Racket
   82—Dick Merriwell’s Revenge
   83—Dick Merriwell’s Ruse
   84—Dick Merriwell’s Delivery
   85—Dick Merriwell’s Wonders
   86—Frank Merriwell’s Honor
   87—Dick Merriwell’s Diamond
   88—Frank Merriwell’s Winners
   89—Dick Merriwell’s Dash
   90—Dick Merriwell’s Ability
   91—Dick Merriwell’s Trap
   92—Dick Merriwell’s Defense
   93—Dick Merriwell’s Model
   94—Dick Merriwell’s Mystery
   95—Frank Merriwell’s Backers
   96—Dick Merriwell’s Backstop
   97—Dick Merriwell’s Western Mission
   98—Frank Merriwell’s Rescue
  99—Frank Merriwell’s Encounter
  100—Dick Merriwell’s Marked Money
  101—Frank Merriwell’s Nomads
  102—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron
  103—Dick Merriwell’s Disguise
  104—Dick Merriwell’s Test
  105—Frank Merriwell’s Trump Card
  106—Frank Merriwell’s Strategy
  107—Frank Merriwell’s Triumph
  108—Dick Merriwell’s Grit
  109—Dick Merriwell’s Assurance
  110—Dick Merriwell’s Long Slide
  111—Frank Merriwell’s Rough Deal
  112—Dick Merriwell’s Threat
  113—Dick Merriwell’s Persistence
  114—Dick Merriwell’s Day
  115—Frank Merriwell’s Peril
  116—Dick Merriwell’s Downfall
  117—Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit
  118—Dick Merriwell Abroad
  119—Frank Merriwell in the Rockies
  120—Dick Merriwell’s Pranks
  121—Frank Merriwell’s Pride
  122—Frank Merriwell’s Challengers
  123—Frank Merriwell’s Endurance
  124—Dick Merriwell’s Cleverness
  125—Frank Merriwell’s Marriage
  126—Dick Merriwell, the Wizard
  127—Dick Merriwell’s Stroke
  128—Dick Merriwell’s Return
  129—Dick Merriwell’s Resource
  130—Dick Merriwell’s Five
  131—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers
  132—Dick Merriwell’s Polo Team
  133—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils
  134—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy
  135—Dick Merriwell’s Home Run
  136—Dick Merriwell’s Dare
  137—Frank Merriwell’s Son
  138—Dick Merriwell’s Team Mate
  139—Frank Merriwell’s Leaguers
  140—Frank Merriwell’s Happy Camp
  141—Dick Merriwell’s Influence
  142—Dick Merriwell, Freshman
  143—Dick Merriwell’s Staying Power
  144—Dick Merriwell’s Joke
  145—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman
  146—Frank Merriwell’s Horse
  147—Dick Merriwell’s Regret
  148—Dick Merriwell’s Magnetism
  149—Dick Merriwell’s Backers
  150—Dick Merriwell’s Best Work
  151—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust
  152—Dick Merriwell’s Debt
  153—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery
  154—Dick Merriwell Adrift
  155—Frank Merriwell’s Worst Boy
  156—Dick Merriwell’s Close Call
  157—Frank Merriwell’s Air Voyage
  158—Dick Merriwell’s Black Star
  159—Frank Merriwell in Wall Street
  160—Frank Merriwell Facing His Foes
  161—Dick Merriwell’s Stanchness
  162—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Case
  163—Dick Merriwell’s Stand
  164—Dick Merriwell Doubted
  165—Frank Merriwell’s Steadying Hand
  166—Dick Merriwell’s Example
  167—Dick Merriwell in the Wilds
  168—Frank Merriwell’s Ranch
  169—Dick Merriwell’s Way

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1927.

  170—Frank Merriwell’s Lesson
  171—Dick Merriwell’s Reputation


                    To be published in Aug., 1927.

  172—Frank Merriwell’s Encouragement
  173—Dick Merriwell’s Honors


                    To be published in Sept., 1927.

  174—Frank Merriwell’s Wizard
  175—Dick Merriwell’s Race


                    To be published in Oct., 1927.

  176—Dick Merriwell’s Star Play
  177—Frank Merriwell at Phantom Lake
  178—Dick Merriwell a Winner


                    To be published in Nov., 1927.

  179—Dick Merriwell at the County Fair
  180—Frank Merriwell’s Grit


                    To be published in Dec., 1927.

  181—Dick Merriwell’s Power
  182—Frank Merriwell in Peru




                        RATTLING GOOD ADVENTURE

                             SPORT STORIES

                     _Stories of the Big Outdoors_


There has been a big demand for outdoor stories, and a very
considerable portion of it has been for the Maxwell Stevens stories
about Jack Lightfoot, the athlete.

These stories are not, strictly speaking, stories for boys, but boys
everywhere will find a great deal in them to interest them.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

   1—Jack Lightfoot, the Athlete
   2—Jack Lightfoot’s Crack Nine
   3—Jack Lightfoot Trapped
   4—Jack Lightfoot’s Rival
   5—Jack Lightfoot in Camp
   6—Jack Lightfoot’s Canoe Trip
   7—Jack Lightfoot’s Iron Arm
   8—Jack Lightfoot’s Hoodoo
   9—Jack Lightfoot’s Decision
  10—Jack Lightfoot’s Gun Club
  11—Jack Lightfoot’s Blind
  12—Jack Lightfoot’s Capture
  13—Jack Lightfoot’s Head Work
  14—Jack Lightfoot’s Wisdom




                         A CARNIVAL OF ACTION

                           ADVENTURE LIBRARY

                  Splendid, Interesting, Big Stories


This line is devoted exclusively to a splendid type of adventure story,
in the big outdoors. There is really a breath of fresh air in each of
them, and the reader who pays fifteen cents for a copy of this line
feels that he has received his money’s worth and a little more.

The authors of these books are experienced in the art of writing, and
know just what the up-to-date American reader wants.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

                        By WILLIAM WALLACE COOK

   1—The Desert Argonaut
   2—A Quarter to Four
   3—Thorndyke of the Bonita
   4—A Round Trip to the Year 2000
   5—The Gold Gleaners
   6—The Spur of Necessity
   7—The Mysterious Mission
   8—The Goal of a Million
   9—Marooned in 1492
  10—Running the Signal
  11—His Friend the Enemy
  12—In the Web
  13—A Deep Sea Game
  14—The Paymaster’s Special
  15—Adrift in the Unknown
  16—Jim Dexter, Cattleman
  17—Juggling with Liberty
  18—Back from Bedlam
  19—A River Tangle
  20—Billionaire Pro Tem
  21—In the Wake of the Scimitar
  22—His Audacious Highness
  23—At Daggers Drawn
  24—The Eighth Wonder
  25—The Cat’s-Paw
  26—The Cotton Bag
  27—Little Miss Vassar
  28—Cast Away at the Pole
  29—The Testing of Noyes
  30—The Fateful Seventh
  31—Montana
  32—The Deserter
  33—The Sheriff of Broken Bow
  34—Wanted: A Highwayman
  35—Frisbie of San Antone
  36—His Last Dollar
  37—Fools for Luck
  38—Dare of Darling & Co.
  39—Trailing “The Josephine”
  40—The Snapshot Chap                               By Bertram Lebhar
  41—Brothers of the Thin Wire                        By Franklin Pitt
  42—Jungle Intrigue                                By Edmond Lawrence
  43—His Snapshot Lordship                           By Bertram Lebhar
  44—Folly Lode                                   By James F. Dorrance
  45—The Forest Rogue                             By Julian G. Wharton
  46—Snapshot Artillery                              By Bertram Lebhar
  47—Stanley Holt, Thoroughbred                        By Ralph Boston
  48—The Riddle and the Ring                         By Gordon McLaren
  49—The Black Eye Snapshot                          By Bertram Lebhar
  50—Bainbridge of Bangor                         By Julian G. Wharton
  51—Amid Crashing Hills                            By Edmond Lawrence
  52—The Big Bet Snapshot                            By Bertram Lebhar
  53—Boots and Saddles                              By J. Aubrey Tyson
  54—Hazzard of West Point                          By Edmond Lawrence
  55—Service Courageous                          By Don Cameron Shafer
  56—On Post                                         By Bertram Lebhar
  57—Jack Cope, Trooper                               By Roy Fessenden
  58—Service Audacious                           By Don Cameron Shafer
  59—When Fortune Dares                               By Emerson Baker
  60—In the Land of Treasure                          By Barry Wolcott
  61—A Soul Laid Bare                         By J. Kenilworth Egerton
  62—Wireless Sid                                   By Dana R. Preston
  63—Garrison’s Finish                              By W.B.M. Ferguson
  64—Bob Storm of the Navy               By Ensign Lee Tempest, U.S.N.

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1927.

  65—Golden Bighorn                            By William Wallace Cook
  66—The Square Deal Garage                        By Burt L. Standish


                   To be published in August, 1927.

  67—Ridgway of Montana                           By Wm. MacLeod Raine
  68—The Motor Wizard’s Daring                     By Burt L. Standish
  69—The Presidential Snapshot                       By Bertram Lebhar


                  To be published in September, 1927.

  70—The Sky Pilot                                 By Burt L. Standish
  71—An Innocent Outlaw                        By William Wallace Cook


                   To be published in October, 1927.

  72—The Motor Wizard’s Mystery                    By Burt L. Standish
  73—From Copy Boy to Reporter                       By W. Bert Foster


                  To be published in November, 1927.

  74—The Motor Wizard’s Strange Adventure          By Burt L. Standish
  75—Lee Blake, Trolley Man                 By Roland Ashford Phillips


                  To be published in December, 1927.

  76—The Motor Wizard’s Clean-up                   By Burt L. Standish
  77—Rogers of Butte                           By William Wallace Cook


  When you get the
  S & S Novels you
  get the best!




                     _NOTE THE NEW TITLES LISTED_

                         Western Story Library

                   For Everyone Who Likes Adventure


Ted Strong and his band of broncho-busters have most exciting
adventures in this line of attractive big books, and furnish the reader
with an almost unlimited number of thrills.

If you like a really good Western cowboy story, then this line is made
expressly for you.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

   1—Ted Strong, Cowboy                            By Edward C. Taylor
   2—Ted Strong Among the Cattlemen                By Edward C. Taylor
   3—Ted Strong’s Black Mountain Ranch             By Edward C. Taylor
   4—Ted Strong With Rifle and Lasso               By Edward C. Taylor
   5—Ted Strong Lost in the Desert                 By Edward C. Taylor
   6—Ted Strong Fighting the Rustlers              By Edward C. Taylor
   7—Ted Strong and the Rival Miners               By Edward C. Taylor
   8—Ted Strong and the Last of the Herd           By Edward C. Taylor
   9—Ted Strong on a Mountain Trail                By Edward C. Taylor
  10—Ted Strong Across the Prairie                 By Edward C. Taylor
  11—Ted Strong Out For Big Game                   By Edward C. Taylor
  12—Ted Strong, Challenged                        By Edward C. Taylor
  13—Ted Strong’s Close Call                       By Edward C. Taylor
  14—Ted Strong’s Passport                         By Edward C. Taylor
  15—Ted Strong’s Nebraska Ranch                   By Edward C. Taylor
  16—Ted Strong’s Cattle Drive                     By Edward C. Taylor
  17—Ted Strong’s Stampede                         By Edward C. Taylor
  18—Ted Strong’s Prairie Trail                    By Edward C. Taylor
  19—Ted Strong’s Surprise                         By Edward C. Taylor
  20—Ted Strong’s Wolf Hunters                     By Edward C. Taylor
  21—Ted Strong’s Crooked Trail                    By Edward C. Taylor
  22—Ted Strong in Colorado                        By Edward C. Taylor
  23—Ted Strong’s Justice                          By Edward C. Taylor
  24—Ted Strong’s Treasure                         By Edward C. Taylor
  25—Ted Strong’s Search                           By Edward C. Taylor
  26—Ted Strong’s Diamond Mine                     By Edward C. Taylor
  27—Ted Strong’s Manful Task                      By Edward C. Taylor
  28—Ted Strong, Manager                           By Edward C. Taylor
  29—Ted Strong’s Man Hunt                         By Edward C. Taylor
  30—Ted Strong’s Gold Mine                        By Edward C. Taylor
  31—Ted Strong’s Broncho Boys                     By Edward C. Taylor
  32—Ted Strong’s Wild Horse                       By Edward C. Taylor
  33—Ted Strong’s Tenderfoot                       By Edward C. Taylor
  34—Ted Strong’s Stowaway                         By Edward C. Taylor
  35—Ted Strong’s Prize Herd                       By Edward C. Taylor
  36—Ted Strong’s Trouble                          By Edward C. Taylor
  37—Ted Strong’s Mettle                           By Edward C. Taylor
  38—Ted Strong’s Big Business                     By Edward C. Taylor
  39—Ted Strong’s Treasure Cave                    By Edward C. Taylor
  40—Tod Strong’s Vanishing Island                 By Edward C. Taylor
  41—Ted Strong’s Motor Car                        By Edward C. Taylor
  42—Ted Strong in Montana                         By Edward C. Taylor
  43—Ted Strong’s Contract                         By Edward C. Taylor
  44—Ted Strong’s Stolen Pinto                     By Edward C. Taylor
  45—Ted Strong’s Saddle Pard                      By Edward C. Taylor
  46—Ted Strong and the Sioux Players              By Edward C. Taylor
  47—Ted Strong’s Bronchos                         By Edward C. Taylor
  48—Ted Strong’s Ranch War                        By Edward C. Taylor
  49—Ted Strong and the Cattle Raiders             By Edward C. Taylor
  50—Ted Strong’s Great Round-up                   By Edward C. Taylor
  51—Ted Strong’s Big Horn Trail                   By Edward C. Taylor
  52—Ted Strong in Bandit Cañon                    By Edward C. Taylor
  53—Ted Strong at Z-Bar Ranch                     By Edward C. Taylor
  54—Ted Strong’s Cattle Feud                      By Edward C. Taylor
  55—Ted Strong’s Border Battle                    By Edward C. Taylor
  56—Ted Strong on U.P. Duty                       By Edward C. Taylor

                   *       *       *       *       *

 We have arranged with the author, Edward C. Taylor, to continue the
 stories, and the following, therefore, are new stories, right up to
 the minute. They are going to make a big hit, for we have abundant
 proof in the way of letters that readers of paper books are strong for
 Ted Strong.

                   *       *       *       *       *

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1927.

  57—Ted Strong’s Lariat Duel                      By Edward C. Taylor
  58—Ted Strong’s Vigilantes                       By Edward C. Taylor


                   To be published in August, 1927.

  59—Ted Strong’s Mesa Foe                         By Edward C. Taylor
  60—Ted Strong Tries Prospecting                  By Edward C. Taylor


                  To be published in September, 1927.

  61—Ted Strong’s Desert Round-up                  By Edward C. Taylor
  62—Ted Strong at Lost Gulch                      By Edward C. Taylor


                   To be published in October, 1927.

  63—Ted Strong on an Outlaw’s Trail               By Edward C. Taylor
  64—Ted Strong and the Two-Gun Men                By Edward C. Taylor
  65—Ted Strong’s Rodeo Ride                       By Edward C. Taylor


                  To be published in November, 1927.

  66—Ted Strong’s Ivory-Handled Gun                By Edward C. Taylor
  67—Ted Strong’s Redskin Pal                      By Edward C. Taylor


                  To be published in December, 1927.

  68—Ted Strong and the Sagebrush Kid              By Edward C. Taylor
  69—Ted Strong’s Rustler Round-up                 By Edward C. Taylor




                     _TALES OF THE ROLLING PLAINS_

                         Great Western Library

               By COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM and W.B. LAWSON

                          Thrilling Adventure


For many years we have been urged by readers who like Western stories
to publish some tales about the adventures of Diamond Dick. Therefore,
we decided to have a new series of stories based upon the adventures of
this famous Western character, and to put them in a line called GREAT
WESTERN LIBRARY, together with stories about Buffalo Bill, by Col.
Prentiss Ingraham.

Thus, in this line two of the most famous of all American characters
join hands. The so-called society stories with a kick in them come
and go, but these clean, wholesome tales of the West give a clean-cut
picture of the lives and characters of the men who carried the advance
banners of civilization westward.

There are Indian stories, cowboy stories, outlaw stories, all sorts of
stories of adventures out West. Each one is clean and decent, even if
it is thrilling.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

   1—Diamond Dick’s Own Brand                           By W.B. Lawson
   2—Buffalo Bill’s Honor                    By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   3—Diamond Dick’s Maverick                            By W.B. Lawson
   4—Buffalo Bill’s Phantom Hunt             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   5—Diamond Dick’s Man Hunt                            By W.B. Lawson
   6—Buffalo Bill’s Fight with Fire          By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   7—Diamond Dick’s Danger Signal                       By W.B. Lawson
   8—Buffalo Bill’s Danite Trail             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
   9—Diamond Dick’s Prospect                            By W.B. Lawson
  10—Buffalo Bill’s Ranch Riders             By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  11—Diamond Dick and the Gold Bugs                     By W.B. Lawson
  12—Buffalo Bill’s Death Trail              By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  13—Diamond Dick at Comet City                         By W.B. Lawson

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1927.

  14—Buffalo Bill’s Trackers                 By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  15—Diamond Dick and the Worthless Bonanza             By W.B. Lawson


                   To be published in August, 1927.

  16—Buffalo Bill’s Mid-air Flight           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  17—Diamond Dick’s Black List                          By W.B. Lawson


                  To be published in September, 1927.

  18—Buffalo Bill, Ambassador                By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  19—Diamond Dick and the Indian Outlaw                 By W.B. Lawson


                   To be published in October, 1927.

  20—Buffalo Bill’s Air Voyage               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  21—Diamond Dick and Gentleman Jack                    By W.B. Lawson


                  To be published in November, 1927.

  22—Buffalo Bill’s Secret Mission           By Col. Prentiss Ingraham
  23—Diamond Dick at Secret Pass                        By W.B. Lawson
  24—Buffalo Bill’s Long Trail               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham


                  To be published in December, 1927.

  25—Diamond Dick’s Red Trailer                         By W.B. Lawson
  26—Buffalo Bill Against Odds               By Col. Prentiss Ingraham




                       BOOKS THAT NEVER GROW OLD

                             Alger Series

                   Clean Adventure Stories for Boys

                   The Most Complete List Published


The following list does not contain all the books that Horatio Alger
wrote, but it contains most of them, and certainly the best.

Horatio Alger is to boys what Charles Dickens is to grown-ups. His
work is just as popular to-day as it was years ago. The books have a
quality, the value of which is beyond computation.

There are legions of boys of foreign parents who are being helped
along the road to true Americanism by reading these books which
are so peculiarly American in tone that the reader cannot fail to
absorb some of the spirit of fair play and clean living which is so
characteristically American.

In this list will be included certain books by Edward Stratemeyer,
Oliver Optic, and other authors who wrote the Alger type of stories,
which are equal in interest and wholesomeness with those written by the
famous author after which this great line of books for boys is named.


                     _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

                         By HORATIO ALGER, Jr.

    1—Driven from Home
    2—A Cousin’s Conspiracy
    3—Ned Newton
    4—Andy Gordon
    5—Tony, the Tramp
    6—The Five Hundred Dollar Check
    7—Helping Himself
    8—Making His Way
    9—Try and Trust
   10—Only an Irish Boy
   11—Jed, the Poorhouse Boy
   12—Chester Rand
   13—Grit, the Young Boatman of Pine Point
   14—Joe’s Luck
   15—From Farm Boy to Senator
   16—The Young Outlaw
   17—Jack’s Ward
   18—Dean Dunham
   19—In a New World
   20—Both Sides of the Continent
   21—The Store Boy
   22—Brave and Bold
   23—A New York Boy
   24—Bob Burton
   25—The Young Adventurer
   26—Julius, the Street Boy
   27—Adrift in New York
   28—Tom Brace
   29—Struggling Upward
   30—The Adventures of a New York Telegraph Boy
   31—Tom Tracy
   32—The Young Acrobat
   33—Bound to Rise
   34—Hector’s Inheritance
   35—Do and Dare
   36—The Tin Box
   37—Tom, the Bootblack
   38—Risen from the Ranks
   39—Shifting for Himself
   40—Wait and Hope
   41—Sam’s Chance
   42—Striving for Fortune
   43—Phil, the Fiddler
   44—Slow and Sure
   45—Walter Sherwood’s Probation
   46—The Trials and Triumphs of Mark Mason
   47—The Young Salesman
   48—Andy Grant’s Pluck
   49—Facing the World
   50—Luke Walton
   51—Strive and Succeed
   52—From Canal Boy to President
   53—The Erie Train Boy
   54—Paul, the Peddler
   55—The Young Miner
   56—Charlie Codman’s Cruise
   57—A Debt of Honor
   58—The Young Explorer
   59—Ben’s Nugget
   60—The Errand Boy
   61—Frank and Fearless
   62—Frank Hunter’s Peril
   63—Adrift in the City
   64—Tom Thatcher’s Fortune
   65—Tom Turner’s Legacy
   66—Dan, the Newsboy
   67—Digging for Gold
   68—Lester’s Luck
   69—In Search of Treasure
   70—Frank’s Campaign
   71—Bernard Brook’s Adventures
   72—Robert Coverdale’s Struggles
   73—Paul Prescott’s Charge
   74—Mark Manning’s Mission
   75—Rupert’s Ambition
   76—Sink or Swim
   77—The Backwoods Boy
   78—Tom Temple’s Career
   79—Ben Bruce
   80—The Young Musician
   81—The Telegraph Boy
   82—Work and Win
   83—The Train Boy
   84—The Cash Boy
   85—Herbert Carter’s Legacy
   86—Strong and Steady
   87—Lost at Sea
   88—From Farm to Fortune
   89—Young Captain Jack
   90—Joe, the Hotel Boy
   91—Out for Business
   92—Falling in with Fortune
   93—Nelson, the Newsboy
   94—Randy of the River
   95—Jerry, the Backwoods Boy
   96—Ben Logan’s Triumph
   97—The Young Book Agent
  168—Luck and Pluck
  169—Ragged Dick
  170—Fame and Fortune
  171—Mark, the Match Boy
  172—Rough and Ready
  173—Ben, the Luggage Boy
  174—Rufus and Rose


                         By EDWARD STRATEMEYER

   98—The Last Cruise of _The Spitfire_
   99—Reuben Stone’s Discovery
  100—True to Himself
  101—Richard Dare’s Venture
  102—Oliver Bright’s Search
  103—To Alaska for Gold
  104—The Young Auctioneer
  105—Bound to Be an Electrician
  106—Shorthand Tom
  107—Fighting for His Own
  108—Joe, the Surveyor
  109—Larry, the Wanderer
  110—The Young Ranchman
  111—The Young Lumberman
  112—The Young Explorers
  113—Boys of the Wilderness
  114—Boys of the Great Northwest
  115—Boys of the Gold Field
  116—For His Country
  117—Comrades in Peril
  118—The Young Pearl Hunters
  119—The Young Bandmaster
  120—Boys of the Fort
  121—On Fortune’s Trail
  122—Lost in the Land of Ice
  123—Bob, the Photographer


                            By OLIVER OPTIC

  124—Among the Missing
  125—His Own Helper
  126—Honest Kit Dunstable
  127—Every Inch a Boy
  128—The Young Pilot
  129—Always in Luck
  130—Rich and Humble
  131—In School and Out
  132—Watch and Wait
  133—Work and Win
  134—Hope and Have
  135—Haste and Waste
  136—Royal Tarr’s Pluck
  137—The Prisoners of the Cave
  138—Louis Chiswick’s Mission
  139—The Professor’s Son
  140—The Young Hermit
  141—The Cruise of _The Dandy_
  142—Building Himself Up
  143—Lyon Hart’s Heroism
  144—Three Young Silver Kings
  145—Making a Man of Himself
  146—Striving for His Own
  147—Through by Daylight
  148—Lightning Express
  149—On Time
  150—Switch Off
  151—Brake Up
  152—Bear and Forbear
  153—The “Starry Flag”
  154—Breaking Away
  155—Seek and Find
  156—Freaks of Fortune
  157—Make or Break
  158—Down the River
  159—The Boat Club
  160—All Aboard
  161—Now or Never
  162—Try Again
  163—Poor and Proud
  164—Little by Little
  165—The Sailor Boy
  166—The Yankee Middy
  167—Brave Old Salt
  175—Fighting for Fortune                             By Roy Franklin
  176—The Young Steel Worker                     By Frank H. MacDougal
  177—The Go-ahead Boys                               By Gale Richards
  178—For the Right                                    By Roy Franklin
  179—The Motor Cycle Boys                           By Donald Grayson
  180—The Wall Street Boy                          By Allan Montgomery
  181—Stemming the Tide                                By Roy Franklin
  182—On High Gear                                   By Donald Grayson
  183—A Wall Street Fortune                        By Allan Montgomery
  184—Winning by Courage                               By Roy Franklin
  185—From Auto to Airship                           By Donald Grayson
  186—Camp and Canoe                                 By Remson Douglas
  187—Winning against Odds                             By Roy Franklin
  188—The Luck of Vance Sevier                     By Frederick Gibson

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.


                    To be published in July, 1927.

  189—The Island Castaway                              By Roy Franklin
  190—The Boy Marvel                             By Frank H. MacDougal
  191—A Boy With a Purpose                             By Roy Franklin


                   To be published in August, 1927.

  192—The River Fugitives                            By Remson Douglas
  193—Out For a Fortune                                By Roy Franklin


                  To be published in September, 1927.

  194—The Boy Horse Owner                          By Frederick Gibson
  195—Always on Deck                                   By Roy Franklin


                   To be published in October, 1927.

  196—Paul Hassard’s Peril                               By Matt Royal
  197—His Own Master                                   By Roy Franklin


                  To be published in November, 1927.

  198—When Courage Wins                             By Edward S. Ellis
  199—Bound to Get There                               By Roy Franklin


                  To be published in December, 1927.

  200—Who Was Milton Marr?                         By Frederick Gibson
  201—The Lost Mine                                    By Roy Franklin
  202—Larry Borden’s Redemption                       By Emerson Baker




                                 VALUE


Although literature is generally regarded as more or less of a luxury,
there is such a thing as getting your money’s worth, and a little more,
in the way of literature.

For seventy years the firm of STREET & SMITH has specialized in the
publication of fiction. During all this time everything bearing our
imprint represented good value for the money.

When, about thirty years ago, we began the publication of a series of
paper bound books, which has since become world famous by the name
of “The S & S Novel,” we did our best to publish the right sort of
fiction. The sales of these books proved that we have succeeded in
interesting and pleasing the American reading public.

There are over 1,800 different titles in our catalogue, and every title
above reproach from every standpoint. The STREET & SMITH NOVEL has been
rightly called the fiction of the masses.

Do not be deceived by books which look like the STREET & SMITH NOVELS
but which are made like them only in looks. Insist upon having paper
covered books bearing the imprint of STREET & SMITH, and so be sure of
securing full value for your money.


                      STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
                  79 Seventh Avenue :: New York City




                              The Dealer


who handles the STREET & SMITH NOVELS is a man worth patronizing. The
fact that he does handle our books proves that he has considered the
merits of paper-covered lines, and has decided that the STREET & SMITH
NOVELS are superior to all others.

He has looked into the question of the morality of the paper-covered
book, for instance, and feels that he is perfectly safe in handing one
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Therefore, the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer is a careful and wise
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has for sale with the same degree of intelligence as he does his
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Deal with the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer.


                      STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
                  79 Seventh Avenue :: New York City





End of Project Gutenberg's The Photographer's Evidence, by Nicholas Carter

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 62010 ***