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If not correct you have not been 6 MONEHS, «66050. 000ssvceevcess $1.25 1 copy two years.-...--+---.+--+ 4,00 properly credited, and should let us know at once. ‘ No. 106. NEW YORK, August 8, 1914. Price Five Cents. MERRIWELL V CHAPTER I. BASEBALL MEDICINE. An old Indian, wearing a stovepipe hat that flaunted a red feather, was hopping solemnly about on the base- ball grounds at Palo Verde, as Dick Merriwell came strolling by with Jim Reedy. “Who's the native doing the cakewalk?” _ Dick laughed. “That’s my Indian friend, Joe Crowfoot. . be making medicine.” “Oh, an Indian,” said Reedy; Mexican! Look at that feather.” ) . “He is pretending that he doesn’t know I am approach- 7 ing; he will be very much astonished when he notices us. He must have something up his sleeve, for he is doing one of his sacred dances around the home plate.” Reedy looked with increased interest at the grotesque, . gyrating figure. ot “Does that redskin know anything about baseball?” he _ asked. “He’s a fiend for baseball—crazy over it. My guess “now is that he wants me to get up a game here in Palo _ Verde. Dick Merriwell was, nevertheless, a bit mystified. Gen- erally, when old Joe performed his medicine dance around a home plate, a game had been scheduled, and his per- _ formance was to insure that Dick would win. _ Around and around went the old Indian, ‘bobbing and jumping. said Reedy. He seems to “T thought he was a | falling, “Ay-yah—hoola. Ai-eh; hah, lamma. Keh; el-ek-hah! Huh! Mai-ek; ay-yah.” And on and on. ck bent his head, listening. _ . a ball game, all right,” he commented. “As near By BURT L. _ As they drew nearer they could hear him—his rising S. MERRIWELL; Or, A PITCHERS’ BATTLE. STANDISH. as I can, I'll give you a free translation; though I can’t translate the motions and gestures, and they’re half of it. But you can see them. I’m going to pitch in this game, I think; *for old Joe is urging his medicine bird to give strength and skill to my pitching arm. Here is the way it goes: / “He is sun bright; he is the wonderful— My young paleface, with the dark hair! His arm—his right arm—his strong arm— It could bend the bow—the buffalo bow! His eye—his bright eye—his keen eye, Could point the arrow—the speeding arrow. When he tosses the ball—the hard ball, May his arm be stronger, his eye keener; May the foe faint before him— May the foe fall before him— When the hard ball—the wonderful ball— When the hard ball fifes from his hand!” Old Joe had continued his singing and his crow hop- ping, and Dick and Reedy had walked on,toward him, while Dick gave his version of old Joe’s medicine song. Not until they had crossed the diamond and stood be- for the old Indian, at the plate, did he stop his whirling and look up, “Ah!” he cried, and clutched heavily at his breast, as if a quick pain had stabbed him there. “Old Joe ain’t got no mind any more; he forget, and think him boy again.. Now the wind it goes out of his old lungs,. _and his heart it nearly stops.” He swept his hand across his face, as if to clear his eyes. “It is Dick!” he cried, as if he did not know it before. “My son, my old eyes have been hungry to see you.’ i ‘have letter for Dick.” i re Tee eT NEW TIP He brought out an envelope with Dick’s name on it. “For me,” said Dick, taking it and snapping it open. “Man by hotel, mucho hurry—mucho pronto; he come ‘long, say, ‘Here you, Injun Joe, where um Dick Merri- well? You give him letter. Savvy? Me no can stay— got to go pronto,’ he say. “Letter make um ball game. Dick Merriwell he heap brag ball player. We can whip him—we play Dick Merriwell blind in both eyes. You tell um Dick Merriwell he too mucho blow um tin horn; him play Little Jack Horner, and say “What a big boy am 1!” Then he go ‘long. When I no can find you, I come here.” eS The old redskin stood looking steadily at Dick, while the letter was being read. “He said that, did he—that I’m a braggart? I haven’t been bragging. But listen to this, Crowfoot; you, too, Reedy.” Dick read: “Mr. Dick MerrtweLtt: You and the whole Merriwell eutfit are hereby challenged to pick up a nine here in Palo Verde and cross bats this afternoon with a nine that I am now selecting. I am taking Palo Verde men. You can do the same; and put the Merriwells in with them. All the Palo Verde players are about alike. If you play your brother Frank, and Frank, junior, in ‘addi- tion to yourself, I ask the privilege of putting into my nine, without question, three of the dynamiters, myself included.. We can have some fun, anyway. We promise to trim you. If you want to put up money on it, I am ready for that, too. In memory of old times back East. “Tony Harr.” jim Reedy’s eyes lighted. He was a ball player him- self. . “Sounds good,” he confessed.. “Who is Tony Hart?” “He is with the rain makers, who have been sending up explosive balloons here. I played in a ball game with him once.” “He thinks he can eat you alive. I hope you will play him. If you do, let me handle second bag. But I’ll work anywhere. And I’m not so bad with the stick.” There was a cutting edge in the letter that Dick did a not fail to notice. He had been aware that Tony Hart did not like, him. “We haven’t thought of playing ball here,” said Dick. “The air has been full of baseball talk ever since you ey and your brother landed in the town. That’s the trouble whe with having a baseball reputation, I suppose; as soon as you show up in a place, there is at once a clamor to have you get up a ball game. The people want to see you pitch.” “Ail” shouted Crowfoot, his black eyes shining. “Me like see um, too. Dick Merriwell make pitch while sun _ ig out. Me bet um last cent on Dick Merriwell. Strike hot iron while hay is making. Whoopee!” _ Dick looked at the excited old Indian and laughed. “I think you’re responsible for this funny challenge, ' Crowfoot. Ever since you pulled into Pale Verde, yes- terday, you’ve been going about talking of the baseball , prowess of the Merriwells. What did you say to the _ man who gave you this letter?” _ “Me tell um shoot off the mouth no catches flying ball; Dick Merriwell bully boy with glass eye, and no glass arm; baseball over fence is worth more as two in pocket; TOP Serenata rte BE NET cme Eee Wie Y talk loud for Dick Merriwell an’ Frank Merriwell an’ Chip — Merriwell,” “What? Two hundred. Where did you get it? what have you done with it? Crowfoot laughed slyly. “Pore old Joe not know much. He not know how to play card—make um stumble when play um; last night make stumble card play with Mexicans; win two hunder dollar. Bet um Tony Hart, ball game. If no game be | played, old Joe lose um.” Hi Reedy winked significantly. ae “He’s stringing you,” he said. “The old rascal never a saw two hundred dollars in his life. But I’d like to see —_,, that ball game pulled off,” ‘ He looked at the sky. Ae “It’s going to be cooler this afternoon, Merriwell; Oye game could be played with reasonable comfort. Wouldn’t = [| it bé¢ a funny thing if these rain makers break this drought — 7. and deluge the country? I haven’t seen it looking so much =| | like rain this summer. There’s a change in the air, Haven’t you noticed it?” Dick Merriwell had noticed it, and commented on it. The brassy glare had gone out of the sky, and hla the temperature was. still hot enough, it was not of the furnace-heat. variety, out of which all traces of moisture seems to have gone. 4 epee “It would be odd,” Dick admitted. “Still, it does rain here now and then, when there are no rain makers around. Why shouldn’t it now?” “It may. When, it rains, after a isiie drought, it’s: likely to be some rain, too. Two years ago there was! a cloudburst. northwest of here, when a rain came on, and it flooded the country. The thousands of acres of old weeds where that fire was raging the other day—the fire — that Chip and his friend Fisher were caught in—showed where the water came that resulted from that cloud 3 burst.” ae He swung back to Crowfoot and the setae ball game. “You've been putting a spell on the home plate so dhe it can’t get away from Dick, or fly up and kill him when he’s teaching for it on a home-run slide. Well, that’s all — right, Crowfoot; you go right on! While you are about — it, throw a spell over Dick, so that he will be bound to accept Tony Hart’s challenge.” “Dick got to play um game now,” said Crow taoti pees to save um old Joe two hunder dollar. Savvy that, Dick? You got save that two hunder. Me make 7) iets medicine, so you sure win. Savvy?” “Go ahead with your turkey trot, if it pleases you,” said Dick. “I’m going up to the hotel and find out wl Hart didn’t bring this to me, or send it in the ordinat channel. You put up your money to force me to p I ought to let you soon it.'! And | ‘Two hundred dollars!” on the plains to the west of the town, Tony Het an another man had been ordered: to 80 out there and plosion, and it was jreported that a man had been | The manager of the rain-making experiment did not. to face a chain of damage suits.’ i oe Dick learned, further, that at the sugesion foot declaring that he could find Dick and deliver it with- out delay. _ Further disclosures concerned the ball game that Tony Hart was obviously desirous of bringing about. Hart was to be back in the town in an hour or two, so would have the rést of the forenoon, and the afternoon, to get his players together and put the game through, if the Merriwells consented. The displeasing thing was the knowledge, conveyed by Crowfoot, that Tony Hart had induced the old Indian to. put up his two hundred dollars, to be forfeited to Hart if a game was not played. oe . “That’s too much like swindling a child,” said Reedy. ve “Crowfoot hasn’t lost his money yet,” Dick declared grimly. “Perhaps he isn’t going to lose it. But I'll know more after I have had a talk with my brother Frank.’, Dick departed, looking for Frank Merriwell. CHAPTER II. | PLOTTERS, an! Dick Merriwell’s mild indignation, which took rather : the form of disgust of Tony Hart’s methods, would have had a sharp edge put on it if he had been aware of a cer- tain. interview had by Hart a few hours earlier with ee Digby Sloan. Tony Hart had been, once upon a time, in Sloan’s em- ploy. So when the rain makers reached Palo Verde, Hart made a visit to the ranch, close by the town, which Sloan superintended. Hart found Sloan in a good deal of mental distress. He was not astonished, for certain things he had heard that were being whispered about the hotel and around the town, had made, known to him that Sloan was in trouble. Sloan set the matter beforé him. ; “T tell you, as an old friend—I’m in straits. You’ve ee probably heard some charges against me. I’ve some ene- ; mies here. Yet no one can truthfully bring anything oe against me, except that I’ve been an eccentric, and have ce lived my life here as I like to live it. I know it has a . even been said that I’m crazy; lots of people believe VE. that Iam. But that’s not to the point. a “The other day, my niece, Betty Grayson, arrived here | eae from England. She will become the owner of this ranch : when she reaches age. At present she has a guardian, in England, and to him I have been making my reports. Ir was glad that she was coming. I thought it would enable me to explain away certain charges that had been sent from this point to her guardian, that I had not been using her fairly. “I had my foreman, Mace Anderson, go to Phoenix, to meet her, as I was not able to go myself. In coming across from Phoenix, they had the misfortune to be caught : 4 a big fire, that broke out suddenly in a sea of old weeds, a few miles from here. ~ , “Anderson was cut off from her. He had ridden to some high ground to look out his route, and the fire, springing up quickly, got in between him and my niece. _ He couldn’t reach her, though he tried, and he came galloping on here to get help. - “Luckily she had been rescued by two young fellows m Phoenix, who happened to be out there. They were ught in the fire, too; but they back-fired, and brought Y niece and themselves through, with only a few burns. NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. wee 3 closely. “Now”—his voice halted .impressively—“it is being charged that Anderson himself started that fire, with the intention of burning my niece to death, and that I hired him to do it. A warrant was issued for his arrest. He fled to the Calico Cafions, where I had sent most of the cattle, as the grass here had been destroyed to a large extent. “Another charge is being circulated against me and An- derson: That I plotted with him to run the cattle at the cafions over into Mexico and sell them, and that our plot was nipped in the bud by the same two young fel- lows who saved my niece from the fire.” He looked at Hart. He was a tall, lank Englishman, whose face had been burned to a red brown by the glare-of the desert. He was not at all a typical Englishman in looks or mode of speech, and he was very far from being\an honorable man, as most Englishmen are. He was studying Hart The latter, youthful in appearance, wiry and muscular, was the antithesis of the man who spoke to him. Yet there was, after all, a good deal in common. Each was a rascal, and the other knew it. Hart knew, even while Sloan protested his innocence, that Sloan was really guilty of the very worst things that had been charged against him. He wondered if Sloan really was’ not insane. He had wondered it before, in the old days. “It’s a nasty mess you’ve got into,” he commented. “And me innocent!” Sloan cried. “I had the kindest feelings in the world for my niece. Now she thinks I am no better than a murderer. She was spirited out of this ranch house because she was made to believe that her life was not safe here.” “Those Merriwells zr “The Merriwells did not do that,” Sloan interrupted. “Yet they are the men who are now after me. They have arrested, and sent off to Phoenix, a young man who is my relative, a young man named Raymond Blunt, who had a rain-making tent on the plaza just before your company appeared. I had sent for him to come here. The fact that he turned against me, and made my niece think the worst possible things against me does not come into the matter now. They arrested him; they had tried to arrest Mace Anderson 4 “It is thought Anderson was killed when the rain balloon came down at the cafions,” Tony Hart interposed. “Tt is a mistake; he was injured, but not killed. I have had word from him.” He sat studying the face of the young man. ns “You used to do some work for me, Hart,” he said, ; “and I paid you well for it. You haven’t forgot it?” “Not likely to,’t said Hart. “Your money was good.” a “I’ve been thinking of that.” <4 “T guess we can talk safely here,” said Hart, smiling. “I hope so, Hart. But there was a spy here. He was Sim Ardmore. I discovered it; yesterday I fired him. If he comes round I'll put a bullet in him.” He looked about nervously. They were in a small upper room at the ranch house. The room was lighted by a kerosene lamp. “No one in any of the rooms near this, I think” said Hart, inviting Sloan’s confidence. “Nearly every one has left me,” Sloan’ admitted; “gone since this trouble began. Well, I suppose——” His eyes were hungry; his air that of a man in distress. _ my ~ NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. “Yes,” said Hart, “we can get right down to brass tacks. You want me to do something, and you're willing, to pay well for it. Put the proposition over and let me inspect it.” “Tt concerns the Merriwells.” “T stuspected as much.” “Ever since Frank Merriwell arrested Raymond Blunt he has been spying on having it done. He be- lieves that Anderson came near fihishing the life of young Frank Merriwell by firing the dead gtass; he thinks I inspired Anderson.” He hesitated, looked round again; and looked out into the hall. “I thought I heard some one walking; I’m hearing things all the time now. As I was going to say,” he continued, after he had closed the door, “Metriwell seems to think the charge he made against Raymond Blunt holds against me, too; he arrested Blunt fot counterfeiting. The claim is that I was in with Blunt; and, because of it, that I had Blunt come on here. It’s a most ridiculous charge. Yet Frank Merriwell is preparing to arrest me. He will not move until he thinks he has enough proof to convict me. Before he does move, I want to be gone.” “That’s right,” assented Hart; tan really get anything on you.” “T want to take a buckboard and drive across to the Calico Cafions. There [ will pick up Mace Anderson, if I can find him. Then we will drive south, into Mexico. Once there, we’re safe: both Anderson and I have friends and acquaintances there. Mexico is now so torn with fevolution that there is not much danger we would be followed by any one from this country.” “Going to get out, and stay out?” brows. “The Merriwells will nab me as soon as I move. I can get off, though, if in some way the attention of the Mer- fiwells can be drawn from me—drawn away from the ranch. If you can get them out of Palo Verde, or lock them in jail, or chlorofortn them—anything to get them off the map this afternoon—I can tnake my get-away, be at the cafion by midnight, and going hot-footed for the - Mexican bottidary, long before morning.” _ “T think you had better go,” said Hart smoothly, know- ing his man. “But, don’t you see,” Sloan began to explain again, “if I start out while the Metriwells are on the job, I shall be stopped before I get off the ranch; and then the Phoenix jail for mine!” . “And the Yuma penitentiary, or some other free board- _ ing house, afterward,” Hart added, in a tone that made _ Sloan pale. “T'm innocent, you understand,” “Still, they hate got me,backed to the wall. - innocent.” _ “Every man is innocent until he has been proved guilty,” P Hart insinuated. “Who is doing the spy business here on the: ranch, for the Merriwells? If you know, why don’t _you slam the harpoon into him?” “Pye got rid of about all the cowboys; I feared to trust Now I suspect one of the women; ore of the neh cooks, I think I’ll let her go this afternoon ; I can tell her that, since there are so few cowboys now, : 't apd tees any pteneet, iNet, ” he added. salon me, or then went to the door “cut ott. That is, if he Hart lifted his Sloan expostulated. But I am think hight spying is being done by that yoting limb ot Satan—Frank Merriwell’s son.’ “Oh, the chip of the old block! He’s young and small, and likely to be sly; at a thing like that he’d be more dangerous, I think, than his father. You’ve seen him ?” “He was seen, not by me, but by a cowboy when he came snooping around here to meet Sim Ardmore. Ardmore go as soon as I learned it. L Aet es I saw two slink- ing figures after dark last night, out by the corrals; they — faded when I went toward thetn. Metriwell and the boy that trails around with him.” “Fisher. dows on his face. He is Chip Metriwell’s shadow.” “You knew the Merriwells back East?” “T knew Dick; that is, I met him and played against him in.a ball game once. him.” “I guess you’re the man for my work,’ afternoon ?” “For five hundred dollats!” Hart corrected. “If you can keep them tied close in Palo Verde until” four o’clock this afternoon, I’ll give you five hundred dol- lars cash. But I don’t see how you can do it.” Hart leaned toward him confidentially. “It’s dead easy to do, Sloan,” he said; sary ig to get them interested in a ball game. y*? them, are simply crazy when it comes to baseball; they'd rather play baseball than eat when they’re hungry. Now, I think they were young I’ve seen him; the chap that has the bay witi- * said Sloan. “You said you could keep the Merriwells tied here this — He accused me of trying to spike _ ‘ee hoy Shp “all that’s neces- ; The itt Merriwell tribe, and all the fellows that trail round with — my plan is to drive them into a game for this after noon.” “How?” said Sloan, his hope rising like a horsoatianer: on a hot day. If you can do it, Hart, the five hundred — is yours! I happen to have that amount, and a little more, right here in the house; I got it together for my flight. I knew I'd need money. But what proof— cat ty have that you will do this, or can do it?” Tony Hart sat back in his chair easily, a faint smile .y on his lips. “You'll have to trust me, Sloan.” ae Sloan looked confused; he had been thinking fie teak 7 cheat Hart out of the five hundred by getting out of the — country and then withholding the payment. read him. “You will have to trust me, Sloan,” Hart repeated, as sured and confident. more than half of that money to enable me to do it, I see it now. I shall have to bribe somebody, or make a some bets. My plan isn’t formed, but I know I can nail the Merriwells tight up in Palo Verde until four o'clock, at least, and longer, if the game can be fixed to When they’re playing ball they’re blind and I know, for I've begin late. deaf and insensible to everything else. seén them play. I must contrive, pethaps, by a chal lenge, to drive the whole bunch into the playing. If you’l leave the details to me, I’ll do the work. Only I've have the money in advance. I’m going to have to away. part of it, 7 see; and I’ve no Taney 0 own,” Cogs Sloan sat ivinthd this over in his mind. He d exceedingly to part with so much moniey, when a he was likely to need it badly. “You've said yourself that you can’t get a , - Fane unless something i is done to blind “Pl pull off the job. It will take Hart had my while you’re doing it,” Hart urged. “You couldn’t find a better scheme.” “I shall have to trust you,” said Sloan reluctantly. He got up heavily and went out of the room. When | he came back he had the amount demanded, in ten- ne aes dollar bills. - § - Tony Hart flipped them over his finger, counting them, and deftly took out twenty of them while doing it. ’ “Counterfeits,” he said blandly, atid held them out to Sloan. “Only good money goes in this transaction.” Sloan affected surprise and indignation. “You can pass them on the greasers, maybe, when you get across the line,” said Hart; “but they don’t go with aeoctia,”. me) “You're mistaken about those bills not being good,” tat) Ramer Sloan asserted. “I got them last week from Taylor pi eae Trent, one of our cattlemen, to whom I sold cattle.” / “Miss Gtayson’s cattle?” Hart asked, sneering. “Trent trimmed you. I won’t take them.” : Sloan, with a sigh, dug down into his pockets and | brought up other bills, which he passed to Hart. “These are all right,” said Hart, when he had examined | them. “Your jeans seem to be wadded with Miss Gray- - t son’s money! Well, I don’t blame you. But look out that Fae 4 you’re not caught after you get going. I'll have to put my share of the thing through now; for likely you'll do as you say you fear some of your friends would—blab, if you’re caught. I'll hold the Merriwells as tight as if they were nailed down. So you can go ahead and get ready for your flying trip out of here.” He wadded the money and rammed it into his pocket. “This isn’t any too big pay for what I’m to do, when the fisks aré counted, and you retnember that I’ve got to do some bribing, or bet makifig. If I clear up half of it in the end, I’m going to be dead lucky.” Seeing that the interview was over, he got out of his chair. He intended to serve Sloan, but he had no further | ,. use for him. |. “Ti have to set the wheels to folling atottnd just as ap ‘ar - goon as I can,” he said. “f’'m trusting you,” Sloan said, with a groan. . _ “You've got to, now; but you can do it safely,” was the _ jaunty assurance. riwells; trust me to work it for all it’s worth.” _ The two then left the room; then Sloan carefully let : Tony Hart out of the house. _. “If you see that Merriwell kid loafing round, knock thas. block off,” Sloan said savagely, as he and Hart were parting. CHAPTER III. FRANK MERRIWELL. Tt was only natural that Frank Metriwell should have been deeply stirred by the disclosure, that the terrible danger to which his son had been exposed in the grass fire was ‘due to the cowardly and ertiel scheming of Digby ‘and Mace Anderson. He had not known that until he reached Palo Verde. ation that Sloan worttd confess guilt in the mat- ‘but for the purpose of studying the man at close nt getting his version of the fire ai of site NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. that he might gain possession of her holditigs. “T know the weakness of the Mer- _ him. fanch house, convinced that Sloan was guilty, Sloan had overprotested his horror, was too swift in flying to the defense of Anderson’s reputation. In the phrase of the street, “he had given himself away.” Yet no one knew better than Frank that his own men- tal conviction of Sloan’s guilt was very far from proof. He was hoping, ahd expecting, that proof would be pro- duced by Sloan himself, through some act of fright; for the ranch superintendent was scared. Having seen Sloan, Frank called next on Miss Betty Grayson, at her hotel; finding her a sweet and pfetty young English girl, very much in need of guidance now, and utterly bewildered by her position. She had come on from Englatid alone, to visit Sloan at the ranch, Sloan having written letters that were rose-colored, making her think that the change would be delightful, and _ that, because there were a number of women on the place, she could make an enjoyable visit without violating any of the proprieties. To this had been added her very natural desire to see the property. that was to be hers when she attained her majority, a property established and built up by her father, who was now dead, and which, since his death, Dighy Sloan had superintended. Sloan was her own mother’s brother. Hence the shock given to her feelings when Raymond Blunt, who was her cousin, denounced Sloan to her and unfolded the scheme by which Sloan had meant to compass her death, Now Bltint was himself under afrest and in jail, charged with being a counterfeiter. This had come as a ¢ountershock. She had begun to wonder if, from the first, Blunt had not lied about her Uncle Digby. And she was almost ott the point of léaving the hotel, whete she was flot contented or comfortable, and going again to the ranch, to the rooms she had occupied there on her arrival. While the puzzled and distressed girl was in this state of confusion, Frank Merriwell called on her. As he was the father of Chip Merriwell, who had served her so signally, she was glad to meet him. In an unaffected way she told her story. There was something in Frank Merriwell that natue rally and inevitably won the heart and confidence of every honest person. He had a pleasing personality and he was a gentleman, without straitiing to be one—simply a gentleman because he could not be anything else. Intuition assured, Betty Grayson that here was a maf who could be fristed; a man who liked to do a good deed for the joy of doing it; a mati who held his honor as a finer thing than gold. She could not coriceal and did not try to conceal, the fact that, from the first, she liked Hetice, when he had heard her story and advised her to remain for the present at the hotel, and not to think of going out to the ranch, she obeyed him as if he had been © het own father. “T am taking no charges apaifist Sloan,” he assuted % her; “I have no proof against him of any kind. If there is any proof, I hope to get hold of it, though. It will - be fo great hardship, if you remain here a few days longer ?” “Not at all,” she said; though she had been so anx- ious to get away. “Then remain. If that grass fire was set intentionally shall know it soon.” “Oh, I hope it isn’t true!” she said. “IT do. I never like to know that any man has attempted crime.” “You have, I’m told, already arrested one of my rela- tives here,” she said, somewhat wistfully. i “You’re wishing me not to arrest the other!” “He is all that I have left—here!” she declared, wistfully. “And you are not sure that he is guilty of the things charged against him? You want to think that he isn’t. I can understand that feeling. We're going to hope, then,” still he added, “that none of these things can be shown to ' be true.” Yet, on leaving her, Frank Merriwell felt that they were true, and that the proofs would be found soon. At his own hotel, the next forenoon, he met Sim Ard- more, Sloan’s discharged cowboy; having sent for Ard- more. He knew Ardmore would not dare to stay away, for Ardmore had been Blunt’s friend; and was suspected of knowing, that Blunt was a counterfeiter. If Ardmore had refused to see Frank Merriwell, it would have deep- ened the suspicion against him. “I know what you’re thinking,” Ardmore flung out an- grily, as he dropped into the chair that Merriwell offered ; “you think I’m crooked!” Frank looked the offended cowboy over carefully. He who might give way to spells of intoxication, or even handle a gun too freely at times, when angered; but, also, he saw that Ardmore was honest. “It’s not wrong to stand by a friend, even if, after- ward, that friend goes wrong,” Frank urged. “That’s about the situation, so far as you and Blunt are con- cerned.” “Well, it is,’ said Ardmore. “I ain’t convinced yet that it wasn’t a frame-up that got Blunt.” “Just tell me what you know about him,” quested. Frank re- “T don’t reco’nize, Merriwell, that you’ve got any right to be askin’ me questions,” said the cowboy; “yet I'll : answer that. I used to work with Blunt on a cattle ranch : -* jn Montana; that was some years ago, when he first-come ae’ out from England. Then, when his uncle, Digby Sloan, came to be superintendent down here, after Miss Gray- son’s father died, Sloan asked Blunt to come down here and work, and I jest tailed along with him. Naturally, we had got to be chums.” “Afterward?” said Frank. The cowboy, twisting in his chair, drew out his pipe and thumbed tobacco into the bowl; he was nervous, and still thought he ought not answer Frank Merriwell’s questions—that Frank had no right to expect it. In spite of this feeling, he was mentally yielding. This irritated him. He wanted to be against Merriwell; yet, for the life of him, he couldn’t. And he didn’t know why. “Have a match,” said Frank genially, extending one. “Tt’s all right for me to smoke in here?” said Ard- more, glancing around at the well-appointed and com- fortable room. “Certainly,” said Frank; “smoke up, and feel at home. Ive had a lot of range and cowboy experience, and al- j tof ~Y ~ oe NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. by Mace Anderson, at the instigation of your uncle, I saw that Ardmore was of the rough-and-ready variety,- '—if I haven’t told ye that, and he didn’t like what Sloan ways liked cowboys; a cowboy is privileged to smoke in any old place he finds himself.” “You're a funny fellow, Merriwell,” Ardmore admitted, as he drew the flame of the match across his tobacco. — “Funny? In what way?” Frank asked. “T dunno jest how ’tis; but when I came in here I was wantin’ to fight ye. Now you’re making me feel to home and friendly. Got me hypnotized, I reckon.” “Just one man talking with another, trying to get at facts; no hypnotism in that, Ardmore,” Frank protested. “Well, I feel plum’ buffaloed. What do ye want o’ me, anyhow?” Ahr “T want to clear up a situation, with which you are familiar; which is of great interest to me, and vital to certain people. It is vital to Sloan and to his niece. You know what Sloan is accused of doing. And you know all about Blunt.” “Want me to loosen up all along the line?” “That’s about it.” “I ought to tell ye I won't,” said Ardmore; “but you can see that I’m going to. I got to square myself. | found out that Sloan was crooked, but I didn’t know Blunt was; that’s the fact.” He settled comfortably in his chair, and drew on his pipe to get his wits to working. “First I knew anything was up ag’inst Miss Grayson, was when I happened to overhear Sloan talkin’ with Mace Anderson. They was out by the corral, and the time was along in the aidge of the evenin’. I’d been on ior a bat, and I had dropped down there, in the alfalfy; I Saige reckon they didn’t know I was ’round. It was gittin B dark, ye see; and I’d been layin’ there, without anybody = | knowin’ about it, nearly all day, and was comin’ out o’ ; the rosy clouds, ye know. “Well, they was talkin’. about it—goin’ over it con- fidential, layin’ plans for liftin’ Miss Grayson out o’ this yere vale of mortal tears. First time that I knowed even that she was comin’ here. I got the date, and every- thing—when she was to be in Phoenix, and all that. y “Next day I mentioned to Sloan, sort o’ easy like, that I’d had a letter from Blunt, who was rain makin’ up in - Kansas; and that Blunt had suggested comin’ down to Arizony, where ‘twas even dryer. I reckon now, by the way things has turned out, that Sloan also had a letter” from Blunt. Anyway, Blunt swung to my side of the fence, when he got here. He was Miss Grayson’s cousin was proposin’ to do. So, then, him and me, lays plans* to protect her all we can. And it was Blunt, after the © fire, who, with my, help, sneaked her out o’ the ranch house, thinkin’ if we didn’t, maybe Mace assis oe would get her yet. “IT dunno, Merriwell, but that’s about, all, except ea I tipped the news to Blunt, when Sloan planned to have | Anderson run off the cattle that were on range near the cafions. But that’s so mighty recent and public that “you know all about it, as well as I do.” Ardmore sat back, smoking, looking steadily at Frank iv Merriwell. cy “Tt’s bein’ hinted round,” he added, “that I ice! in with Blunt in his bogus-coin work, but that’s a flat: lie I knowed nothin’ about it. Blunt didn’t dare to put thing like that up to me. If you think it——” didn’t know!” The tone ex- “Oh, all right, then; I pressed great satisfaction. “Some people ain’t so dis- cernin’.” “I suppose you couldn't still do some spying around Sloan’s ?” “T could, Merriwell; ain't goin’ back, nor near him. good.” “You would be willing to help Miss Grayson?” “She is safe, if she stays in her hotel. If Sloan does anything, he'll jest hook up and leave. He ain’t goin’ to bother her no further. When he’s gone, she, or her gyardeen, can app’int a new superintendent; everything ought to go on all right again, at the ranch, then.. No, |. Merriwell; I’m out of it. -I only got myself looked at crosswise, for an ornier man than a horse thief, on ac- count. of what I’ve done now. No more for me.” Frank Merriwell was not sure that he wanted to shake Ardmore out of this decision; so he did not attempt it. Ardmore was being shown out when Dick Merriwell came hopping up the stairs, to see Frank about Tony mo: Hart’s challenge, and the story told by old Joe Crow- j ey SOR. but I won’t. Sloan fired me. I I’m through there for CHAPTER IV. WHY THE CHALLENGE WAS ACCEPTED. When Dick Merriwell met Tony Hart, an hour later, | ‘he told Hart, jovially, that his challenge had been ac- |” cepted. { —- “P’ve been around, helping a friend scare up a nine,” | _ Dick informed him; “it’s a motley lot, but some of them ee can play ball. In fact, I think I’ve corralled such good | material that I’m willing to play you, without my brother | Frank.” ia Pe: Dick laughed when he saw the scare that this threw Me nec into. Fart. “T wouldn’t take advantage of you in that way,” said rie Hart smoothly; “it would be like stealin’ candy from kids. I’m to make up my nine principally from my dynamite crew, you see; and you'll find they are ball players. I want you to put in the whole Merriwell fam- _ily; Fisher, too, if you’d like to. I’d kinda figgered that you and Frank would be the battery, and young Frank - would play at short; but, of course, that’s for you to ~ afrange. You can put Fisher somewheres out in the field; he ought to make a good ball chaser; or anywhere you like.” . Dick laughed again; then looked sober. . “Frank and I will play you with the nine I had gath- ered; but as for young Frank and Fisher, they’re prob- ably not to be had.” “No?” cried Hart, ~ ain’t they?” “We don’t know where they are, They took horses and went for a gallop. When young Frank gets started, on horseback, there’s no telling when you'll see him iy scared again. “They’te in town, said Hart, glancing at the “But hotter for a ball game. We've had word by ue ire, from | ae government weather gueéssers, that we’re rt for our rain balloons. Yet a lot of people NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. 7 declare there is nothing in it. The boss said, when we came down here, that he’d bring rain inside of a week. We haven’t been here half of one yet. I’ve been noticing the sky. Do the weather sharps say it will be cooler?” “They prophesy much cooler, especially after the storm. I think, Hart, the long drought is going to break. You balloon men will be able to collect your money. That’s the way you work, isn’t it—no rain, no pay?” “Not this trip, Merriwell. We got an Arizona con- gressman to. back us this time, and we’re to rake in the boodle whether rain comes or not. Still, I’m hoping for the rain.” He looked keenly at Dick, whose smiling face betrayed nothing. “At two this afternoon, at the Palo Verde ball grounds,” Dick assented. “All right,” said Hart, with assumed airiness. “We'll trim you. Look out for a crowd. Not even a bull fight will draw the bunch like a ball game.” Although -he departed with a smile, it was with a feel- ing of uneasiness and distrust. “Those Merriwells aré\ keen as they make ’em,”’ he thought; “still, they can’t know what I’m up to. I don’t want to get buffaloed right at the start! That was what he was trying to do, by staring at me in that way. It’s queer, the look of that fellow at times; it’s like 2 knife cutting through you, opening up everything. He hasn’t forgot the day I tried to spike him. I’ve got to be careful that he doesn’t get a chance to come back at me this afternoon.” Dick Merriwell had turned was going on to Frank’s room. the office. , “Come along, Reedy—you’ll be in the ball game: this afternoon; I’m on my way to see Frank.” Frank Merriwell had already met Reedy, and knew him for a clean fellow and a good ball player. Reedy was in Palo Verde for an irrigation syndicate, and while in Phoenix he had applied to Frank for business advice. He had watched the work of the balloon rain. makers, and was sure there was nothing in it; that irrigation was the only thing that could save the country from recurring droughts. Rain making was a joke to Reedy. “So there is to be a game,” he said. “That hits me. It’s going to be a lot cooler this afternoon, too. The rain makers have advertised rain, and it’s coming, and it’s driving cool weather’ ahead of it. Arizona, like the famous Kentucky colonel, is going to surprise itself by getting a taste of water; that’s the outlook.” They were laughing and joking when they entered Frank’s room. “Hello, Reed!” Frank greeted him. “Glad you came in. How’s the position at short going to fit you? Your build is about right for that.” oe “My specialty,” said Reedy, thumping himself on the © chest, while his blond face expressed pleasure. “How did you guess it? Or are you the wizard that some people | say you are?” Back home I used to play short, and cov rer myself all over with glory, and mud.” ‘ Frank flung a glance along the hall, and closed the ice f when Dick and Reedy were within. a -“How’d this game happen to hop so suddenly“ oti the map, anyway?” Reedy asked. | “Ts being talked about. ‘all around, although nobedy seems to know cee that it’s really to be pulled off.” back into the hotel, and He met Jim Reedy in ‘ » window, that looked out on the balcony overhanging the dusty street. “Tony Hart is advertising the Reedy. “He has been so afraid we won't play that he has spread about the information that the Merriwells are afraid to meet the scrub team which he has scraped to- gether out of this Arizona dust heap; but that he is going to force them to do it.” Reedy accepted the chair Frank pushed toward him. “You’ve got all your players?” he said to Frank. “We're getting them. There is a drug clerk down the street, who has become Dick’s particular chum, and he is beating them out of the brush for us. I guess we'll have some fun this afternoon.” He had stepped across the room, then back to the door. Reedy had hardly observed it, had not all noticed that, as he returned to the door, Frank’s feet made no more noise than if he wore, sandals. Suddenly Frank flung the door open, drawing it inward with a jerk, and the man who, standing in the hall, had been leaning against it, listening, came tumbling into the room. As the crestfallen fellow scrambled up, Frank haa the door and pointed to a chair. game,” he informed / “Have a Seat,” he mvited, as courteously as if the man had etitered in the usual way. ~ The man was one of .Tony Hart’s dynamite crew;. a young fellow, smooth-faced and sandy-haired. His face was now as red as fire, and his confusion so. great he could hardly articulate. B Riea felt ac “Yes, I see you. have two eyes; but it was your ears you were using. I heard you when you sneaked up to the door, You followed Dick and Reedy. You thought you'd get some information for Tony Hart. I'll give you a message: The Merriwells are ball players. They like the game so well they will play it any place, at any time. And they will be with him this afternoon, at the Palo + Verde grounds.” ) 4 “TI—was just passin’ along the hall—and I——” “Oh, all right; if that was the way of it. You will pardon me for thinking you were leaning against the door.” - When Frank opened the door, the fellow scrambled out, followed. by the laughter of Dick Merriwell and Jim Mees Reedy. They heard him shamble down the hall, and down the stairs, Frank closed the door. When he turned ~ around, he was smiling. “Proofs of Tony Hart’s trickery are coming to me, hand over fist,” he said. “That fellow was a bungler.” Reedy voiced his amazement, over the fact that Frank had heard him there. “T didn’t hear a thing," Reedy confessed ; near the door as you.” “You weren't listening, and I was,” said Frank. “You suspected something of the kind?” 4 “Not exactly; I’m simply keeping myself awake, ready for anything. We can talk now. That trick will not - be tried again in a hurry.” ne like to hear the report he alae to Hatt ” said - Dick. Frank sat down, still smiling, dropping into an easy attitude ; but cone now knew that he was tremendously “and I was as NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. Dick laughed, as he helped himself to a chair by a alert, without in the least appearing to be so. He was regarding Frank with a good deal’ of astonishment. “I think I’m beginning to understand why you fellows winners. Every one calls you the lucky Mer-— riwells. Yet I guess it isn’t at all a case of luck.” “Luck,” said Dick, “is a toy for fools to play with.” “What’s your idea about\Hart?” asked Reedy. Frank sat fiddling with his watch chain, as sidering this. “It’s just this way, Hart—as I don’t mind telling you; since we know that you are not only straight, but are with us in this: When any man begins to try to push me into a thing without some good reason being apparent, particularly if he is taken that way .suddenly, I at once begin to look for the reason. As soon as we received ; that challenge from. Hart, and learned that he had made ef so big a bet as two hundred dollars with old Joe Crow- { foot, I was sure something was afoot. That was a fool way, yet it was a good way, for Hart to go about it— tackling Crowfoot first; it was a fool way, because a bet of that sort was bound to make me suspicious; yet, in the second place, it was a good way, for Dick would surely try to see that old Joe did not lose his money. 4 Hart batiked on Dick’s affection for old Joe. He felt sure ~j - that Dick would meet any crowd he got together, in a ball game, and make a fight for old Joe to win that money. He could be sure, too, that Dick would get me to help in the ball game, to increase Joe’s chances of win- ning. And that,” he added, with emphasis, “would put us a on the ball ground, and hold us there a while, “I began to ask myself at once: why did Tony Hart! want to pit us in the ball field, this afternoon. The challenge was for a game this afternoon. What was up, I asked, that made such a thing desirable to Tony Hart? “When I had looked the situation over, I eliminated vari- ous possible reasons, one by one; then came to the one I had thought of first, but had held to the last. “Having done that, I sent Dick out, to scout around. When he came back He had learned that Tony Hart made a visit last evening to Sloan’s ranch. The information could not be doubted, for it came from my son, Frank, who had seen Hart go out by the trail. “Then I knew that my first guess was correct—that Hart _ was working in the interest of Sloan. We have been suspecting and watching Sloan; and, of course, Sloan has learned it. I arrested, and sent to the Phoenix jail, Sloan’s nephew, Raymond Blunt; and though Sloan and Blunt had seemed to be at swords’ points, I still sus- pected Sloan of knowing something about Blunt’s coun- terfeiting. And there I had it.” “IT don’t get you yet,” said Reedy. “Like a flash it came to me,” said Frank, “that the Merriwells were to be held on the Palo Verde bali field this afternoon so that Sloan could make a safe get away from his ranch.” “Oh!” Reedy’s eyebrows flew skyward, “Yet—you are going to play? Yow are falling right in with Sloat and Hart’s plan, don’t you see?” i “Because,” said Frank, with deliberation, “we want ” Sloan to make that break. So far, we haven't a thing e against him that is stronger than suspicion. If he tries to run away, it gives us presumptive evidence of his guilt.” — ee “T see. But what good will that do you~after ei] ae through your fingers?” , are such if con- “Just this: The sheriff, with a posse of cowboys, has gone from Phoenix out to the Calico Cafions, his object being to arrest Mace Anderson. If Sloan leaves his my) ranch, he will try to join Anderson; that’s sure. So he will strike out for the cafions. Now I have forestalled a things, by sending a swift rider, with a message to that j effect, to the sheriff, and when Sloan gets out there, he will ram into the sheriff’s party. i “In addition,” Frank explained, “we shall be follow- a ing Sloan ourselves, hot-footed. I have sent Frank and Fisher out on horses; they are to be at some point where they can see Sloan, if he makes his crack to get away this afternoon. They will bring the news in to me as fast as they can ride. Then the merry pursuit will 2 be on, q “I shall carry a warrant for Sloan’s arrest—I have it | here now. With the sheriff out there, I think he can’t get away. His flight, of itself, will have convicted him; so the chances are ten. to one that he will break down and give us the proof of his guilt that we now lack. “Now you can see,” he added, settling again into his chair, “why I sent Dick out to accept Tony Hart’s chal- lenge. We want Sloan to try to make an escape. I think a _ he will do it, if we go on the ball grounds; and there i is where we will be.” _ Frank opened the door again. ‘ But no one was there. The experience of Tony Hart’s _first spy had deterred any other from approaching the room. mf, “Merriwell, you’re a wonder!” Reedy explained. “Not a bit of it,” said Frank. “The thing was so plain that a blind man, by pawing round a little, could have discovered it.” “Let’s loaf down to the grounds,” said Dick; “that drug ae a clerk said he’d have his baseball material there soon, and baseball clothing, bats, masks, gloves, everything. He’s to be on our nine, too; I want you to meet him.” A minute or so later, the Merriwell brothers, with Jim Reedy, were on their way to the grounds. CHAPTER Y. “PLAY BALL,” Ge a “What? What?” Frank Merriwell explained, as he | stepped on the Palo Verde ball grounds, that afternoon, with Dick and Reedy; then he added: “I don’t like that!” Oblivious of the crowd that was gathering and ‘yelling, _ that swarmed and pushed across the diamond, or stopped and stared at him, old Joe Crowfoot was performing his hopping dance, and singing, round the batter’s plate. He still wore the battered stovepipe hat, with its red ‘feather. His chanting song arose, indistinct in the uproar: \ “Ay-yah—hoola! Ai-eh; hah-lamma. hah! Mai-ek; ay-yah!” The thing that perturbed Frank Merriwell was that Joe Crowfoot was supposed by him to be out to the westward of the town, lying somewhere in the grass, _ Watching; so that he might give aid to Chip and Fisher, ome they needed it; or even come sprinting into the town for aid, if that should be required. Keh; boo-el-ek- ‘Well, you see how it is,” said Dick, ready to find excuse for his Indian henchman; “wild horses couldn’t NEW::‘TIP TOP WEEKLY, e had violated his promise to do that; and here he 9 hold Joe back from this place when he knew I was to be in the game. He thinks he has to be present and put his spell on the plate, so that I will be sure to win. And,” he added, “no doubt old Joe is thinking of the safety of his two hundred dollars. Do you blame him?” “Can you beat it?” cried Reedy, watching the old In- dian’s performance. “Have a talk with him, Dick, as soon as he is through,” Frank requested; “perhaps he had a reason for coming back, more than appears on the surface.” Frank stood looking about, as Dick went on toward the old redskin. At Frank’s back was the dusty adobe town; before him the diamond, flanked by fields of green alfalfa, that were now being trodden heedlessly. Still beyond stretched the level plain, out to the dusty gray horizon and the mountains. Behind the dust and haze, as well as over- head, clouds were gathering. Everywhere people swarmed, three-fourths of them Mexicans; they had already filled the sun-cracked bleachers, which, aside from the players’ benches, fur- nished the only seats on the grourids; and they were now clustering like flies on each side of the catcher’s position and farther back. Yet this’ interest in the great American game, far down there on the cactus plains, was no surprise to Frank Merriwell. Wherever the flag floats, can be heard the crack of the baseball bat and the slap: of a ball in a catcher’s mitt. It has even become the great game of Porto Rico and the Philippines. Frank had learned that not only was Palo Verde in- terested in the game, but it had a team that it thought could defeat anything within hundreds of miles; a team it had even sent to Phoenix; and that, in addition, about / * every Palo Verde boy and youth fancied he had in him the making of a ball player. The nines and the substitutes were gathering at the benches. Reedy went over to them and began talking. Frank stood studying them. Nearly all were already in their uniforms. From the two tents assigned to the teams, other players, having put on their ball suits there, were coming out. ; Half the players were Mexicans, or of Mexican parentage. They were dark-faced, lithe and withy; no doubt. they could run like scared horses. ing the nine with which the Merriwells were to play, Frank had talked with that forenoon; he now picked _them out and looked them over again. ; Tony Hart, seeing Frank standing\there, came across to - him and extended his hand. His greeting was effusive, yet nervous. F Snapping open his watch, he swept an anxious glance round, that Frank did not fail to catch. “The game will be on in ten minutes,” he said. “Your old Indian is going to make sure that he can salt down that two hundred dollars. I wonder if he really be- lieves in that hocus-pocus ?” : “Why not?” Said Frank. “Men usually believe what they were taught in their childhood. Anyway, it’s more sensible than rain making.” “But the weather sharps say our rain is coming. We'll not quarrel about that, though, Merriwell. you and Dick are going to play. Do you know, runners ‘were sent to Yerba Buena, to spread the news; and we’ve actually got some people from there! A man came in on : Those compos- - I’m glad that | sian — ball came up, looking the size of a big ‘bee; z- " - openness ee OBR Rag Tar 8 ao a 10. | | NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY: a horse a while ago, from Troutman’s ranch; he said he had heard’ of it*-out there, and would ride’ a hun- dred miles; any timé, to see a Merriwell in a ball game. Too bad that your son isn’t here. I’ve been looking around for: him, but he isn’t on’ the grounds,” A few minutes later, when Frank came out of the tent, in his baseball togs, ready for the game, old Joe had brought his singing and crow hopping. to a finish that must have been self-satisfying; he came over to Frank with a smile cracking his leathery face. “Mucho: good,” he said; “we win now; that two hunder, she safe now. You pitch hay when the sun shines— huh ?”? “Yes, I’m to pitch.” He looked Crowfoot in the eye; and Crowfoot’s gaze fell. It was all that Frank wanted, to tell him that old Joe had proved recreant through his love of baseball. The batting lists, peppered. with Mexican names, re- sembled a study in Spanish. The umpire was himself.a Mexican, named Guitterez; Reedy declared that it sounded like a board splinter flicking in the wind. But he spoke English. And when, at length, he shouted “Play ball!” the yells that arose were well spiced with good Ameri- can cries. . The’ Dynamiters, as Tony Hart called his men, were first at the bat. Taking the already soiled sphere, Frank walked into the pitcher’s place, and, pausing there, looked round at the squirming humanity that seemed caught in a sticky mortar of heat and moisture, and was buzzing like bees hiving, The desert-dry air was becoming. humid. A- Mexican name was called, and the man who came to the plate, in a gray suit and brown stockings, was a typical young Mexican. Banging his bat on the’ plate, he held it up, and shouted, with a monkey flourish: “Putta the ball there.” ‘Frank smiled. He was not really thinking of the game nor of the crowd that now was staring at him; hé was thinking of Digby Sloan, wondering if Sloan had started from his ranch in his attempt to break away to the Calico Cafions, while the Merriwells were “nailed” by Tony Hart to the Palo Verde ball grounds. As a matter of curious interest, he was wishing he knew. He had’ been: disappointed by the return of Crowfoot; yet he was holding faith in the ability of Chip and Fisher to make good. “With his mind thus occupied, Frank Merriwell turned ‘to the batter, swung his arm in a circle before him, drew it back as his body arched; then, his body snapping for- ward, his arm~went swiftly through the air, and the ball shot over the plate. ‘The man at the bat flinched back; the ball had come like a bullet. » “Wan strike!” the umpire droned. -“Eet is too close by me,” the batter yelled; ball there!” Desperately trying to get the next one, he failed; the z-zk !—it slid through his bat as he struck; plunk! it hit the catcher’s “putta the mitt; and Dick was lining it back. “Aw, git ’em!” a boy yelled, in the crowd, with an accent that might have come from Chicago, or the East End. _ Frank Merriwell “did not: think he: was Siiching great Pare he was not; he was not trying to, but was thinking of something else; yet the batters went down, to the screeching delight of old Joe Crowfoot .and the howling of the crowd. At the bat, Frank’s Mexican teammates, aided by Jim Reedy and the drug clerk, rolled up a two-run lead, Tony Hart came to the bat, in the opening of the second, and Hart prided himself on being a stick wielder,. Frank was still thinking of Digby Sloan, of Chip and Fisher, and of the sheriff’s posse out toward the cafions. Crack! Hart’s bat collided With the ball, and the sphere went | soaring. A roar went up. The mercurial Mexicans ‘a danced and yelled; they swung their hats and their som- breros; they drowned the voice of the coacher—calling to Hart to “Go—go—go!” Hart was going with almost the speed of a motor cycle, while the Mexican right fielder was chasing the ball out through the emerald alfalfa. Hart passed sec- ond, and raced for third, The Mexican got the ball; it was coming in. Hart reached third, overran it, and started for home, When he saw. the ball shooting to the pitcher, his courage wilted, and he bounced back to third hassock. Frank smiled, looking at him. “You're all right, Hart—as a ball player,” thought, An American had followed Hart, at bat$ a lithe young fellow of Irish descent, named Donovan, who was sure that he was as good with the timber as Hart. He was. But Frank Merriwell had for the moment stopped: his was Frank’s dreaming. When Donovan saw the ball coming toward the plate, ‘al he wouldn’t admit the possibility of missing it; it was A such an easy ball—a lightly floating thing, that came up as if inviting him to hammer it to death. Donovan’s grin of confidence became pronounced as he swung for it. He swung-——and looked at his bat as though he hunted for the hole in it that the ball had gone through. The crowd saw his look of amazement, and the roar that went up was even greater than that which had greeted Tony Hart’s three-bagger. . “Strike one!” shouted the Mexican umpire, his voice quivering in spite of his wish to remain calm and im- perturbable. “ms “A sthrike ut is,” Donovan admitted sheepishly ; “but— ere a ; ye can’t do it ag’in’ Bes -_ Then Frank Merriwell, smiling, sent in ae ais Re loafer, that seemed wide ‘out, but dropped sharply in and ve downward, as Donovan swung. “Strike tuh!” called the umpire, roe hard to get Mig . correct baseball accent. {i} Old Joe flung his feathered stovepipe into the air, and let out an Indian yell. Pas Donovan looked bewildered; both those balls had eye seemed so “dead easy.” He couldn’t, for the life of him, see how it was done—how he could miss them. Yet here two strikes had been counted against him, and only two balls had come in from the hand of the smiling pitcher. “Ar-r! Ye can’t do it ag’in!” he bellowed pugnaciously, Just to show him, as if it were a matter of exer : Frank did it again; this time with a ball that had win a ball that z-zipped in like a bullet; a ball that. $ to.gg through Donovan’s bat before he cont ee in. motion. The ball player anitd stick wielder of ancient Irish de- scent flung down his bat in disgust. “It must be the shpell thot Injun put on iverthing,” he grumbled, while still trying to grin; “annyhow, ut bates me!” Tony Hart was still chained to the third package; he had danced out, and as promptly danced back; had danced out again, and danced back. Frank and Dick seemed to be paying not the least attention to him; yet he knew they were ready to nail him if.they got the chance. The batter next up, coached, tried for a little bunt. down he went—one, two, three. Finally, scheming, Tony died at third. _ Frank Merriwell had waked up. Still, Frank was glancing now and then beyond the catcher, out into the west, and now and then he turned his head, as if he half expected to hear, off in the direc- \tion of Sloan’s ranch, the rattling wheels of Sloan’s old buckboard, or the galloping of horses. He woke up again, when he came to bat, and pulled in a runner from second with a wicked swipe into the deep alfalfa; that gave him also a home run, and again sent old Joe wild with delight. When Tony Hart came up against him, at the bat, in the fifth—came up smiling and confident in his ability, remembering what he had done before, Frank’s wizardly pitching came into play. Hart chopped. He spat on his hands, gripped his bat tighter, cleared the haze out of his eyes—and chopped. y Old Joe began to do what Reedy called his “cake- walk.” The Mexicans were howling, as if they were look- ing on at a bull fight; the Americans were roaring. Red in the face, furious with himself, when he had been so confident, Hart reached for the third ball that came in, felt it, rather than saw it, as it slipped through his bat, and went down to inglorious defeat, with his first taste of what Frank Merriwell could do when he really tried to pitch. The screeching and roaring rose to a pandemonium— into which came the quick cracking and clattering beat of a horse going at full gallop. Chip Merriwell, his head bare, his eyes bright, with blood streaming down on the shoulders of his horse, came driving the horse right out into the diamond. “Stop the game!” he yelled, in his excitement. “Sloan has got Fisher—killed him, I’m afraid! He tried to get me, shot my horse, and tried to plug me. He killed Fisher’s horse, and captured Fisher, and he has gone on ” —— Frank Merriwell, having leaped to Chip, was lifting him out of the deep saddle, under\the impression that Chip had been struck by a bullet; the blood misleading him in that. “Oh, I’m all right!” Chip shouted, as Frank set him on his feet; “it’s Fisher! We've got to give chase right away—no time to lose; Sloan is a madman—he’s crazy! I don’t know how he got past Crowfoot—but Crowfoot gave us no warning; then, before we knew it, Sloan was almost on top of us. _ “He had a cowboy in the buckboard with him. As soon as they saw us and our horses, they began to shoot; I think they were. poping for us, and ready for us. Fisher’s horse went down’ He was closer to them when the fir- ig began. I rode to get him, but they reached him first %) . . But NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. ) fs —picked him right up and slammed him on the buck- board; then they began to shoot at me. wicked, and that I couldn’t help Fisher; They got my horse in the shoulder.” Chip was trembling; though his speech was clear, there was a sob in his voice. His eyes popped open; before him, caer through the crowd to get to him, he saw old Joe Crowfoot. “How'd you get here?” he yelled. “That’s all right—nothing about it,’ Frank warned. “Joe disobeyed orders, We ought not to have gone into the game; I see that now. But we'll get Fisher.” Everybody on the ball ground was apparently crowd- ing around them. All semblance of ball playing had been lost. “Get horses, Dick,” Frank ordered; fastest to be had, and bring arms!” Dick turned, squeezed through the crowd, and began to run. “What's this?” Tony Hart began to expostulate. stopping the game. I protest!” “Go on with your protesting,” Frank flung at him; “I’ve got something more important on hand now than you or a ball game. It may bea matter of life and death, as well as the capture of the murdering scoundrel whose cause you have been trying to serve, Hart.” Hart swung round to the umpire. “I claim the zame on a forfeit!” he yelled. I saw they meant so I.turned tail. , “hustle them—the “You're F rank “You want to nail down that two hundred!” shot at him. ‘ * “You've got to play this game, or forfeit it,” Hart snarled. “Your accusation against me wit call for a settlement, later.” “All right,” said Frank; “I can acvomutiodnts you at any time.” “This is afscheme to squeeze us out of this game,” Hart screamed. “That kid of yours has been run in here, with fake bloodshed, to stop a game you're afraid to play to a finish. I demand that the game go on!” The mercurial Mexicans, catching this as a cue, and beginning to believe it, began to howl tumultuously for the game to go on. “Put in another catcher, since Dick has deserted you, and go on with the game,” Hart roared; “I ask a square deal. Yes, I admit that I’ve got two hundred dollars staked on this game; but one of the items in the bet says that if it is not played, I get the money; so you’ can see that t, isn’t the money that makes me want the game to go on.’ “Of course not,” Frank sneered; “you want Digby Sloan to get away. You think we didn’t see through you scheme; yet we did. This game stops. I don’t care anything about the forfeit. But,” he added, swinging round so that every one could hear; “when we get back, we'll play you or the Dynamiters or anybody in any old . way.” ; “That don’t go,” shouted Hart; “you can’t have the game postponed in that way. Our nine has got to be declared the winner if you refuse to play.” He looked at the staring umpire. “Right!” said the puzzled umpire. “The game she is forfeit if the nine refuses to play; it is a thing I cannot help.” “Aw, let ’em come back and finish it some other time! ae APO INS oe 1 MON ee EP gta 2 MSP) IIIS MRE? dae a . . That’s raw; give ’em a square deal!’ was yelled all around from American throats. The umpire shook his head. “The game she is forfeit.” Old Joe collapsed on the ground, and sat staring sor- rowfully, “T lose my two hunder,” he sniffled. f “Get a move on you!” Frank ordered. This was your ‘fault; now you’ve got to help correct it.” His tone _ changed. “Get ready for the warpath, Crowfoot!” Was it the word “warpath” that galvanized the red- skin—a word suggesting old trail days and gory strug- gles? It may be so. Or it may have been Frank’s sharp word of command, with the sting of condemnation in his statement; with, perhaps, the inevitable mental lash- ing that Crowfoot must have been giving himself. Crowfoot arose; casting off his battered, hat. /He stood upright, broad-shouldered, and still powerful, though wrinkled of face; he was again ‘the warrior, not the foolish old redskin that many thought. him. “Ail” he said, jerking up his head. Swinging espied an opening, through it. When he had cleared the throng that pressed and stared, he turned his seamed old face into the west. The next moment he had dropped into the Indian lope, that so devours distance, while it saves the strength of the runner, and was speeding away. Dick Merriwell’s swift demand for horses would have met little response 1f a number of the stableboys, after ey hearing Frank’s order to him, had not rushed along at thas a0 his heels. — ®A half dozen,” he said; “the best you've got; " that can run and stand punishment; we'll pay the bill.” He turned to, helping to get the horses out of the stalls and into their riding gear, Stableboys\ rushed es about, breathing heavily, clanking spurs and bits and stir- , rup irons; the restive horses jumped, under their urging. The trampling of impatient hoofs, the cinching of saddle girths, Dick’s sharp, short orders, the resounding cries that were born of the tumult of haste, made the stables resound. Inside of ten mihutes, Dick Merriwell issued from the stables with a flying string of horses; and bore down, at a driving gallop, on the crowd at the ball field. Frank and Chip had run out, and met. him before the field was reached. With them were Jim Reedy and the drug clerk. “T’m not much of a horseman,” ‘teady to go with you.” ‘Better let some else go,” going to do some hard riding.” He glanced around into the faces of the men who were ki arriving. ' Chip jumped into one of the saddles; he was to lead the way, and needed a new horse. Dick saw that there would be two vacant saddles, “Volunteers here,” he called; boys preferred.” Two cowboys disengaged themselves from the crowd and sprang toward the horses. Prank was mounting; Jim Reedy the same. The cow- \boys hit their saddles, after flying leaps. Chip swung — ground, taking the lead, and the six riders shot away, following in \ the course that Crowfoot spp gone. round, he and bored horses said the clerk; “yet I’m one Dick advised; “we’re “good riders only—cow- NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. CHAPTER VI, DOC FISHER. Two fast range horses drew the light buckboard, in which Doc Fisher found himself as soon as he was able to take stock of his condition. It held, in addition to Sloan, a hard-featured cowboy, who sat loosely in the seat, with a Remington across his knees, Sloan was driving; but another Remington lay © K across the buckboard, at his feet. 4 Lashed on the buckboard, behind was a filled water- skin and a box of food, with a small bag of grain for 7 the horses. ket Fisher lay at the feet of the men, across the slats . of the buckboard, in front; he was keeping company with . Sloan’s rifle, and he discoyered; as soon as he got the breath back in his body, that one of the big, spurred boots of the cowboy was. resting on his chest, as if te hold him down. All that had happened came back to Fisher, then, in a flash; the sudden appearance of the men in the buck- hoard over the rise; the shooting, and the fall of his horse—a fall that had pitched him to the ground and jolted the breath out of him. Fisher tried to lift himself and look about, but the = | cowboy’s foot held him down, and he found that his glasses had been snapped from his nose, and he could not see far. He was anxious about Chip. “Let up,” he wheezed, when it seemed that the cow- boy’s foot was bringing his backbone and his breast- a bone closer together than the crusts of a restaurant pie; 2 “let up, you!” The cowboy glanced down at him with a sardonic grin. Looking up into the man’s face, Fisher thought he had never seen another on which crime had so stamped its impress; but perhaps that was because Fisher was rather expecting an evil countenance, and an old knife a slash had left, down one cheek, a white scar, that pulled “a Bees the eye down on that side and made it appear to be |. winking maliciously. The man eased up his foot. “Thanks, awfully,” said Fisher, explosively. The jolting of the buckboard did not make speaking — easy, The horses were at a dead run, The “wrer-r-r, wr-rér-r,” of drought-loosened spokes, as the wheels spun round, was almost continuous, showing how the wheels were flying. “Lay still!” the cowboy ordered. Fisher looked, then, at Sloan; who, sitting upright, held the flowing lines between the fingers of one hand, which left “him free to wield the whip with the other when | he desired. A whip was not needed... The horses were half-wild creatures from the range, nearly unbroken, and the chafing of the harness, with the shooting, had rendered them fran- tic. With Sloan’s capable fingers on the guiding Hada, 2 they tore along like horses running away. . Fisher’s glance into Sloan’s face was not reahidiiiaies He turned from it, with relief, to the scarred @ P ieee countenance of the cowboy. “For Sims e; propelling his words NEW: Ti? his horse he looked, toward the horizon, glaring into the distance. Behind trailed a dust cloud, composed chiefly of black ashes, for they were now in the region scarified lately by fire. That ash cloud cut off all view in the direction of the town; so that even if pursuers were there, they could not be seen. The cowboy, nevertheless, turned now { and then to look. a When Fisher felt he could not stand the jolting longer —that it was killing him, he squirmed and threshed about to attract the cowboy’s attention. “Let up,” he begged again. ‘‘What’s the use? foot is nearly half as big as I am!” The cowboy’s horrible eye flicked downward; his mouth opened in a grin. “You're gritty,” he said. “How can I be anything else,” cried Fisher, “when I’m ‘collecting all the grit and sand there is in this desert? Let me up, can’t you? I'll not to kill any- body.” The cowboy glanced at the madman by his: side. Sloan stared straight ahead, as if. he had heard nothing. Fisher’s combination of bluff and bravery had, to a limited extent, gained the cowboy’s good will. Without asking Sloan’s ,permission, he put down his hairy hand, and, with a rough jerk, righted Fisher; so that, thereafter, Fisher was: sitting on the slats of the buckboard, instead of lying on them; and, as he could swing his feet over, he began to feel better immedi- ately. i But his head still, whirled; 9 ~~ gontinuous “wr-r-r-r, wr-r-r-r,” of the wheels made it a. whirl worse. Yet the purblindness of his eyes, when he had no glasses, always made him feel dizzy. “Dropped off when I fell,” he mused; “but I’ve got an- other pair, if | could get ’°em out. Wonder what happened Your promise and it seemed to him the am ES to Chip?” j . ; “This is nice riding,” he said to the cowboy, jolting me out the sentence. “Going far?” The horrible eye flicked, and the horrible mouth grinned A again. co) | Ae “Quite a piece, and then some; Wie: “There was two of us,” "the other one?” glad you're likin’ it.” said Fisher; “what became of ‘Hadn’t time to notice; when I took that last shot at him, he was still goin’,” “ lost my eyes—back there, when I fell; another pair in my pocket. Been losing things so much lately, I’ve taken to carrying extras, like an automo- bile. Maybe you'd fish ’ em out for me?” “Fish ’em out yourself,” the cowboy growled. ; “Thanks again, for the permission. That’s my name, you know—Fisher,” He had feared to put his hand in his pocket, lest he should be suspected of trying to draw a weapon. Now e he drew out his extra glasses, snapped them out of their “ case, and straddled them on his nose. _ “A wonderful help,” he commented, and looked around. Doc Fisher's airy assumption of fearlessness got him no further. With the cowboy’s hairy hand ready to paw . at him, he could not fling himself from the buckboard, at he ‘isk of being crushed under the wheels, a thing -which could not haye accomplished much for him, anyway, he but I’ve got TOP WEEKLY. TZ the horses, to get him, or the men could Have picked him off with their guns, as he ran. “Up against it hard,” Fisher about Chip. Hope he had the Merriwell luck. if these idiots got Crowfoot?” sighed. . “I 1 knew Wonder wish When, after a run of several miles, the horses began to show signs of strain, they were stopped, and Sloan and the cowboy washed the mouth of each animal with alcohol. That, and a brief rest, had a wonderfully reviv- ing and exhilarating effect. So far as Fisher could see, there were still no pursuers near. To the eastward the desert haze still held; on the west and northwest it was breaking. There blue-black clouds were piling. As Fisher looked at those in the northwest, he saw a shimmer of lightning run over them. The effect was like that of quick fire fluttering over balls of black cotton. But the lightning was too far off for any thunder heard. Fisher course to be that the mountains The and the Calico time, long before, knew Cafions. The there were in where the haze had cleared. storm, if there was one, was in those mountains. Entirely familiar with Frank Merriwell’s plans and be- liefs, Fisher knew exactly what these men were attempt- ing; knew they would try to effect a junction with An- derson, at the cafions, ané then would go on south. That would give them a night drive. Perhaps Ander- would have fresh horses for them. With fresh horses, and hard driving, they could, before morning, be well on their way to the Mexican line. Fisher was wondering how far they would take him; what they could do with him, in the end; what would be the final outcome if they succeeded in crossing the Mexican boundary, and held him with them then. He did not intend that this should happen. The rough ground, that began in hummocks and rose into foothills, was reached just before nightfall. The haze still held’ on the back trail. Sloan had pushed his horses at a killing pace. One of them had gone lame, and the other showed signs of exhaustion. In this rough country it was impossible to push ‘them farther. When the halt was made, and Fisher was pulled out of the buckboard, he had no strength left in him; he fell heavily, like a sack of sand, and lay in the grass. Sloan scribbled feverishly in a note book, while the cow- boy removed the harness from the horses and turned the animals loose. by this was .toward sight, son Tearing out) his scribbled sheet, Sloan pinned it to the leather cushion of the buckboard with a knife. Fisher did not get to read it; but here it is, as Sloan wrote it: “FRANK MERRIWELL: I’ve got one of the boys you set to watch me, I thought you might try something of the kind. Crowd me, and I kill that boy. But if you're sen- sible,\ and hold off, I’ll turn him loose. More, I’ve a. frieid with me and we’re armed with Remingtons. A word to the wise,” Sloan did not sign his name to it; and did not need to do it. Fisher, tired to exhaustion, siete Sloan as the knife was driven home, pinning the message. Though he had not read it, Fisher guessed its meaning rather accurately, “I’ve got to give ’em the slip,” he thought, — How was it to be done? he preferred not to, — _ CHAPTER VIL THE PURSUIT. Driving their hot-pursuit, Frank Merriwell’s party over- took Joe Crowfoot two or three miles out of the town. Here Jim Reedy dropped out of the game, and was very glad that he had an excuse. He was not hardened to riding, he felt sore in every muscle, his spine seemed to have worked up into a knot at the back of his neck. His fear was that the Merriwells would thirkk him a “piker.” “I’m not a good horseman,” ne said; “yet I’d go on with you if you hadn’t a better man.” Crowfoot pretended not to be pleased with this offer of a mount. He was a peculiar old Joe. When deeds needed to be done—particularly when a trail like this had to be followed—he tried to beguile himself into think- ing he was still young enough for anything; while at other times it pleased his peculiar humor, or Indian fancy, to feel, or profess to feel, that age sat heavily on him, and his feet were in the very gates of death. Right now: old Joe wanted: to feel young and strong—a runner warrior fit for the hardest, war trail, to whom the offer of a horse, after he had straightened out in the runner lope, was an insult. But this affectation fled when Dick told him to mount Reedy’s animal, and be quick about it. Then they galloped on, leaving Reedy standing in the burned ground, looking after them. They found the place where Sloan’s attack had been made; and, lying there,‘ the body of Fisher’s horse. Then the buckboard trail was taken up, and the pur- suit pushed. It was a plain trail,.across the blackened ground, and, from the first, there was no doubt that the fugitives, with Fisher, were heading for the cafions. Though they did not come in sight of the men they fol- lowed, they must have been close on them when the horses and buckboard were abandoned. ‘The exhausted horses were sighted as darkness fell. When the buck- board was surrounded, they were forced to light matches to read the message they found knife-pinned to the cushion leather. It was impossible to go farther at the time. Their horses had been hard driven; also, night was upon them. Worst of all was the storm, roaring down now from the northwest, with a flare of vivid lightning and earth-jar- ring thunder, Before them were broken lava slopes, beds ‘of cactus, scrub, and chaparral—and that sweeping tem- pest. Frank Merriwell acted quickly, as he did in every emer- gency. A shelter of rocks, under a granite wall, was found, into which horses and riders crowded. They were hardly within it before the storm broke, in a fury of wind and rain, accompanied by blinding lightning and shaking peals of thunder. The sloping granite over them poured off water as if a: water main had broken on the roof of a house. It does not often rain in Arizona; but sometimes, when he it does rain, it seems determined to make up quickly for all deficiencies. The black cloud that had rolled over the mountains seemed to have been ripped asunder by their granite teeth and all‘the water in it let, out at once. The shoulders of the mountains heaved the flood into the _ Cafions, and out it went, bellowing into the valleys, drown- ing them, converting the thirsty earth into an inland sea. NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. Huddled under the granite ledge, in a wet nest of rocks, Frank and his companions talked, when they could; when they could not talk, they listened to the howling of the storm and the beating of the sheets of rain. “Rain maker got heap big medicine,” grunted; “if he try harder, we all be dead!” “Oh, there isn’t anything in that rain-making busi- ness,” cried Chip. “A lot in it, my son,” said Frank. “What? They make rain?” “Oh, no; they make money. That’s what I mean; there’s a lot in it, for the rain makers.” “That’s right,” Dick agreed. “A lot of people will always believe now that the dynamite brought this storm, just as any number of people claim that after every battle there is a big rain. I suppose ‘it can’t be helped; there always will be fools who are afraid of the number thir- teen, and Friday, the bad luck of wearing an opal, and all that sort of tommyrot; that’s the kind the rain makers scoop into their fool-catcher net.” They were still talking, in the steady downpour, speak- ing now of Fisher and the fugitives, when Dick, who had been nearest Crowfoot, made the sudden and surpris- ing discovery that the old redskin was gone. CHAPTER VIII. CROWFOOT’S WAR TRAIL. Under the protecting lee of a rocky wall old Joe Crow- foot huddled, to regain breath and strength. The wind and rain drove by him, and, swinging gustily against the wall, beat on him. His thin cotton shirt, his fringed leg- gings and moccasins were soaked through and through. On his uncovered head his raven-black hair was plastered close, the ends hanging down on his neck and round his face in wispy strings that dripped like tiny water / spouts. Old Joe bore it all as part of the punishment justly due him for his breach of faith. So strong was. his feeling that he deserved much worse, that he was almost ready to delight in the buffetings of the gale. There was a certain warrior sense of honor which old Joe knew he Yad violated. Disaster had come, as a: re- sult. He must do something personally to repair that disaster. \ It was this that had driven Crowfoot forth into the storm. Fearing permission would not be given, he had slipped away. Now his mind was groping forward into the future, and into the hills. | He was resolved to trail down the men who held Fisher. Trailing could not be done in the night and storm; yet Crowfoot was not hesitating. Before the storm broke, he had noted carefully the course the men had taken after abandoning their buckboard. He knew’ the hills and the mountains, having been more than once all over — them. Hence he was able to judge the direction of their farther flight. In a lull of the wind Crowfoot emerged from his shel- | ter, and set his face into the storm. Flashes of lightning guided him, as he held on his way. As he could not be made wetter, the rainfall did not greatly trouble him, except when it caught away his breath, or the furious. wind that drove it fought him to a standstill, old Joe at length ) Sea Through the ee ravines that were now sition, - re ees = fet ete iaiit t aR e Rb, teal Tae, Se “ ole = a — = Pia * rivers, he waded and swam. He picked his path round the cactus beds... When the wet banks of chaparral spread their arms wide, he bored through them. How he held to a generally straight course was a thing to amaze a white man. Only when the red lightning ‘flamed. over the mountains could he see anything; when the lightning failed, the blackness was of so ebony a hue thet no words can describe it. Still, with Indian tenacity, he held on, his neck craned, his body bent, his spongy moccasins slipping and sliding on the rocks. After two or three hours of this, old Joe Crowfoot halted. The storm was still roaring through the hills, but the rain was abating. His judgment and his intuition told him that the men he sought were near. They had a good start before the rain broke, yet they could -have gone not much farther than this. But to find them in the darkness was beyond even old Joe’s ability. Moving about carefully, Crowfoot alighted on a place in- which he could lie down. When everything was wet beyond description, there was no use seeking a dry spot. On. the smooth rock old Joe stretched himself and let the rain stream over him. He kept it out of his face by burying his. face in his arms, Thus he lay, waiting pa- tiently for the storm to pass. The rain was not cold, fortunately, it was tepid warm; yet, after long exposure to it, old Joe was shivering. 3eginning to feel chilled, through cessation of his exer- tions, Crowfoot walked to and fro on the rock. The mad front of the storm having since passed, the rain was thin- ning out, and the wind was dying: As he walked, Crow- foot’s keen old eyes searched the darkness. He scarcely expected to detect anything—it was mere matter of old habit; a warrior is always alert on a war trail. Yet, as he walked and watched, he caught the flash of a light; saw, behind the flash, a shadowed face and a man’s rain-soaked form. After the storm, Sloan and his cowboy were trying to staft a fire, in a hollow of rocks in a ravine. They were lower than Crowfoot; so that, in effect, he was looking down from above into their shelter. The light of the match failed. In the final gleams of lightning flickering across the sky, Crowfoot gazed on the storm-torn mountains, the wet rocks and peaks, and on a sea of water. “Ugh!” The Indian’s grunt signified many things. Chiefly, it ‘was of amazement that the white men had squatted down there, and apparently did not know that a great peril of water threatened them, Also, there was in it an expres- sion of satisfaction, of revenge, Sees and exultation over a foe. _ Crowfoot had seen the face of only one man—a man he did not know; he was sure Sloan was there, though— and knew this man was Sloan’s companion, and he was j almost as sure that with them was Fisher, held a prisoner. Old Joe crouched and waited for further develop- The fightning flickered again and disclosed more clearly, ‘now that he was watching for it, the water backing into the choked ravine above the camping spot of the white men. if “Mucho good!” he muttered, Then, “Afuy malo!” Another match flickered, and went out. The efforts of NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. through, puzzled old Joe; water-proof case. The attempt to start a fire informed Crowfoot that the men thought they had left their pursuers far behind. they had probably been in 2 That was not a matter for-wonder. Pursuit, after the storm broke, had seemed, and had been deemed, im possible. Crowfoot mused, studying the situ- all, everything, mucho “Heap plenty wet,” ation; “gun wet; ca’tridge wet; wet. Very good!” Getting his bearings when the lightning’ flared once more, old Joe began to make his way toward the white They had. not lighted a fire, and he was sure they not even men. could not do so—that nothing would burn, gunpowder. Crowfoot’s was now strong. the estimation of Dick Merriwell; believed, he had grievously fallen. His caution became acute, crafty. A coyote sliding over the wet rocks could not have been stealthier. Movy- ing close to the ground, in crouching fashion, he might even have been mistaken for one had he been seen. Crowfoot set himself first to get a look at the rock- choked ravine. It had appeared to be filling rapidly above the rocky dam. He judged that a considerable trickle passed through the crevices of this natural dam, however, making a flowing stream past the place occupied by Sloan and his companions. Otherwise, they would have seen that something was wrong—a ravine that did not furnish a stream at that time would HAYS, piqued curiosity and demanded. investigation. In his mind’s eye, Crowfoot saw the entire situation; but he wanted to verify the truth of this inner vision. Keeping close to the ravine as he*worked down, he discovered that he was right—a small lake was forming well above the men, at the point where the rocks held the water back. When he reached the natural dam itself, he saw that through some big crevices much water was passing, sup- plying the stream that roared by the white men’s camping spot. They were in a trap, and did not know it; they were not as familiar with this particular part of the moun- tains as was Crowfoot; or, in the darkness they had gone astray, and did not really know where they were. “Muy malo!” Crowfoot grunted, thinking of the plight of the white men if the rising lake broke over the top of the rocks and poured down on them. Squatting in the drizzle, all that was left of the big rain, he studied the dam and the lakelet, making use of the lightning flashes that flared back from the storm. Climbing finally to the top of the dam, he pulled loose a few rocks, and saw the water begin to spurt over. | “Very bad,” he whispered, and drew back; “git um boy, too. 4 To work loose enough rocks to hurl the flood on the camp would have been to defeat his purpose—the rescue of Doc Fisher. It may well be doubted if Crowfoot thought much about the inhumanity of sending the lakelet down / on Fisher’s enemies. ny “No good,” he muttered, backing away, setting his mind SS to working along another line. fe He saw he would have to get Fisher out of. the hope of undoing the mischief he had caused He foresaw himself raised again in from which, as he ” TE aE Sean Aa Hone So he wormed on down toward the white men, wor- dering if he dared risk a dash into their midst. Before he had reached any decision, Nature began to take a hand in the game. The water, rising rapidly in the ravine, fed by a hundred little streams, was reaching the top of the natural dam, and began to exert a pressure there that could not for long be withstood. Not knowing this, Crowfoot slid his wet form down into the ravine below the dam, and crept along close beside the current.. Its noise helped to cover his move- ments. He had almost made up his mind to risk a dash. However, before, he came to it, something broke at the dam; probably the pressure of the water pushed_or slid some of the big stones out of position. A roar sounded ; a thousand bowlders seemed knocking themselves suddenly together; there was a breakerlike swish and pounding of water. Old Joe Crowfoot sprang to his feet and dived for- ward in a quick run, abandoning every pretense of secrecy. Into the camp he bounded, a wild figure of the storm. Sloan and the cowboy had leaped up as they heard the dam break. Fisher had leaped up, too. He had been sit- ting in a wet and huddled heap, but he was not bound. ‘Straight on ran Crowfoot, past the two men, who, in their bewilderment, did not know what was happening. The next instant he had Fisher by the collar of his coat and was literally dragging him. Sloan pitched up his rifle. The hammer clicked on a useless cartridge. When he pulled again, a cartridge was struck that had not been injured by the wet, and Crow- foot felt the bullet tug at a lock of his flying hair. Sloan had shot blindly, yet with much accuracy. His Remington flashed and roared again. The report, this time, was drowned in the greater roar of the rushing water. ! Crowfoot showed scant consideration for Fisher’s com- fort. Helstopped only long enough to swing the boy to . his shoulder; then dashed on, beginning to climb the side of the ravine. Having been jerked and pulled into a state of such dizziness and confusion that he did not know what was being done to him, Fisher began to yell in fright when the redskin swung him up, and/thrashed about with his hands and feet. The next moment he was needing all his breath and strength for another purpose; for the flood, striking them, lifted Crowfoot’ and flung him and Fisher along bodily, whirling them around as if they had been logs of wood. The life of Doc Fisher would not have been worth a second’s purchase if the old Indian had not clung leech- like to his collar; he would have been whirled away, dashed against the rocks, and drowned. When his dizzy mind had become so blurred that he was growing insensible and he ‘had remaining only the dim thought that he was in the middle of the ocean, and trying to swim, as he was slammed, with Crowfoot, into the swinging top of a tree, which the flood was under- mining and bending over. The old Indian clung to the treetop with one hand and swung Fisher beside him with the other, while the head of the released flood tore over them and past them. In that first wild dash the waters had done their worst; . NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. they lost bulk and force immediately. Within five min- utes the swinging treetop, bending at a forty-five-degree angle, was high and dry; the remnant of the flood was running swift and strong below it. Fisher came out of his hazy state to a knowledge of the fact that his coat was being pulled off his back, and his limp collar was like a hangman’s rope, cutting his neck in two. He gasped, wriggled, and flounced; gasped again, trying to get his breath, and put his hands to his throat. Crowfoot swung him against the branch, pulled him around until he was lying on it; then loosened up his grip on Fisher’s collar. He held the boy there, and still clutched him as if he feared Fisher would fall when he descended from the tree, ten minutes later. There was still a strong stream flowing through the ravine. Crowfoot did not need to descend into it, He dropped to the rocks beyond the water; then began to move along, carrying Fisher in his arms. The Merriwells and their companions were as astounded as any one ever was in Arizona, or elsewhere, when old Joe Crowfoot came into their midst, as they were get- ting ready for the pursuit, bringing with him Doc Fisher, “[’m ready for the hospital—bruises, scratches, black eyes, all the symptoms of a human wreck,” said Fisher, as he swayed unsteadily before them; “yet I’m alive. And Crowfoot—he’s a wonder! Ask him yourself.” * * Pt em ~ > * It was a week later before the bodies of Sloan and the cowboy were found, by the sheriff’s posse, in the cafion below. What became of Anderson was never known, though it seerned certain he had, also, lost his life in the great storm. CHAPTER IX. MERRIWELL AGAINST MERRIWELL, When Frank Merriwell and his party got back to Palo Verde, which they did not accomplish for two or three days, they learned that Tony Hart had fled from the town, taking with him Joe Crowfoot’s two hundred dollars; and that his erstwhile friends of the rain-making crew, whom he had called the Dynamiters, had turned against him and were denouncing him. They were convinced now that he was a scoundrel, who had tried to help Sloan; and tat Frank Merriwell had charged him rightly. This, however, was but like a ripple on the surface, compared with the other subject, to which they were giv- ing their minds with engrossing attention. Frank and his friends heard of this as soon as they came into the town. It was Jim Reedy who enlightened them fully, later, at their hotel. “It’s. a great plan,” said Reedy, his fair face flaming with enthusiasm. “Merriwell against Merriwell. Sounds good,.doesn’t it? Everybody’s talking about it; though Now all of Palo Verde it was started by the Dynamiters. has taken it up. "em have played in college nines, went up in smoke; it was a disappointment. not blaming you, see—but just when. they were settling I’m chief fugleman for the rooters, Those Dynamiters are nearly all ball players. Three of © They want a game of ball. That’s what’s biting ’em. “That game we started me They’ res" down to enjoy some fancy baseball work from the Mer. a ao oe # +H fF A a Seeks ar \ z aS _ iy ital TEE OR Korg SS Oi taiet thas : 2s baa se ae BOO Re ade i ace Se riwells—biff !—the whole thing blew up. They’re disap- pointed. Can you blame them?” “They want us to pick a nine and play it against the Dynamiters?” Frank asked. “Not so you’d notice it,” said Reedy. “What chance would the Dynamiters have? They want you to pick nines, out of the Dynamiters, or wherever there is material; they want to split the Merriwell combination—it’s too much for anybody to go against; want Frank to be in one nine, and Dick in the other. Doesn’t that hit you be- tween the eyes? It does. Think of it! A great pitchers’ battle; Dick Merriwell and Frank Merriwell pitching against each other! Say, if you fellows will do it, and just give us time, we'll have half of Arizona on the Palo Verde ball grounds when the great exhibition is pulled off.” Frank and Dick could not.keep from laughing at Reedy’s enthusiasm and excitement. “You think it’s funny? Well, let me tell you—you’re go- ing to disappoint a lot of good fellows, if you don’t do it.” Within half an hour, while Frank was looking over the mail that had come for him, a deputation from the Dyna- _ miters was announced, Their spokesman was one of the college men. “We're a bit off grade, now,” he said; “maybe you’ve a prejudice against us because we’re with this rain-balloon outfit.” He laughed humorously. “If we don’t believe in it—are working for the pay envelope on Saturday, you can’t say that we didn’t get a ripper of a storm down here, right on the heels of our rain making.” “I’m not prejudiced,” said Frank; “even intelligent men may differ about that kind of rain making. I can see that you are down in the Southwest for adventure, and money on the side; just the sort to hire out to the rain makers. So that’s all right; no matter what my personal opinion is about the feasibility of bringing rain in that way. We ‘did have a storm that was a history maker, whether it was brought by rain making, or Nature got ready and sent it‘along. Two years ago, when there wasn’t a rain maker in Arizona, there was another storm just like it.” “But about this ball game?” “I'm taking it up with eg That evening the news of a game, soon verified as fact, ran through Palo Verde. It was to be Merriwell against Merriwell; the’ nines were being selected; the brothers were to be pitchers. By morning it was known who were to compose the nines, The batting lists, given out just before the game was played, showed this singular admixture of names: FRANK MERRIWELL’S NINE. Sibley, 1. f. Martinez, c. f. Pinco, 2b. ae Brady, ¢ a 4: Flaherty, 1b. Reedy, s. s. Breitman, 3b. Frank Merriwell, p. DICK MERRIWELL’S NINE, Donovan, 1. f. Jimenez, 2b. Munoz, c. f. Saltillo, r. f. Morgan, tb. Doran, 3b. +. Cbip Merriwell, s. s. | \ Murphy, c. ‘ | Dick Madkiwell, p. NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. 17 Guitterez, an honest little fellow, who knew the game, was again selected for umpire. The same crowd, with additions, trooped out to the field that afternoon, It was a far better day. The storm had cleared the air, scattered the haze, and the weather was markedly cooler. .The driving rain had swept the ball field as clean of dirt and litter as if power brooms had gone over it; the alfalfa in the fields alongside lay flat on the ground. In the streets there were puddles and a good deal of mud, but the level field, having enough slope for drainage, did not suffer in that way. The fact that the Merriwells were to play, in a game that was looked on as a novelty, was highly pleasing to the citizens of Palo Verde. The chief dignitary, who re- joiced in the title of mayor, but who would probably have been considered only a small alcalde if he had been on the southern side of the Mexican boundary, drove out in an automobile, with some of the town officials sitting with him. He stood up in his motor and tossed a new white ball out to the pitcher when the hour came for that time- honored function. Also, he made a little speech, in which he assured every one of the pride with which Palo Verde witnessed this day of days. Then: the crowd rocked cheers at the blue sky, and everybody felt happy. Frank and Dick, though they were always glad to please their friends, knew, in their inmost hearts, that they were also at this time pleasing themselves not a little. They liked baseball—always had played it, and hoped that they would always be able to play it. There was a friendly rivalry between the brothers, in any particular, and they were prepared to play against each other with every ounce of strength and every particle of skill they possessed. Otherwise, it would have been no ball game, only a make believe, offering neither sport nor fun. There had been the ordinary warming-up practice. It disclosed to both Dick and Frank, and to Chip, as well, that the effects of the strenuous ride to the cafions had not passed. Old Joe Crowfoot was finding himself in a state of sad bewilderment. How could he howl for Merriwell’s side, when it was both sides? The mental refinements allow- ing one Merriwell to do battle against another, and not get mad over it, were quite beyond him. In his indecision he sat on the ground, tossing a copper cent. One side of the cent was named Dick Merriwell— that was the head; the other side was Frank Merriwell.. The cent had a puzzling way of dividing the throws evenly; first it was head, then tail; head, then tail. “Ugh!” Joe grunted. When it came three times head, and twice only the other side, he made his decision; he would stick by Dick, the thing he had been wanting to do all along. “Whoopee!” he yelled. “Um Dick Merriwell, he goin’ win. He bettum top cent. Me make um big medicine for Dick Merriwell.” Instead of dancing round the plate, he chose the pitcher’s box; Dick stood in it, for Frank’s nine was going first to bat. “Dick Merriwell win um,” said Crowfoot; and he began’ “to weave his charm round Dick and ‘the re $ position, whirling and dancing. Dick looked on with a smile. eo NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. “You'll: be fired out, if you don’t clear out,” he said finally; “the umpire has been talking with a friend, but he’s ready: for work now.” Joe got out of the way. “Play ball!” came floating over the diamond in the high-keyed voice of Guitterez. The game was on. CHAPTER X. WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. Though straight and tall and broad-shouldered, Dick Merriwell looked loose and wide in his baseball clothing, for the suit did not fit him. Facing him in the batter’s position was Sibley, one of the Dynamiters. Sibley looked strong as an ox—able to flatten the ball, or tear the cover off. Dick broke loose with a curve that switched downward. Murphy, the catcher, handled it well. Sibley had not even tried for it. “You're too swift,” paste you-—” Dick baited him with another curve, kink in its tail, Sibley let it go. In desperation, he slammed at the next, pop it up, and Dick gathered it in. The cheering was a queer affair—a medley; it held all kinds of strange racial accents. The spectators had divided at the point of friendship; those friendliest to the men in Dick’s nine howling for Dick, and vice versa. Attracted by their mutual likes, two groups had formed; and these, leading, were followed and echoed by all who felt with them. The champions of Dick’s now roared their hilarity when Sibley was retired; they acted as if they knew it would be done—couldn’t help being done. Somewhere old Joe had found his battered stovepipe and its now disreputable feather, and when he was not crow hopping for Dick, he was swinging this ancient headpiece and yelling with all his leathery Indian lungs. . Martinez, following Sibley, almost failed to see the sphere when it flashed at him. Three times he poked holes in the air, and quit. Pinco, another Mexican who thought he could bat, did no better. Biff—bang—slam! Three men were out. / Old Joe was deliriously whirling in his “cakewalk.” Donovan, the Irish-American who led Dick’s batting list, had a good-humored red face and a share of Irish wit, He was as big a man as Sibley. Having faced Frank before this, he had learned caution and a great _ respect for Frank’s pitching ability. “Ar-r!” he grated, as he stepped forward, swinging _ two bats, then throwing one away, to make the one he retained feel lighter. “Ut’s up ag’inst ye I am ag’in. Bad - luck to th’ mimiry of that other time. Here’s where I git into the game.” _ Few pitchers had finer or more masterful curves than _ Frank Merriwell. Yet, because he knew that Donovan _was looking for curves, he chose straight ones, Four balls whistled at the rubber—one a wide teaser— aod Donovan, fanning the atmosphere with Irish despera- tion and pluck, fanned himself out. “That Injun is on our side this time, yit——” Again he threw down his bat in disgust. he muttered; “but if I can once with still another managed to Jimenez followed him. Though a Mexican, Jimenez was a muscular fellow, and reputed to be a crack batsman. — It was said that he had been a bullfighter, and one could = see at a glance that he had enormous strength. or as Jimenez faced two of Frank’s fade-aways; then caught a wide one on the tip of his bat. It had a queer kink in it; instead of amounting to anything, it spun, toplike, down to first, where it was cleverly handled by the Irish- man, Flaherty. “Ye’re out befure ye’re in,” Flaherty said to him. Munoz, another Mexican, slashed at the first one that came, slashed again and again, and was out. By the time the second inning opened, the spectators — were beginning to feel that a genuine pitchers’ battle was — on; with Merriwell pitted against Merriwell, many of them had not expected it. Brady, Frank Merriwell’s big catcher, another Irishman, faced Dick in the opening of the second. Brady’s friends were supremely confident of his ability to “pick ’em out of the air” on the end of his bat, They cheered him lustily. There was a faint smile on the face of Dick Merri-_ well; he seemed not at all afraid of big Pat Brady. He wound up with a peculiar swing, and sent in what seemed an imitation. of Frank’s fade-away, though it looked easier. Brady thought he surely could lift it so deep into the hay - that it would be lost. And he really connected! But he — got only a tap, which twisted as a grounder down to second, and was snapped up by Jimenez. ae The confident Brady sought the peaceful benches, and his confident backers choked down the yells in their throats. Ca aa Ignacio and Flaherty went the way of Brady. bee a ee Old Joe was again doing his cakewalk, and Dick’s Mexi- amma can admirers were bellowing some Mexican words to the. 4) tune of “A Hot Time.” jit But there came again a quick swapping of sida sae tillo, Morgan, and Doran went down—in one-t o-three — order. There was no run getting visible even on the — horizon. Dick Merriwell walked once more ‘into’ the cy pitcher’s position. Reedy, by the advance of the batting list, came now ‘up to meet the pitching of Dick Merriwell. On Reedy’s ‘ face sat a wistful look as he smiled at Dick. If it had been safe, Dick might have favored Reedy’ with an “easy one.” But he could not do it. Frank Merriwell would soon step into the batter’s place. Dick decided to remove Reedy remorselessly. i. But “the best-laid plans——” Reedy was a good, ordinary player; he ani aie with fair ability; he had even driven in home runs and put ‘em over the fence. But he felt that he had no chance against Dick Merriwell. He swung at the first. ball that came in+swung with a kind of oe desperation. that he did favor Vie without nollie it; not putt into his throw the ginger and the snapping break of the curve he would have done, if he had felt; he was i ng a batter. to be feared. end of the bat. It shot sharply into fest escapi th first bagman; bounced on, and buried itself in the al alfa Reedy was fanning like a scared hound, har { but the concealing alfalfa helped, and before the ball could be fished from the hay, Reedy was dancing on first. The heavy German, Breitman, following Reedy, out. struck Frank Merriwell came up. It was amusing to see the outfielders widening out, like an opening fan. A .sudden new alertness made itself - hanifest. A roaring Cheer for Frank Merriwell went roll- ing across the ball grounds. paps Reedy’s blond face was a deep pink with excitement. Dick Merriwell faced his brother with a smile, Each knew the peculiarities, the strength, and the weak points, 6h aN of the other; each respected the other’s playing ability. As if feeling his way, Dick sent a wide curve, that still somehow twisted in, so that it cut the plate, in a drop. Frank went after it, and fouled. viene Dick made his curve wider, and the umpire gave him a ai ball,” be The fielders began to creep in. ‘es a Catching a signal from Frank—Dick did not know _ Frank’s signals for this game—Reedy learned that Frank meant to try for deep center. eS eM ty - Dick switched to a swift ball, putting it right over with e phenomenal speed. Frank let it go by, and had a strike OR: called. i na _ The next ball over, coming like a bullet out of an ic | express gun, he reached for. on Crack! 4. It was a terrific hit, right over the head of the center \* fielder, who had now got too close in; the fielder had } thought to back up short and the second baseman, his © =} ~~ mind being on the elimination of Jim Reedy. 423 xa The flying ball struck far out in the alfalfa, and went on like a rabbit scuttling for cover. Jim Reedy simply put wings on his feet and flew. Right behind him came Frank Merriwell, driving him for home. The people in the weather-beaten bleachers leaped to i am their feet, emitting howls. Everybody was howling, ap- as i parently. The chattering of the coachers was swamped in y the mighty outburst of sound. Old Joe Crowfoot, starting to howl, closed his jaws began to toss his penny. “Come um heads!” he begged. “Come um heads!” Reedy passed second, passed third; turned for home. ‘Right behind him was Frank Merriwell. The fielder had reached the ball; he came swinging up out of the grass with it; over it came, in a really great throw. Dick was ready to take it. Then pandemonium held sway. Murphy, at the plate, was crouching i in tense readiness. - Reedy shot over the plate. The ball smacked in Dick’s glove, and he swung around as if pivoted. Frank was hurling himself in a slide. The all seemed to leave Dick’s hand as soon as it was in ‘it, and it came to Murphy with a bulletlike whistle. Murphy dived with it, at Frank, ned banged the ball paonn on him. place, if ever, to even the score. i with a snap like a steel trap, and dropped down. He NEW “TTP TOP WEEKLY. 19 “Safe!” he yelled, in his shrill treble, coming up with fa jerk. Frank and Reedy had put up two runs, in the first half of the third inning. But for Frank it had been a close call. CHAPTER XI. THE FINISH. In the second half of the third inning Chip Merriwell, at the batter’s plate, faced his father. At the tail end of Dick’s batting list came Chip, with Murphy and Dick Merriwell himself; so here was, the Chip realized it. Doc Fisher, trying to encourage Chip, was doing more harm than good, bouncing and’ yelling. Fisher was a caricature, too—a thing to laugh at; an unhealed gash in his head he had bound round with a cloth, over a pack- ing of antiseptic cotton, and the cotton, bulging out around the rim. of his hat, gave him the appearance of wearing the woolly head of an albino negro. This, with a swollen lip, and the bow-window glasses on his nose, had con- verted} Doc Fisher into a “sight.” Utterly oblivious of it, Fisher was waving his hands and shouting, to “brace Chip’s nerves.” In addition, Joe Crowfoot was cakewalking again, to remove the hoodoo that he thought Dick Merriwell was suffering under, and everybody and his wife seemed to be cheering. When Frank Merriwell turned, Chip “Bdipped his bat and squared away. ; The ball came over the rubber, but with a bewildering drop. Chip struck, and found only a hole in the air. But from the next pitched ball, aad was wider out, Chip got a beautiful double. Dick signaled to Murphy, the next batter up, to sacri- fice. Murphy tried it—failed; tried again—failed; desperately made a final effort, and again failed. Chip’s hopes rose when Dick took up the willow. With one man out, a runner on second, and Dick Mer- riwell at the bat, the excitement in the ranks of the spec- - tators mounted again to fever pitch. Frank knew that Chip was quick on his feet and ready to take chances; that he could leap away almost at top speed as soon as he started, and he saw that if Dick got a good single, Chip might score from second. Fearing Chip’s running ability, and fearing Dick’s bat- ting ability, Frank decided that it would be better to fur- nish Dick with a pass to first, and take his chances with the weaker batters who were to follow. He drove Chip back to second, but could not keep him hugging the cushion, as he began to hand out to Dick the wide ones. As Frank swung his arm and let the third wide one go, something happened, in obedience to Dick’s signal. Chip was running away from second before the ball had left Frank’s hand. Breitman was covering third, and Irish Flaherty backed him up from teft field. Brady, Frank’s capable catcher, scorched the air with a hot line throw. But Chip slipped ° under, and was safe by a margin that was too narrow - for comfort. Some of the spectators disputed the umpire’s decision; it had been so close a margin, and the movements of NEW runner, ball, and bagman, so rapid, that their eyes tad been fooled. “It’s all right,” “My decision she stands, those who were howling at him. eyes, it is so.” Chip caught a signal from Dick, and knew that Dick would seek to hit the next pitched ball. So, crouching and ready for a spring, Chip crept off third. Still desirous of passing Dick to first, Frank put the ball wide of the rubber; he did not think Dick could get it without stepping out of the box. Crack! The end of Dick’s long bat caught it. Chip was coming in like the wind when the bat and ball met. The bagman at second failed to get the batted ball—it scuttled past him; it was stopped by Reedy, at short, and Reedy lined it in, trying to nip Chip at the plate. Reedy failed; Chip slid to safety. Brady, seeing this, shot the ball hot to first, to get Dick; but he was too late. said Frank; “he was safe!” ” cried the umpire, glaring at “What | see with my Yet, the support failing, Dick got no farther than first. Two to one—there the score stood; and it seemed des- tined to stick there. The battling brothers had again the heads of the batting lists to toy with. Yet some of those batsmen thought themselves rather good; a few, even, had boasted that no Merriwell could find holes in their bats. Now and then they seemed to justify, to a small extent, their boasting. The innings rolled along. It was “three strikes, and out.” Again it would be “three strikes, and out.” The spectators began to get tired of hearing little Guitterez say those words; he always said them in the same way, with an explosive effect that irritated people who rejoiced in a game only when there was run getting. As for the times when batsmen seemed faintly to jus- tify their boasting : Flaherty, the Irish first baseman, got a single off Dick. And Reedy tried to sacrifice, with a bunt. Dick fooled Reedy. He had a trick, at times, of throwing every ball in what seemed exactly the same manner; that kept a batter from judging what was com- ing, by the style of his delivery. The hall that Reedy saw coming in resembled one of the high ones he had been watching, that might change to a drop; but this time it slipped over the plate in a fancy inshoot. Reedy thought he was putting his bat where the ball could not get by it, and me amazed when he made as clean a miss as he had ever! made in his life, But-Frank was again on deck, after Breitman had struck out, and Frank was not to be fooled easily by anything his tall brother could do. Frank could “wait” when he thought it desirable. _ But the unexpected happened, as it does usually in baseball. Dick, by his swift changes of delivery, fooled him, and the redoubtable Frank Merriwell struck out, amaz- ing even himself, Two men were out; Reedy was on Stet, F huait his heone: in the batters failing somewhat, and TIP TOP WEEKLY. being tired of camping on first, Reedy ventured to imitate . the boldness of Chip Merriwell, and try to steal. For the batsman it was a “strike.” Murphy winged the ball to second to nail the runner. Reedy was going like the wind. He slid, spikes first, and the man at second, who seemed to have him caught, dropped the ball when he saw those spikes coming at him, and the umpire said that Reedy was safe. But it did no good, except that it furnished’ food for excitement to the howling throng that looked on, Reedy _ Sed got no farther. In the next inning, Dick pulled in a home run, ham- mering Frank at a weak spot; and the score was a tie— two to two. The excitement was growing more and more intense. Old Joe Crowfoot had banged his hat until there were holes in it, and had yelled until his throat was grow- ing raw. The cheering had in it a hoarse note, indicating — that overworked vocal organs were wearing out. Chip Merriwell came up against his father again in the seventh, There was a keen edge of expectancy now, due to the recollection of what Chip had accomplished. ; Frank, eying him with a smile, thought it was time to ; efface him. ’ He put two balls over swiftly, Chip ignoring both, os though his nerves were taut. “Oh, give him a single!’ some one howled from the bleachers, “T don’t want it, unless it’s mine by right,” Chip mut- tered ; those wide outs,” Frank laughed; and handed up an air burner, over the rubber, which Chip missed clean. “Father against son,’ was shouted; old man.” “I’m betting on the 1»? “Even money on the kid! “Oh, let him hit!” the bleachers, Again Chip Merriwell fouled; then Frank caught him with another deceptive slant, for a clean miss. “Strike tuh!” said the umpire. “Oh, go easy with him—give him a chance!” howled. Chip swung at a corner cutter; and the ail foul t was counted a strike. “Ain’t you got no mercy on your only son?” the voice groaned. In the eight Frank Merriwell gained’ a lead of a run. some one cried. voice begged again, in the the ‘voice This gave edge again to the contest. In that same inning, the second half, Murphy, of Dick's nine, succeeded in getting to second base. He was the _ best of the players. Murphy had wonderful running- eal stealing ability, Dick had discovered. So Dick decided, somewhat cru y, to try to wear Frank down all he could. He knew ; Frank's pitching arm was not in the best possible con- dition; Frank had temporarily lamed it in the stren ous work at the cafions; yet he had shown no ee of lameness in the game. Sei Frank so well, Dick was sure ‘hat ule “but I’m not going to be teased into reaching: for * ae NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY, lameness became so pronounced that Frank could not eo control it, he would go on pitching to the end, and no one would be aware that his pitching arm was not in first- rate order. Dick was proud of his brother—of his stamina, ability, grit; he would not have wanted Frank to be other than he was—to Dick he was as nearly perfect as it is possible for one brother to be. in the eyes of another. ' Dick took pride, too, in the Merriwell name; Frank was the head of the Merriwells. Nevertheless, though he did not desire in any way to injure Frank, he thought it the part of baseball wisdom o weaken and worry him now, if it could be done. Baseball asks and receives no more favors than war of any other kind—it is warfare, and if in war one brother - meets another, on opposite sides, in a battle, they are, for _ that time, foes; ‘though they may be, and are, usually, gentlemanly foes. So Murphy, at second, had been signaled by Dick to _ play off as much as he could, to draw as many throws from Frank as possible. But the sword cut in the other direction. Murphy risked too much. Frank shot the ball to second, and Murphy was driven - to. third, was captured, and was out. “No use trying to do things,” thought Dick, “unless you have a nine drilled to work together and trained down to the minute; this is a ragged aggregation.” Later, when he knew that Frank’s arm was really pain- _ing him, he was glad that his maneuver failed. Dick believed then, too—it was merely a quiet, inner -impression—that Frank’s arm, if it had been in its usual - first-class working state, would have enabled him to shut out Dick and his team entirely. Perhaps in that Dick was overgenerous. The game ended with a hot and howling ninth, that left ‘the score still three to two, in favor of Frank and A Ae ‘his men. _ It had been a Merriwell contest, played with the Mer- riwell pluck and skill. _ When it was all over, Chip Merriwell discovered that “Miss Betty Grayson had sat in the bleachers throughout the game, and had been watching him with interest. “Tt was wonderful,” she said. “I had never before seen the American game of baseball.” “England will really discover it some day,” Chip told her, “and then will learn to like it. There are other games, but none quite equal to baseball, for certain quali- ties, in my estimation. The thing that makes it great, I think, is the uncertainty. It is always the unexpected that is happening in baseball.” - “Was it unexpected that your father’s pitching won this game?” she asked. “Be honest, now?” “Tt was not unexpected,” Chip admitted. “But Uncle ick, you know—really, Uncle Dick is a wonder.” “And Chip?” she said. ‘Oh, him—he doesn’t count.” His face had flushed. VT going back to England,” said Miss Betty; “that’s e things I wanted to tell you. I think I’d better ; from here now; everything has heen’ made so 1 But I’m to return after a while—cer- after T am of age; and then—~” tr pee you are going,” said Chip. _were danger, he wouldn’t call.” “Tm sorry to go.” OPait i 4 warmly. “Oh, I hope so!” she said. And her fair English face became a beautiful pirik. shall see you when you return,’ he urged THE END. In the next issue of this weekly, No. 107, out August 15th, you will find an unusual and absorbing story entitled “Dick Merriwell and the Burglar; or, In the Land of the Spouting Fires.” Don’t miss this story. Men and Treasure. By R. KEENE THOMPSON. (This interesting story was commenced in No. 100 of the NEw Tip Top WEEKLY. Back numbers can be obtained from your news dealer or the publishers.) CHAPTER XXxX.. THE DUEL ON DECK. Stunned into temporary inactivity for a moment at the daring of the move, the others had risen from their chairs, and now stood staring at the doorway through which Vaine had disappeared. Then Hawkins leaped forward and fell‘upon the portal, shooting the bolt into place once more. “Fool!” he panted. “Did he want to let that devilish thing in on us to beat us to jelly—tear us to shreds?” “He’s gone!” murmured the girl, staring blankly in the direction of the reclosed door. “Gone?” “To get you a glass of water,” added Brood, something of admiration in his voice; but this was quickly sup- planted by a note of vexation.: “Of all the foolhardy things to do that I ever heard of!” he exclaimed. “It’s certain death,” said Hoxley, “Poor, poor fellow! I liked him. He was a very likable chap, wasn’t he?” He turned appealingly to the others. And all at once he burst out crying, the big tears rolling down his weazened cheeks. “Poor, poor chap!” he sobbed, his nerves giving completely , away. Suddenly Brood threw up his head. “Hark!” he cried. They listened.. From the head of the companionway—- there could be no mistaking the direction of the sound— came Vaine’s yoice, calling to them: “Come up! Quick—all of you, come! ” A moment they hesitated, looking from one to the other. And then, as the reporter’s ery floated down to them again, Brood bolted for the door. Hawkins caught. his arm. “You aren't going to try to go to his rescue?” he cried, his face ashy pale. “It'll do no good——” "It’s not help he wants!” the engineer exclaimed, tear- ing himself loose from the other’s detaining clutch, “Can’t you tell that he’s not in trouble? There’s something doing, and he wants us to come and see it with him. If there en Up the ladder out- side he dashed. The capitalist and Hoxley followed at his heels: After thém hastened the girl. . 4 He had the door open by this time. RRS TS and started aft at a rolling lope. catch a flash from its fierce eyes, to mark the glitter of _ yawning fangs. As Brood reached the top of the ladder, the dark figure on the deck before him turned. “Look there!” said Vaine, pointing toward the bow. Cut out as in silhouette in the brilliance of the moon, two forms could be seen struggling, swaying, locked in each other’s embrace next the foremast. “What—what is it?” Brood whispered. Now, as he strained his eyes through the dark, he could make out in the outline of one of the two fighting forms the recognizable shape of the animal. But the other—— “It’s Reegan,” said the reporter. “You remember he scooted when the thing began to climb down’ out of the rigging this evening? I suppose the beast found him out in his temporary hiding place above deck, and—you see the rest!” It was plain, indeed, to the little group who watched from the companionway what was going on before them. The stoker was in the grip of the monster, who had al- ready killed as strong and courageous.a man as he. There could be but one outcome to the present struggle. Silently, evidently with every ounce of nerve and muscle expended in the effort, Reegan was trying 'to com- bat the strength of the inhuman thing which had him in its clutches. He was making the best fight he knew how. And yet-—— “Is there-nothing we can do?” groaned Brood. “Nothing.” \ “But it—it’s awful to see right before your eyes a fel- low man whom you want to help, be——” He broke off. Now that chattering cry from’ the beast rose eerily on the air. The Thing had rushed the stoker to the rail, and the latter’s back was bent, and ever bending farther, over the strip. Suddenly they saw the animal lift his ad- versary high over his head. There was a wild, unearthly scream. Broken as on a rack, arms and legs turned out from the body at grotesque angles, Reegan left the long, apelike arms of the monster in a whirling arc that carried him out over the water fully a dozen yards. Again that scream. And then a dull splash. It was over. “He's killed him!” moaned the financier behind the two young men. “Done for him, and then heaved him overboard like a sack of stone—it’s awful!” The girl gave a low, sad cry. “By all the gods!” Brood began, clenching his fists. And then Vaine turned. “Below!” he roared. “Below for your lives!” The beast had turned at the rail, caught sight of them, There was time to And then the party wheeled and plunged pell-mell back C4 down the ladder again. Once more they gained the cabin ahead of the creature. A second time the bolt was shot, and the door tight closed in the face of the beast not a second too soon. Barricaded again, they faced a situation exactly as un- es wholesome as it had been a half hour earlier. _ Again the animal was master. ees | NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. CHAPTER XXXI. CAPTURED ! The rising sun touched with its pink aurora the deck of the derelict bark; crept along the boards in a band of yel- low radiance; fell finally upon the peering face of Archie Vaine at the head of the companion ladder, He was watching the huddled figure of the beast, | propped against a mast, apparently sound asleep. Motionless, unblinking, the reporter continued to stare. at the hairy back of the thing, waiting, catlike, for a sign of a move on the beast’s part. None coming at the end of a solid quarter hour, the young man’s head disappeared. “Just a minute, Brood!” he whispered, beckoning to the — engineer in the cabin doorway. Cautioning silence, he led his companion step by step up the ladder till both their heads peered above the frame of the hatch. Brood’s eyes fell on the slumbering monster. “T think we can do him!” whispered’ Vaine, his lips literally in touch with the other’s ear. “It can’t be he’s shammirig sleep. I watched too long and closely for that.” “What’s your idea?” murmured the engineer in turn. “My idea is that now’s our chance to be rid of that thing once and for all!” answered the reporter. “Are you 4 ready to help?” Brood scratched his chin. “Animals have ears that are mighty keen, slowly. wake and turn on us.” “Who said anything about going up to it?” The engineer stared at him. “Why, you said we’d best take a chance at doing it apt now or never,” he began, in surprise. “I know, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat!” sremarked Vaine. “Come below with me,” he added. Backing cautiously down the ladder, the two went into the galley. There the reporter selected a rope, after a deal . of sorting through coil after coil, that exactly suited sce o ‘fancy. “You can’t tie the Thing till you capture it. take it prisoner till——” “Wait a minute, my friend,” interrupted the other. — ae your experience have you never. come across an exhibi- — tion of the art of throwing the lasso? If-you haven't, per-— haps I can give you a treat—that is, if I haven’t lost the knack.” He commenced coiling the rope he had chosen over his ny arm, noosing the end and preparing the knot with wr care. of lung trouble. went down to Texas. There I picked up the trick of rop- ing cattle, bronchos, and the like. Perhaps I can put that knowledge to good tise a8 I never expected to be forced into doing. We'll see.” The rope ready, they crept back up the ladder. “Pray Heaven the Thing’s still asleep!” muttered the r porter. It was, Occupying the same position beside the mast, beast was as deep in slumber as petote, eat “Tt’s going to take a pretty sure aim,’ * comenented: eying the distance separating the re of the ladder | ” he said — “We might get almost up to it, and then have it. “Now, what the deuce is your game?” frowned Brood: And you can’t _ “Five or six years ago,” he explained, “I had a ta My medico advised a trip West, and I NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. “T suppose you realize you've only one try at it spoil a second attempt.” the Thing. a miss will arouse the brute and Vaine nodded. “Tell be a fancy throw,” he admitted. “If it was only away from that mast!—that’s a handicap, you know. [ll - have to come just over the head with the noose, but I’ve done almost the same thing in practice.” Stealthily he stepped out on deck. The rope slipped off his arm. Gingerly he payed it out as he swept the knotted end around his head in ever-widening circles. “Now or never!” he muttered through his tight-shut teeth, The rope whistled through the air, striking out like some lightning-swift snake toward its goal. True and fair the ‘noose settled about the neck and shoulders of the sleep- ing beast. “OQw-ee-yah-h! A true cowboy yell broke from the young man’s lips as he threw himself back on the rope in his hand, tight- ening the circle of hemp about the animal’s body. “Get at him!” he shrieked at Brood. The engineer cleared the intervening space in two springs. Before the monster hada chance to writhe erect, the former’s bulk came down upon it full weight. Then ensued a battle royal. Up and down, over, the young man and the beast rolled across the deck. Without the hampering rope which Vaine was even tight- ening about it, the animal might have proved victorious, as it had on two occasions previous. over and But it was Brood this time who was the victor, Breath- less, torn, and scratched in a dozen places on hands and _ face, hair disordered, and with the sweat pouring from his y forehead, he sat on top of the brute at last, triumphant if _ exhausted. . Vaine ran toward him. ' And from the companionway ran Hawkins, and the pro- fessor with the girl. They had been aroused from below _by the reporter’s cry, and had witnessed the fight from the top of the ladder. “Hello! What's this?” - Vaine stopped. He was looking down at the thing which : Brood had vanquished. Stripped off it and strewing the deck in the vicinity of the recent struggle was at least three-quarters of that shaggy coat of hair which once had ig the animal’s natural covering. There was something else besides. Laying on the deck was. the hideous face, with the beak, the yellow-fanged mouth, and hollow slits, where the fierce gleaming eyes had . once been! ‘A mask!” exclaimed Hawkins. Brood scrambled up, bewildered. Flat on its back, motionless, as if insensibie, the mys- tery of the ship was pyle: out before ‘them. cadet »pleasant, countenance of a man of middle: adel: was the face of a being of evident refinement and ure, ‘The skin was dark, almost copper- -colored ; the mask. which the man had worn—his disguise in full torn off him. A look of perplexity came over his face. “Well—what the deuce do you make of this!” he ex- claimed. CHAPTER TWO XXXII. A STORY THOUSAND YEARS OLD. The man on the deck stirred, again the chattering sounds came “Wait!” cried | Hoxley, “What was that?” He gazed into the unconscious man’s face. There was a pause of a moment or two, And then a stream of chat- tering broke from him as he rolled his head in evident distress. “T can make it out!” the scientist exclaimed. “Not all, but a word here and there. I think—I’m sure I could un- derstand the language he speaks if I had time!” Brood straightened up, his lips set. “We'll give you time!” said he. “You’vye got to find out this fellow’s business on board this ship, professor, We want to know what he’s been doing here, rigged out as he was—everything about him. Fetch a bottle-of brandy, somebody !” his eyelids fluttered, and from the lips. bending eagerly forward. The spirit was forced through the man’s lips and down his throat, There was another fluttering of his eyelids; suddenly his chest heaved, and he sat bolt upright. “Grab him!” cried Vaine. The stranger had attempted to resume his recent strug- gle where it had left off. Hawkins and Brood fell on him instantly, and held him despite his wonderfully power- ful efforts to be free, while the reporter swiftly bound the rest of the rope around his limbs, pinioriing him hard and fast. “Can you speak English?” Brood demanded. “French? German? Italian?” queried Vaine,; in the tongue of each country named. “Portuguese?” Only those chattering sounds came from the captive. “No, no!” broke in the professor. “You, don’t under- stand, any of you, ~Take him down to the cabin. And leave me alone with him—if you’re sure he’s bound ’se- curely—where I can put what I think is my knowledge of his tongue to some use.” | The engineer and Hawkins, between them, bore the man below. There they propped him in a chair. And so he was left with Hoxley while the others regained the deck. Two hours later the scientist joined them. “This is remarkable!” he exclaimed. “I have verified my first conjecture as the true one: I know that man’s nationality. Perhaps you will be surprised to learn that he is a pure-blooded Inca, a descendant of a race which peo- pled the South American continent centuries before the Christian era. “As you donbtless are already aware, the Incas were a tribe of highly intelligent and intellectual Indians, far advanced in the arts and sciences, rich beyond estimate, and possessed of remarkable traits of character, chief among which was devotion to integrity and honor. They were also intensely religious according to their own cults. ae “The coming of Pizzaro and other Spanish conquerors marked the decline of the Incas’ empire on this continent. Persecuted, tortured, robbed right and left, their. tribe mare PPM RGR ee NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. was scattered to the four winds in but an infinitesimal fraction of the time it had taken to build them up as the most powerful race in the Western Hemisphere. “Probably you recall in your school histories the story * of how Pizzaro, having kidnaped their emperor, demanded as a ransom from the Incas a room full of solid gold. The country was thrown into a panic to gather together this fabulous sum. Every one, it is safe to say, was levied upon, none being immune from contributing to the de- manded hoard. “There was a religious sect of the Incas at the time, comparable in wealth and power with a certain denom- ination of the present day, and in the strong boxes of this cult or order was more than enough treasure to make up in full the ransom required. “But this the leaders had no intention whatever of doing: Fearing lest they be made to surrender their wealth, however, the officials of the holy order decided upon cach- ing it where it would be secure against vandalism. “A spot was picked out. Into this safe depository the treasure was carried and a guard established. The guard- ing of the wealth, by the way, is the point of this story, and its arrangement must be made clear. “Two young priests of the cult were selected and sworn by the most binding of oaths to protect the treasure with their lives. On the attainment of their thirtieth birthday, each was to take himself a wife, and the son of this union was to be instructed in the faith of his father, taught the same oath, and bound to continue the guardianship of the church’s possessions till death. “The two sons, reaching the age of thirty, married, reared their sons as before, and so on. In this way an endless protection was to be afforded, the wealth of the church, For some day the Incas believed that they would come back into their own—regain their power—and the holy order had need to be ready to reoccupy its place of former prestige when that time arrived. “Centuries this double guardianship of the ‘treasure con- tinued. Never once was the hoard molested or threat- ened; the position of the two guards was a sinecure— until the year nineteen hundred and nine! “Then there descended upon the hiding place of the treasure one Captain Jack McGar with his followers. They murdered one of the two young’ priests, and made away with their loot unsuspicious that the other of the sworn protectors of the wealth went along with them! “Concealed among the bags and boxes of precious gems, this priest—the man below in the cabin, a descendant of the first guard—came down to the coast, was loaded with the cargo aboard this ship, and here we found him, “He was rigged out in his most fearsome war costume when he came away from the ancient cache. And the very first chance he got he appeared before the crew on board, scarifig the wits out of them by so doing. His game, of course, was to scare them off the ship, leaving him alone in possession of the treasure. That is the whole story. And I think it satisfactorily explains all we found mys- terious before.”. A Ns CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LIFE RAFT COMES INTO USE. “How did you get hold of all this, professor?” asked Vaine. “At sthand,” said Hoxley, “from the Inca in the cabin, of colirse.” “Yes, I know, but when did you learn his language?” “I couldn’t truthfully say that I have ever learned it,” replied the scientist. “But I understand enough to listen and ask questions, and the smattering of the tongue I have — picked up while on various expeditions to South America in the study of ores and the like.” “Well, it’s a queer yarn!” put in Brood. “Let’s all go below and have a look at the fellow again in the light of what we’ve just heard, eh?” Before any one could answer, the ship pitched suddenly. “What the dickens——” : The words were almost forced back in Vaine’s mouth by the sight which met his eyes as he looked astern. The vessel was settling ifto the water! “We're sinking!” screamed Hawkins, It was the truth. , For some unknown reason, the craft was foundering at her anchor. Lower the stern dipped; rapidly now the waves washed over the rail at that end. “We're sinking!” the capitalist ieee. again. “Sink- ing!” Vaine sprang forward. “Quick!” he cried. “We’ve got to get the raft free!” Brood and the others leaped after him: Frantically they worked at the moorings of the improvised float they had built for a purpose never so far from their minds as this to which it was about to be put. 3 “Slide her!” yelled the reporter. “Easy—let her come! There—steady. Miss Deveraux, come and sit down here.. You men get your places. Now, on the next wave we go overboard ‘with the wash here to stern. The ship’s done for, that’s sure. tion pulls us down with her. Here—we go!” 3 As the stern settled still deeper, the raft slid along the deck, the water washing under them buoyed them off the rail, and they glided down the side of a wave as though on rollers. Fortunately the impetus carried the rough craft upon which they sprawled a considerable distance from the doomed vessel. Its bow shot into the air as the stern went swiftly down. The dreaded suction was at hand, “The Inca!” Vaine suddenly remembered. “You're right!” Brood echoed. “We forgot tim— * - Vaine came to Brood on the deck of the homeward- bound rescue yacht. “T’'m sorry, old man,” said he, offering his hand. “The best man doesn’t always win, you know. She—Janet’s aken me for better or worse. I want you to be the first to know!” _ The engineer grinned as he gripped the other’s hand ightly. “T congratulate you,” said he. “Not a bit of regret oes with it, either. You didn’t understand, but I never as in the running. For me, the right girl hasn’t yet come ong !” ‘Well, she has for me!” said the reporter soberly. > NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. “There’s no chance,” said the capitalist sadly, shaking his head, “of ever locating the spot where the vessel sank.” “Yes, there is!” exclaimed the young man, fire in his eyes. “I’ve figured the ship’s position from the length of time it took us to get to that island on the raft. And’— he flung out his hand—“we’re sailing right over the exact spot now!” Hawkins looked about him excitedly. “The deuce you say!” he cried. “Perhaps we could do something to recover the stuff—oh, captain!” The first officer of the yacht came down from the bridge. ; x: “How is the water hereabouts for diving—deep-sea div- ing?” asked the financier. The captain laughed. “It’s impossible!” said he. “It’s many, many fathoms deep. Anybody who tried to reach bottom would be crushed to pulp under weight of the water halfway down. No diving could ever be attempted here. What once goes down in this water stays down!” “Thank you,” said Hawkins, turning to Brood. have to give her up, my boy!” Brood’s lips drooped. He stood at the rail, looking back at the spot where had disappeared his treasure—his treas- ure that forever had slipped out of his hands. It was guarded/effectually at last by the Inca who was sworn to protect it. That fabulous wealth of gold and sil- ver and gems would never see the light of day again. The miles sped away in the wake of the yacht. And still Alec Brood stood against the rail, staring back. “You'll THE END. *« PARTRIDGE’S SECRET SORROW. By MAX ADELER. “Nobody ever knew how it got in there,” said Mr. But- terwick, clasping his hands over his knee and spitting into the stove as he sat in Morris’ grocery store. “Some thought Partridge must’ve swallowed a tadpole wunst while drinking out of a spring, and it subsequently growed inside him; while others allowed that maybe he’d acci- dentally eaten frogs’ eggs some time, and they’d hatched out. But, anyway, he had that frog down there on his insides, settled and permanent and perfectly. satisfied with being in out of the rain, It used to worry Partridge more’n a little, and he tried various things to git rid of it. The doctors they give him sickening stuff, and over ‘and over ag’in emptied him out, and worked off - layer after layer, until they got it down past the first breakfast he ever eat; and then they’d hold him by the heels and shake him over a basin; and they’d bait a hook with a fly, and fish down his throat hour after hour, but that frog was too intelligent. He never even gave them a nibble, and when they’d try to fetch him with an emetic, he’d dig his claws into Partridge’s mem- branes, and hold on like grim death, until the storm was over. , “Not that Partridge minded the srog merely being in there, if he’d only ’a’ kept quiet. But he was too’ vocif- erous—that’s what Partridge said to me. A taciturn frog he wouldn’t have cared about so much. But how would’ you like to have one down inside you there a-whooping and a-hollering every now and then in the NEW most ridiculous. manner? Maybe, for instance, Partridge’d be out taking tea with a friend, and just when every- body else was quiet, it’d suddenly occur to his frog to tune up, and the next minute you’d hear something go ‘Blo-0-0-ood-a-noun! Blo-o0-00-ood-a-noun!’ two or three times, apparently under the table. Then the folk would ask if there was an acquarium in the house, or if the man had a frog pond in the cellar, and Partridge’d get as red as fire, and jump up and go home. “And often when he’d be setting in church, perhaps in the most solemn part of the sermon, he’d feel something give two or three quick kinder jerks under his vest, and presently that reptile would bawl right out in the meet- ing, ‘Bloo-o0-00-ood-a-noun! Bloo-00-00-0od-a-nou-ou- oun!’ and keep it up until the sexton would come along and run out two or three boys for profaning the sanctu- ary. And at last he’d fix it on poor Partridge, and then tell him that if he wanted to practice ventriloquism, he’d better wait till after church. And then the frog’d give six or seven more hollers, so that the- minister would stop and look sorter cross-eyed at Partridge, and Partridge’d git up and skip down the aisle, and go home, furious about it. “It had a deep voice for an ordinary frog; betwixt a French horn and a bark mill. And Mrs. Partridge told me herself that often when John’d get comfortably fixed in bed, and just dropping off into a nap, the frog’d think it was a convenient time for some music, and, after hop- ping about a bit, it’d all at once grind out three or four awful ‘Bloo-o0-ood-a-nouns,’ and wake Mrs. Partridge and the baby, and start things up generally all around the house. And would you believe it, if that frog felt maybe a little frisky, or p’raps had some tune running through its head, it'd keep on that way.for hours, until they’d have to call Partridge’s Uncle Henry downstairs to sit on him and persuade the frog to knock off. Though sometimes, Mrs. Partridge said, the more he’d sit on Partridge, the more the frog would exert himself to supply music for the occasion. It worried Partridge very much. “T dunno whether it was that that. killed his wife or not, but anyhow, when she died, Partridge wanted to marry ag’in, and he went for a while to see Miss Flickers, who lives out yer on the river road, you know. He courted her pretty steady for a while, and we all thought there was going to be a consolidation. But she was tell- ing my wife that one evening Partridge had just taken hold of her hand, and told her he loved her, when all of a sudden something said: ‘Bloo-00-00-00d-a-nou-ou-oun |’ “‘What on earth is that? asked Miss Flickers, “‘T dunno,’ said Partridge; ‘it sounds like somebody making a noise in the cellar.’ Lied, of course, for he knew mighty well what it was. ““*Pears to me ’s if it was under the sofa, says she. “Maybe it wasn’t anything, after all,’ says Partridge, when just then the frog, he feel like running up the seales again, and he yells out: ‘Bloo-00-o0d-a-nou-ou-ou- oun! “Upon my word!’ says Miss Flickers, ‘I believe you’ve ie got a frog in your pocket, Mr. Partridge, now, haven't you?” “Then he gets down on his knees and owns up to the a truth, and swears he'll do his level best to git rid of the frog, and all the time he is talking, the frog is singing ny and scales and oratorios | inside of “him, and prc ge OP ANS. ne a oe een ROTI Tip: TOP: WEEBLY. too, because Partridge drank a good and it made the frog hoarse—_ worse than deal of ice water that day, ketched cold, you know. paca “But Miss Flickers, she shook him. Said she might’ve loved him, only she couldn’t marry any man that had con- — tinual music in his stomach. “So Partridge, he was the most disgusted man you ever saw. Perfectly sick about it. And one day he was lying on the bed, gaping, and that frog unexpectedly ever, made up its mind to come up to ask Partridge to eat less, maybe, and it jumped out on the counterpane. After #7 looking about a bit, it came up and tried three or four times to hop back into Partridge’s throat, but he kept — his. mouth shut and killed the frog with the back of a — hairbrush. Ever since then he runs his. drinking water through a strainer, and ‘he hates frogs worse than you and me hate poison. Now that’s the honest truth about Partridge; you. ask him /if it ain’t.” Then Butterwick bought a pound of cheese and went home. A SHREWD JOKE. Judges in the criminal courts frequently have impostors — brought before them, strategy to expose their deceptions. The following will — show how a pretended deaf mute was put off his guard: The man was arraigned before Justice Patters. The charge against him was that of begging in the streets, Suspended from the man’s neck was a placard, bearing “I am. deaf and ng the inscription, in black and white: dumb.” : The magistrate eyed both the prisoner and the placard long and sharply. “What have you to say to the charge?” exclaimed. The prisoner paid not the slightest attention, but stood | looking vacantly before him. ry “Come, now, plead to the aes trate, in crescendo tones. The prisoner peered at the magistrate’s moving tips: and then touched his ears and mouth significantly with his forefinger. “Oh, that will do!” said Justice Patters impatiently ; ? “step forward and plead, I tell you!” z The prisoner continued to peer into the magistrate’s. face, and as the official Ape stopped moying, he drew ae repeated the magis- ween “I cannot neat a ae yer say.” a moment. communing w ‘ith disadaap “IT don’t know what to think about this case. he was a fraud at first, but he does seem to be hard of hearing. I think T'd better let hita, go. will. go.” As the magistrate uttered these words, the ‘pi f little slate suddenly disappeared into the Mihalee 0 ragged pocket, and, with great alacrity, he semnpy the bar. Then he suddenly recollected; and checked “Too late!” cried the magistrate. triumphantly may go—that is, to jail for ee ane ‘ and it requires shrewdness: and he suey a Glad to See Old Characters Back. _ Dear Eprror: I am very glad to see the old characters back—Joe Crowfoot, Frank, senior, and Frank, junior, Dick Merriwell, and the others who will appear. “The _Merriwell Company” is a good idea. Now we can have Be. ranching and camping stories while reading the adventures of the company—if Mr. Standish will write them. We haven’t had a story of camping since Frank Merriwell, junior, camped at Wind River, about two years ago. - Why cowldn’t Mr. Standish’ reintroduce Billy Bolivar, the educated tramp? He was a dandy character. I hope - Burt L. doesn’t forget to write more about Obediah Tubbs and a lot more of those fat tubs we once read about. In Top-Notch Magazine, J. A. Fitzgerald says, regard- ing our favorite author: “He has pitched his tent in every part of the widbe. - going around the world so often that he no longer uses a time-table. He has turned in stories from every land and clime. He has split coconuts with the South Sea Island savages and shared the Eskimo’s ‘blubber and gum _ drops.’” The above shows that when Mr. Standish writes a “story of foreign lands and foreign people he doesn’t have to rely on his imagination for local color, but upon his own personal experiences. Now, Mr. Standish, why ot have the Merriwell Company travel to foreign lands, wherever their employers may live, and have adventures among those South Sea Island savagés and barbarous - people—I don’t mean that the savages should employ them. You surely have the material with which to work, and I feel certain that such stories would be welcome to Tip oppers everywhere. And, Mr. Editor, we don’t know a also compel him to publish his pitiless in Tip Top, so that those who did not see his photo in Top-Notch may What a lot we owe to him! How many testimonials we been printed in the Weekly where boys have said ak ‘minister or evangelist can say that he has iaite e men stop their intemperate habits to become up- - right, and honest, than our dear: Burt L.? How many nhealthy boys have been induced through Tre Tor to exercises, and thus regain their health? And Mr, ish doesn’t keep harping about one’s vices, either. He one to be manly in such a gradual and, easy OE example of the Merriwells. Such a man has ‘surely not lived in vain! Yet we know so little of him! I know I’m offering a lot of suggestions, but the edi- tor, if I am not mistaken, wants to know what suits each, reader best. One of the most enthusiastic of Tip Toppers is “Chas.,” who is doing all he can to make Tip Top a weekly for the American youth by sending contributions to the Com- pass. If all readers would be as loyal to “our paper,” we would enjoy it much more. There are many magazines, books, et cetera, published which are very interesting, but never can one find as good publications as Tre Tor and the New Medal Library.. One doesn’t go to sleep while reading any of those books. He simply can’t when the author is Burt L. Standish, Nicho- las Carter, or Howard Erwin, author of Buffalo Bill’s adventures. The new covers are great! They make Trp Top even more interesting than before, because we have a picture of a Merriwell with us while reading. I see that the editor would like Tip Toppers to send in the stories of some of their adventures. I am inclos- ing a story that, although not an, adventure of my own, Iam sure will be interesting to readers of the Merri- well stories. I have had some adventures of my own while hunting and camping, which, if the editor would care to print, I will gladly write out and send. Hoping to be excused for this “offense,” and trusting that some of my suggestions are not given in vain, I am, very sincerely yours, Jinx. Pennsylvania. Thank you for your letter and suggestions. The letter will be carefully considered. We were glad to get your story, and may take pleasure in printing it at a later date. Send us an account of some experience of your own. We . feel that the personal adventures of our readers would be more interesting than fiction. A Remarkable Testimonial. Dear Eprtor: About sixteen years ago I wrote you a letter telling what I thought of Tre Tor and of B. L. Standish, and since that time I have not missed one single number, having followed the adventures of the Merriwell boys up to date, and I want to say that it is one of the cleanest, brightest, and most interesting papers published. ' There is not a single thing published between its covers that cannot be accomplished by any boy who is clean and pure both in mind and habits, and it is an upright example for any boy to follow. cs am speaking from experience, as, at one time, I was or} TY Teepe Fog eS SS ( visenaiedbal 28 considered a regular good-for-nothing, and I was, because I would not stay at home, could not keep any job for any length of time, and was a constant worry to my parents. One day, while with some other fellows on a “bum,” I happenéd to run across a Tip Top Weexty, one of the first numbers, and I read it. Well, dear editor, to make a long story short, I kept on redding Tie Tor, and I ctit out all of my old crowd, got work with a painting contractor, learned the busi- néss, and, a5 yoti see by my letterhead, am in a good, profitable business of my own, and, thanks to the policy of Frank Merriwell, whatever I undertook I made a finish of it, to my complete satisfaction. Not only have I learned the decorating and painting trade, but I took @ course in barbering, and can turn out a man as quick as the next one. Now, please excuse this long letter, but, after so many years of silence, I feel I am entitled to a little space. I want to say that I am married, have two of the finest children, one a boy of nine years.and girl of four months, and I am happy. I never miss a week of getting my Tie Top, and when you changed the stories to the Clancy series, I was dis- appointed, but thanks to numerous réaders and to B. L. Standish, we have the good old stories back again. I never expect to be the man Frank Merriwell is, but I am going. to try and raise my boy to be clean and pure- minded, if I can. So, now, hoping to be able to enjoy many more stories about the Merriwell boys, I beg to send my regards to Burt L. Standish, Street & Smith, and to many of its loyal readers, respectfully yours, South Bend, Ind. J) G. ie Don’t wait so long before yout write again. We all thank you for your letter from the bottom of our hearts. Orders Some Old Numbers, Dear Enpitor: Inclosed find twenty-five cents in stamps, for which please send me five of your Tir Top papers, Nos, 520, 533, 645, 512, and 538. I have been a reader of Tie Top for some time, and it is my belief that Burt L. can’t be equaled in writing stories that are attractive and interesting. Glad to see the announcement in No. 97. Will Brad Buckhart and Dale They are my choice. I am fifteen, and have never bought a pack of tobacco. Hoping to see this in Tre Top, I remain, a faithful reader, Silver City, N. C. CLetus FREEMAN. Yes, you will hear of your favorites again. Sparkfair come back? About “Tip Top’s” Circulation, Dear Epitor: I have just read Mr. Standish’s announce- ment of the Merriwells’ return in No, 97. Good old Burt L., are you really and truly going to- \bring back the characters of Auld Lang Syne? I have had the honor and good fortune of reading each and every number of the Trp Tor WeeExuy yet published, and would welcome the return of any member of Frank’s old flock to its pages. Now, Mr. Editor, could you not, for the benefit of old- time readers like myself, publish in the Compass sote- thing about Tie Tor’s circulation? Give us just a little idea about how many young men have a session with Mer- riwell each week. Also, if the circulation is increasing or -better charactérs than the Merriwells. NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. IT am certain that many of yout readers are hungry for this information. Now, I would also ask about the Merriweéll decreasing each year. stories being made into photo plays. I have, within the year, witnessed two motion-picture plays with Frank Mer- riwell, senior, as the hero—one was founded on “Fratik Merriwell in Arizona,” and the other on “Frank Merfi- well’s Fight for a Forttine,” in which he savés a lépaty fot Inza Burrage. They were both excellent, and you bet I sat up arid took notice when I saw Frank on the screen, and I would willingly walk ten miles to see another of them. Tell me, please, are all the stories to be treated in this manner, and, if’ so, what motion-picture concern will present them. . Wishing you and your weekly the best of luck, I am always a booster and never a knocker, Pawtucket, R, I. Harry A. Sweet. The circulation of Tir Top Werekty is approximately 90,000 per week, and, as our experience has taught us that each booklet or magazine passes through the hands of at least four readers before eventually being destroyed, some good idea may be derived as to the number of readers of Trp Top by multiplying the 90,000 by four. In regard to the Frank Merriwell photo plays, the right to produce such photo plays was given to the Feattre Photo Play Company, of New York, by Street & Smith. last This concern, a small, independent one, producéd~ twé- films and then were obliged to suspend the production of others temporarily, as the cost of prodticing such a film is enormous. From a New Readet. Dear Eprror: I have only read Tre Top for a very short time. The first one I bought was three weeks ago. T atn eleven years old, and like to read TiP Top very much{ Of the Merriwells I like Frank best. But ia my opinion I doubt whether Burt L. Standish can prodtice Sincerely yours, Madison, Ill. FLovp Jounson. You write a mighty nice letter for a boy your age. Finds the Stories Fascinating. Dear Eprtor: I have read Tre Top ever since they have started, and tot missed one. I find thetn fascinating. Yours truly, F, W. MclItwarne. 30 Mercer Street, Oswego, N. Y. You Should Like the Stories Now, Dear Eprror: I have been readifig Tir Top for about ten years, and have read all the New Medal Library books I could get, and have never written to you about the boys; — so here goes: I think you are losing readers by drifting away from the old crowd. I know I don’t like them as well, and I read that the other readers are kicking, also. I won’t attempt to tell you how to write, for I know you are a past master in the art, but I am going to, ask you to either bring all the old books out, and have Frank, senior, Frank, junior, and Dick pay a visit to all the old flock at once. I am sure it would be a great treat, or you could run the whole story over again, starting at No. 1 and bringing it up to the present day. I am sure there are thousands of readers who would simply pay ’most any price for the dear old stories in Tip Top, and the new ones are just as eager. es eh hati 0 a OE cr te a gg an em ee =” | Cot ai 73 re lik in act Tor Spa ~ and as { jook for thissoon. NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. I want you to bring back all the old jokes and friends of the olden days. We never get any more such jokes as Browning’s alarm clocks, the crawfish in Han’s bed, _ the salting and peppering of the prof’s hot supper at _ Fardale. Mr. Standish, I think you should rewrite Tir Tor, and I want evéry loyal reader of the old flock to join me in writing and asking you to do this. I hope I haven’t overdrawn my allotted space, and shall Forever a Tip Topper, Augusta, Ga. D. W. Boston. Wants Dick to Marty. Dear Eprror: We have read your Tre Tor fof the last séyen or eight years. We like the baseball stories best. ‘Would like to see Dick Merriwell married to some girl and settled on a ranch near Phoenix, Afizona. - This would be nice. Then young Frank could take his friends out there on an outing, and they might play the Phoenix ball team a game, on some pretext or other. _ Paonia, Col. L. E. JENKINS. Likes Chip Best. ‘Dear Eprror: I have been a reader of Tip Tor for a numbers of years, and was vefy much interested in Frank and Dick Merriwell, but am more interested in Frank, junior. Wishing you gféat suécess, I beg to remain, yours J. E. Van, Ness. » Navasota, Texas. Enjoys the Stories. Dear Eprtor: I have read your Tip Tor Weexty for about two years now and enjoy it very much. Yours truly, ArtHuR Fitz GErALp. * -Elysbeth Street, Ogdensburg, N. Y. ‘ The Best Weekly. Deak Eprtor: I have been reading Tip Top since No. I think it is the best weekly written. i would like to have the Mertriwells back again. I remai Epprt MACHELL. Route 4, Box 81, Gotebo, Oklahoma: ' Likes the Chaiige. I have been reading the Tip Tor and I think you have made a good change DEAR Eprror : ke it very rhuch. . No, 08 by bringing back some of the old Trp To char- ers, as old Joe Crowfoot. Yous, F. R. Forp. Philadelphia, Pa. Likes Baseball Stories, Dear Beton: I like the stories of Chip Merriwell. I think it would be better to have baseball” stories than ories about Owen Clancy. TL think Tip Toppers would like stories about Frank pell’s School of Athletic Development. Yours truly, yslake, Til. Joun Patmer. A Letter from South Africa, Eprror: Having been a reader of the famous Trp eKLY since 1906, I would be glad if you could little space in your column to air my views -your opinion on my measurements, which are 1 Age, 20 years; height, 6 feet 1 inch; weight, 165 pounds; néck, 16 inches; chest, contracted, 40 inches; chest, ex- panded, 45 inches; biceps, 14 in¢hes; forearm, 13 inchés; thigh, 224 inches; calf, 14 inches. Please point owt any weak point in my make-up and best way to remedy same. The Owen Clancy series now running in the New Tie Tor WEEKLY are undoubtedly very interesting, but I am sure most of the veteran readers of Tie Tor still have a mighty soft place for Frank, setiior, and Dick Merri- well, which two characters I consider incomparable, and I sincerely trust that we will hear more about them. Wishing the Weekly every success, I remain, an én- thusiastic Tip Topper, Tomas H. Panppocx. Southwell, Cape Colony, South Africa. You have a very good build above the waistline, but are a little light below it. You should weigh about twenty pounds more, at the very least. Your calves should be three inches larger. Tam stite the readers would be mtich interested in a letter from you describing conditions in the section of the world in which you live. Can’t you write us such a letter ? Some Frank Statements, Dear Eprror: Being a reader of your magazine for the past thirteen years, I think it is high time I wrote to you about that grand old Tip Top Weerxty, not New Tip Tor. Now, Mr. Editor, why did you abandon old Tip Top for new Tip Top? That is, why did you change the num- ber from 851 and start in with No. 1? Another thing I want to speak about is this: thayold twenty-six page story, with larger type. I think it was the best, and a little short story at the end. I thing the old readers will agree with me in this. The stories the were teal Tre Top stories, something that were a pleasure to read, Now, take for instance the new Weekly, with the small type and the serial runing at the back. The setials are run in such short installments as to deaden all interest, while the main story some weeks contains maybe twenty pages or twenty-two, but never the saine. So, Mr. Standish, please come back to the old twenty- six-page story. The greatest stories you ever wrote, in my opinion, were the stories of Frank at Yale. Who could create such great chatactets as Bart Hodge and Bruce Browning, the greatest character-in my estimation outside of the Merriwells. Dear old Bruce. In all Frank’s trials and triumphs, Bruce was always there, sticking to the last. Above all things, don’t leave Bruce out. An- other great one was Harry Rattleton, the excitable; Buck Badger, the one-time enemy, and now great friend of- Frank’s. Bink Stubbs, Danny Griswold, Dismal Jones, Eph Gallup, Barney Malloy. I could name lots of them, but I haven’t got the space. Now, take young Frank, for instance; where is his crowd? Is he going to have a great crowd like his father and Uncle Dick? Every time you read of Frank, junior, he has a new crowd with him. Frank, junior, is a much too serious a boy to remain in prep school to suit me. Were Dick or Frank ever nae we. captain in their first year? Where are those old-time rushes downstatrs, with the _ plebes and upper classmen? The meeting with the girls | over at the boarding school? Another thing that has _ been left out in the New Tr Tor is the gitls. Those dear . NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. old girls, Doris, June, Zona, Claudia, Mabel, et cetera. Where’s young Frank’s crowd of girls? I tell vou, ‘Mr. Standish, your stories of Chip at Fardale are good, but need a lot of improvement. I hope you will excuse these frank statements, but it does me good to get, them out of me. What great tales they were of Madge, of Mad Lake, and Maplewood; Frank’s stage stories were great. What has become of Dale Sparkfair? Bring him back and you'll bring many new readers. . It seems to me, Mr. Standish, that Phoenix has a great deal of your attention. Every other story is of Phoenix, with different characters from the last nes. I think I will close now. Wo. C. New Rochelle, N. Y. P. S. I want to take more of your time to compliment you on the story in No. 98. That’s something like it. Guess you will like the stories better now. Write and tell us how they please you. Do you know that the Merriwell stories are longer; that is, there are more words in a than there ever were? Reading it Again. Dear Eprror: I see many persons expressing their opinions on the coming back of the old Merriwells. I be- gan reading Tip Top about five years ago, but have read very few since the New Tip Top series began. A stanch reader of Tip Top, here, told me of the change, and I have begun to read them again. I’d like to hear again from Brad Buckhart, Dick, and June Arlington. Yours truly, P. W. Batesville, Ind. Best Published. Dear Enrtor: I have read the Trp Top for a few months now, and I have to say that the Tip Top is the best five- cent weekly that was ever published. I like the Clancy stories, but, the Merriwell stories for mine all the time, because they are fine and can’t be beat; and let us hear some of Dick. Hoping this will escape the wastebasket, and wishing Tip Top a long life, I am, yours respectfully, Chicago, III. CuesTeR Monroe. These Girls Play Baseball, Dear Epiror: I have been reading Trp Top since I was ten years old, having first become acquainted with it about five years ago, when my sister, Mrs. Maude Whittaker, ‘subscribed for it. I think it is the best Weekly on the market. Like my sister, I am deeply interested in athletics, and I take part in them, too. The boys and girls in our school each have a nine, and the girls play against the boys. We beat them sometimes, too. I was very much disappointed when I read your an- nouncement in a recent issue that you meant to change the characters. ‘But when tiie Merriwells came back, I breathed such a sigh of relief that you could have heard it clear in New York, if you had been listening. I was so tickled that if Mr. Standish had been here, I would have hugged him Dick Barisal Brad Buckhart, June cer one and Tate ‘Templeton: are my favorites. Is Brad going to remain an old bachelor? like to see him have a girl. I would like to correspond with some readers of about fifteen or sixteen from Texas or the western States. Girls preferred, but boys can write, too, as long as they — do not ‘get sentimental. I won’t stand for that. Hop-~ ing to see this in print, and hoping Brad gets a sweet- heart, I am, yours truly, Miss Garnet G. DEBELL. Box 17, Martin, Ohio. Good for you, Miss Garnet, you are a Trp Top girl; the kind we are proud of. I would ; His Respect and Admitation. Dear Enitor: As I have a few spare minutes, I sit down to give my opinion of the Merriwells. I welcome their. return with genuine delight, The Clancy stories were _ good, but compared with the Merriwell stories—I do not want to say. I wish you would send me the cards. You have my respect, and my admiration for the weekly has ripened into a great love for it, and every Thursday finds me prepared with fifteen cents, five for Trp Top and ten for Top-Notch. Bennie EstowI1tz. 525 South Street, Philadelphia, Pa. Can’t Compate with “Tip Top.” Dear Epiror: I have been a reader of Tip Top for about five years, and have read a lot of the back num-— bers, besides. I want to say that there is not another five-cent weekly on the market that. can compare with Tip Top, in interest, in clearness, and in the COP OBER of its language. I was disappointed when the Clancy series commenced, and I decided to stop reading Tip Top if the Merriwells were left entirely out of it, but when I found that we ‘would hear more oF our old friends, I went on reading Tr Top. Hope Burt L. will give us a glimpse of all of Frank, senior’s, old chums, especially Bruce Browning, oe Hodge, Jack Diamond, and Harry Rattleton. I think it a shame that you changed the numbers. ‘on Ee the Trp Tops, because a person that has never seen the old numbers will think it a new weekly, while if they knew it to be a weekly that has run so long, they will believe it to be a good weekly, and will want to read it. Would like to correspond with some of the Trp Tor readers. Yours for Trip Top, Ceci, F. Davissow, 5 P. O. Box, 251, Salem, W. Va. 8 Everlasting Success. I have been a reader of Tip Tor for I like the Dick Mei 1 Dear Epiror: several years, and like it fine. stories best of all. I will close with wishing Tre Top everlasting succes and a hope to see this under the Compass. Yours foreyv Fort Worth, Texas. _ Rost. Ranporen. Wants Comic Characters. Dear Eprror: I have been a reader of the Trp WEEKLY about five years, and I find that it has no « and Dick are back in the pages of this Weekly I think that Tre Top Weexty ‘could be i ey ing a few comic characters de He NEW _ How can.! obtain the first five numbers of the old Tip Top Werexy? - Hoping to see this in print, I remain, Elizabethtown, Pa. A Constant READER. Sorry to say the first five issues of Tip Tor are out of print. But you will find the stories they contained in the New Medal Library, a catalogue of which we are For Old and Young. ; Pek Eprtor: I have been reading Tip Top for several years, and have missed only two copies of the new series. 1 think there is no better book printed for boys and old people in the United States. A Tre Tor’s friend, 481 St. Cloud Street, Keyser, W. Va. Pau. Harpy. Liked the Clancy Stoties. Dear Epitor: I have been a reader of Tie Tor for a good many years, and a steady reader of it for the last ur years. I think, with John Pulver, it would be more to life if you were to let the Merriwell crowd get beaten some of their athletic sports; there is no one so good but some one else is better, at least once in a while. Tam not like the majority seem to be, Clyde C. Douglas for one. I sure liked the Clancy stories just as well as the Merriwells, but I would like to hear from, some of e old ones: Dick and June, Brad Buckhart, and others; so Hop Wah and the Norwegian, Olaf, the snowshoe mail carrier. E. C. Prerce. Waterbury, Neb. , P. S. My wife enjoys Trp Tor as much as I do. She ads that first; and we take four weeklies every week. Don’t Worry. Dear Epitor: I have read Tre Top for about a year, a d I like it very much. It is very interesting. I like Frank Merriwell better than any other hero in your ekly. I like Frank Merriwell, junior, too. Everybody says I am small for my age. I am fourteen ears old, 4 feet 7 inches, weigh 92 pounds. What do you hink of it? I am fond of athletics. Yours trtily, Box No. 86, Kingsville, Ont. , Irvinc Herner. ‘You may shoot along some day and surprise them. Don’t ry, though, if you should not do so, for small men can beat big ones in lots of games, and in enduratice. nadie Great. time, oo shine they are simply great. I like a n Clancy stories, but think the Merriwell ones are Yours -truly, Harry McCottum. 624, Atlantic Highlands, N. J. Can't Get Along Without “Tip Top.” : I have read the Tip Top for over I am very much interested in ih iad culture, I the privilege of asking you a few questions. The ing are ay errant ree: I am net years 8 ormal, 56K inches nite 30 a biceps, ches; flexed, 11% inches; forearm, 1014 inches; 30%. inches; wrist, 7 inches ; calf, 131% inches; thigh, ‘ _ across shoulders, 18 inches. How are these TIP. TOP WEEKLY. BI measurements? When I train for track I run a mile every evening and every morning. Is that far enough or is it not far enough? I can high jump 5 feet 3 inches. Yours truly. ; RaLeicH Hott. Blanchard, Iowa. You are way too light, and your measurements far below standard. Would strongly advise you not enter- ing athletic events till you build yourself up to your height. ; It depends for what running event you are training for. Greatest Weekly Published. Proressor FourMEN: I have been a constant reader of Tie Top for the past five and one-half years, and think it is one of the greatest and cheapest little magazines ever published. I am glad that the Merriwells and their friends have returned. I like Frank, senior, Dick, Brad, and Buck best of all. I remain, Tip Top’s sincere friend, Batavia, Jefferson Co., Iowa. M. D. B. Listen, Here! . Dear Eprtor: I wish to say that I am a loyal Tip Topper and take great interest in the doings of Owen Clancy and the Merriwells. ; T like the Clancy series best of all. reader, Ocean City, N. J. interested RB. Soe Your Gathering of the Clan. Deak Eprror: I have been a Tip Topper from the time you started the New Tip Top Weexty, and like it very much. I like the Clancy stories, but the Merriwells are better. In a recent issue, No. 98, I do not understand the meaning of the phrase “The Gathering of the Clan.” I would like it very much if you would connect Clancy with Merriwell, as you used to do when they were plebes together. I remain, yours respectfully, 319 Brown St., Philadelphia, Pa. Joun Kuretn, Jr. The “Gathering of the Clan” means the cothing back of all three Merriwells and their friends ‘to the pages of Trp Tor. “Tip Top” an Inspiration. Dear Mr. StandisH: I am writing you a, personal letter to let you know I am reading your valuable Tir Tor Werexty for twelve years, and find no dull moments while reading it. From start to finish it is very absorbing. I think. Tw Top should be read by every American boy, as it is an inspiration for them, and it puts them on the right and only road that leads to health and. happiness. I think the Merriwells are a great family, and. when one of the family isn’t in it, I am very lonesome, as it don’t seem the same Tip Top. I believe when the Merriwells leave Tir Tor for good, there will be lots of admirers who will leave it tor good. I think it only fair that, we should hear from Inez Bur- — : rage when we hear from Frank, as she has such a fine man in Frank, and such a fine chip of the old block. I think all the young men would be spending their nickels far better if they bought Tip Tops instead of spending them for cigarettes. oa Chip is making good so far in following his father’s — : NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. - footsteps, and deserves the name of chip of the old block. Now, speaking of the ones ‘1 like in Tre Top, I will say I like Frank, Dick, and Chip, and then their friends come next, and they should be proud to be friends of the Mer- riwells, as the Merriwells will meet them halfway and more, and if they are not friends of the Merriwells, it is their own fault. So, bidding -you good-by and good luck forever with Tre Tor, and hoping to see this under the Compass; also hoping to see Chip go to Yale, where his father and uncle were such great men, and knowing that he will make good, also, I remain, a loyal Tip Topper, W. R. B. Worcester, Mass. Anothet Minority Number. Dear Sir: I have been a reader of Tre Top for several years, and have never found a copy which did not thor- oughly please me. The Owen Clancy stories, I think, are better than any others that Mr. Standish has ever written: The change in adventures and scenes from the Merriwells to Clancy was most delightful to me. Hoping to see more stories along the Owen Clancy line, I remain, a loyal reader, Willow Lakes, So. Dak. OpEAN : Winjuo. Paper Wheels for Coaches. Science is constantly finding some new use for paper. The latest invention is a wheel made for railroad coaches. These wheels are fitted with steel tires, which will stand the friction and wear of the rails better than the paper. However, the latter is plenty strong enough to support the weight of the cars and is a shock and vibration absorber. Railroads using the wheels have been satisfied with the results obtained. No Rest fot Two Pitchers. Two pitchers, Fromme, of the New York Giants, and Lush, of the Cleveland American Association team, have gained the name of champion warm-up men. | When Fromme isn’t relieving some other pitcher, or being re- lieved himself, he is warming up, ready for an emer- gency. The same is true of Lush. Horseshoe Pitchers to Meet. Kansas City, Kan., will soon be the horseshoe-pitching center of the world. It has claimed that title for some time, but has never had a place to hold championship tournaments. A permanent field for the forseshoe pitchers is being laid out in Heathwood Park, and a number of tournaments, open to any pitchers in the world, will be held this summer. y “Good Fellows” Fail'as Managers in Baseball. A study of the standing of the teams in all profes- sional baseball leagues shows conclusively that the man- ager who is known to the players as a “good fellow” is not a successful leader. Of fourteen teams managed by “good fellows,” only two are in the first division of their leagues. In nine leagues managers who are known to be “cranks” on the drinking and late-hour question are leading. In these same leagues there are a number of “good fellows.” One is first, two ate second, three are fourth, three are fifth, five are sixth, two are seventh, and three are eighth in the league standing. One major-league team, which should be near the top. of the percentage column, is very near the bottom. It is: managed by a “good fellow.” , ip Called Out on Freaky Play, Dick Gossett, a New York Yankee catcher, was re- tired in one of the freakiest plays in many years, in a recent game with Cleveland. Gossett went to bat, with runners on first and second bases and none out. He tried to bunt, and popped up a little fly toward third. Bassler, — the Cleveland catcher, made a dive for the ball. apparently thinking the ball would be foul, did not run, and Bassler knocked him down and fell on top of him. Umpire Egan. called Gossett out for interfering with Bassler. Altrock Loses Championship, ° For years Nick Altrock, comedian coacher of the Wash- at ington, D. C., American League team, has gloried in the fact that he was the ugliest man in baseball, but he has reluctantly passed the laurel wreath to another. fhen | Altrock met Marty Kavanaugh, the young second base- — man of the Detroit team, he announced that he gave up all claims, and that the world’s homeliest man is with Detroit. Kavanaugh takes a lot of pride in being the worst- looker in the major leagues, and was plainly relieved when am he found that Altrock is not a serious contender for his. ‘i laurels. Nick hated to admit that he was outclassed, but as soon as he saw Kavanaugh, he said: “You win;” and extended his hand in congratulation like a true sportsman. Fortune Comes to Her in Poorhouse. | Former friends of Julia Ann Crosby, a cripple, of s Benville, Ark. are wondering how their consciences al-— lowed them to see her sent to the poorhouse and kept there for several years. Julia Ann Crossy, aged forty-four, is now worth $25,000, a bachelor uncle, who died a mont ago in Canada, having left her his fortune. fe Miss Crosby came to Arkansas about thirty years ago re with her father, who was a poor farmer. When he died, he left his widow and daughter without money or prop- erty and with no means of making a living: A short time later Miss Crosby became a helpless cripple from the after. effects of a severe illness, Her mother managed to make enough money to keep the daughter and herself alive, but ten years ago, when the hard-working woman died, th county had to take the crippled girl to the poorhouse, neighbors having been unable or unwilling to provide for her The uncle who died recently did not know of the seri- ous affliction of his niece, who had no means of finding his address after her father died. Since the word of Miss Crosby’s good fortune has reached here, several families have offered to take care of her. POST CARDS FROM EVERYWHE Membership Exchange ene copy Aurora Post Card M Coin. 8 Months 25c. E. L GAMBLE, Publisher, EAST LEO, \ OLD COINS WANTED ee Bee 10 cents at once for New Seaarenee Coin Value sok, 4x7 It y YOUR fortune. CLARK & CO., Coin Dealprs, Box 67, LeRoy, N. Gossett, SOME OF THE BACK NUMBERS OF SUPPLIZ rank Merriwell’s Six-in-hand. —Frank Merriwell's Duplicate. 2_rank Merriwell on Rattlesnake Ranch. . Ivank Merriwell’s Sure Hand. Frank Merriwell’s Treasure Map. 85—Frank Merriwell, P bre ince of the Rope. 36—Dick Merriwell, Captain of the Var- sity. 7—Dick Merriwell’s Control. 38—Dick Merriwell’s Back Stop. 39—Dick Merriwell’s Masked Enemy. 40—Dick Merriwell’s Motor Car. ~Dick Merriwell’s Hot Pursuit. 2—Dick Merriwell at Forest Lake. —Dick Merriwell in Court. Dick Merriwell’s Silence. —Dick Merriwell’s Dog. —Dick Merriwell’s Subterfuge. —Dick Merriwell’s Enigma. Dick Merriwell Defeated. 9—Dick Merriwell’s ‘‘Wing.”’ —Dick Merriwell’s Sky Chase. 1—Die k Merriwell’s Pick-ups. —Dick Merriwell on the Rocking R. 8—Dick Merriwell’s Penetration. ~Dick Merriwell’s Intuition. —Dic k Merriwell’s Vantage. 6—Dic k Merriwell’s Advice. —Dick Merriwell’s Rescue. rea k Merriwell, American. 59—Dick Merriwell’s Understanding 30—Dick Merriwell, Tutor. ea Tt Ey NOUS BR Re RR eB Do D2 tol NO VIOUD PPP PREPS RB TUR ator t ( 61—Dick Merriwell’s Quandary. 62—Dick Merriwell on the Boards, 63—Dick Merriwell, Peacemaker. 64—Frank Merriwell’s Sway. 765—Frank Merriwell’s Comprehension. 766—Frank Merriwell’s Young Acrobat. 767—F rank Merriwell’s Tact. 768—Frank Merriwell’s Unknown. 769—Frank Merriwell’s Acuteness. 770—F rank Merriwell’s Young Canadian, 771—F rank Merriwell’s Coward. 72—Frank Merriwell’s Perplexity. 73-—Frank Merriwell’s Intervention. 774—Frank Merriwell’s Daring Deed. 775—F rank Merriwell’s Succor. SSAA SUGAAUTAAAUASRARAPRERE LUD = 812—F rank Merriwell’s Forgiveness. 813—F rank Merriwell’s Lads. 814—F rank Merriwell’s Young Aviators. 815—F rank Merriwell’s Hot-head. 816—Dick Merriwell, Diplomat. 817—Dick Merriwell in Panama. 818—Dick Merriwell’s Perseverance. 819—Dick Merriwell Triumphant. 820—Dick Merriwell’s Betrayal. 821—Dick Merriwell, Revolutionist. 822—Dick Merriwell’s Fortitude. 823—Dick Merriwell’s Undoing. 824—Dick Merriwell, Universal Coach. 825—Dick Merriwell’s Snare. 826—Dick Merriwell’s Star Pupil. 827—Dick Merriwell’s Astuteness. 828—Dick Merriwell’s Responsibility. 829—Dick Merriwell’s Plan. 8: 30—Dick Merriwell’s Warning. Dick Merriwell’s Counsel. —Dick Merriwell’s Champions. -Dick Merriwell’s Marksmen. 4—Dick Merriwell’s Enthusiasm. 35—Dick Merriwell’s Solution. : i— Dic k Merriwell’s Foreign Foe. Merriwell and the Ww arriors. 8838—Dick Merriwell’s Battle for the Blue. 839—Dick Merriwell’s Evidence. 840—Dick Merriwell’s Device. 841—Dick Merriwell’s Princeton nents. 842—Dick Merriwell’s Sixth Sense. 843—Dick Merriwell’s Strange Clew, 844—Dick Merriwell Comes Back. 845—Dick Merriwell’s Heroic Crew. 846—Dick Merriwell Looks Ahead. 847—Dick Merriwell at the Olympics. 848—Dick Merriwell in Stockholm. 849—Dick Merriwell in the Stadium. 850—Dick Merriwell’s Marathon. Carlisle Oppo- Swedish NEW SERIES. New Tip Top Weekly T76—Fr TT77—F 1 T78—F 1 sank Merriwell’s Wit. ‘ank Merriwell’s Loyalty. ‘ank Merriwell’s Bold Play. 779—F rank Merriwell’s Insight. 780—F 781—F 782—Frank rn rank Merriwell’s Guile. rank Merriwell’s Campaign. Merriwell in Forest. the National 783—Frank Merriwell’s Tenacity. 784—Dick Merriwell’s Self-sacrifice. 785—Dick Merriwell’s Close Shave. 1-—Frank Merriwell, 2—Frank Merriwell, 3—F J—F1 8—F 9—Frank ders. rank Merriwell, 4—F rank Merriwell, 5—Frank Merriwell, 6—F rank Merriwell, ‘ank Merriwell, rank Merriwell, Merriwell, ar ate Jr., in the Box. Jr.’s, Struggle. Jr.’s, Skill. Jr., in Idaho. Jr.’s, Close Shave. Jr., on Waiting Or- at er Relay Mara- 86—Frank Merriwell, 37—Frank Merriwell, Race. 39—Frank Merriwell, rank Merriwell, 40—IF este rank Merriwell, 42—’rank Merriwell, 3—Frank Merriwell, {—I’rank Merriwell, in Frank Merriwell, ) 6—Frank Merriwell, 47—F rank Merriwell, -Frank Merriwell, Jr 49—F rank Merriwell, Jr 50—F rank Merriwell, 48 ture. 51—Frank Merriwell, 52—Irank Merriwell, ble. : 53—Frank Merriwell, Doctor. 54—Frank Merriwell, 55—Frank Merriwell, 56—F rank Merriwell, 57—F 58—F 59—F mate, 60—F rank Merriwell, 61—Irank Merriwell, 62—F rank Merriwell, 63—Frank Merriwell, 64—Frank Merriwell, 65 Black Box. 67—F 68—F rank Merriwell, emy. 69—Frank Merriwell, 7O—Frank Merriwell, Honors. 1i—F yan cation. 4—Frank Merriwell, Wolves. iailly AY 88—Frank Merriwell, rank Merriwell, rank Merriwell, rank Merriwell, Frank Merriwell, 66—Frank Merriwell, rank Merriwell, rank Merriwell, 2—F rank Merriwell, 3 rank Merriwell, 5 rank Merriwell, 6—F rank Merriwell, Red Bowman. Task. Cross-Country Jr.’s, Four Miles. Jr.’s, Umpire. Jr., Sidetracked. Jr.’s, Teamwork. Jr.’s, Step-Over. Jr., in Monterey. 4 “g, Athletes. s, Outfie lder, s, “Hundred.”’ , Hobo Twirler. , Canceled Game. Weird Adven- Jr.'s, ares, Jr.'s, wea; Double Header. Peck of Trou- Tres arses Jr., and the Spook dB 8, Sportsmanship. Jr.'s, Ten-Innings, Jr.’s, Ordeal. ey on the Wing. Jr.’s, Cross-Fire.”’ Jt.’s, Lost eam = Jr.’s, Daring Flight. Jr., at. Fardale. Uti eee Jr.’s, Quarter-Back. ats ‘“ Touchdown. Jr.’s, Night Off. Jr.,.and the Little Jr.’s, Classmates. Jr.’s, Repentant Jr., and the “Spell.” JY.’8, Gridiron Ien- Jr.’s, Winning Run. Jr.'s, Jujutsu. Jr.’s, Christmas Va- Jr., and the Nine Jr., on the Border. Jr.’s, Desert Race. 7—Owen Clancy’s Run of Luck. 78—Owen Clane y’s 79- 80 ; Square Deal. —Owen Clancy’s Hardest Fight. -Owen Clancy’s Ride for Fortune. 81—Owen Clancy's Makeshift. 82- 85 —Owen Clancy and the Black I Owen Clancy and the Sky Pilot. earls, 84——Owen Clancy and the Air Pirates. 786—Dick Merriwell’s Perception. 787—Dick Merriwell’s Mysterious Disap- pearance. 788—Dick Merriwell’s Detective Work. 789—Dick Merriwell’s Proof. 790—Dick Merriwell’s Brain Work. 791—Dick Merriwell’s Queer Case. 792—Dick Merriwell, Navigator. 793—Dick Merriwell’s Good Fe llowship. 794—Dick Merriwell’s Fun. 795—Dick Merriwell’s Commencement. 796—Dick Merriwell at Montauk Point. 797—Dick Merriwell, Mediator. 798—Dick Merriwell’s Decision. 799—Dick Merriwell on the Great Lakes. 800—Dick Merriwell Caught Napping. 801—Dick Merriwell in the Copper Coun- TV 802—Dick Merriwell Strapped. 803—Dick Merriwell’s Coolness. 804—Dick Merriwell's Reliance. 805—Dick Merriwell’s College Mate. 806—Dick Merriwell’s Young Pitcher. 807—Dick Merriwell’s Prodding. 808—F rank Merriwell’s Boy. 809—F rank Merriwell’s Interference. 810—Frank Merriwell’s Young Warriors. 811—F rank Merriwell’s Appraisal. PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY. thon. 10—Frank Merriwell, Jr., Ranch. 11—F rank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Golden Trail. 12—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Competitor. ‘rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Guidance. 14—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Scrimmage. 15—F rank Merriwell, Jr , Misjudged. 16—Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Star Play. 17—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Blind Chase. 18—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Discretion. 19—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Substitute. 20—Frank Merriwell, Jr., Justified. 21—F rank Merriwell, Jr., Incog. 22—F rank Merriwell, Jr., Meets the Issue. 23—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’ 8, Xmas Eve. 24—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Fearless Risk. 25—Frank Merriwell, Jr., pr Skis. 26—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ice -boat Chase. 27—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ambushed Foes. 28—F rank Merriwell, Jr. "3 and the Totem 29—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’ s, Hockey Game. 30—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Clew. 81—F rank Merriwell, Jr. mt Adversary. 39-—Fr ank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Timely Aid. 83—Frank Merriwell, Jr., te the Desert. 84—Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Grueling Test. 85—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Special Mission at the Bar Z 85—Owen Clancy’s Peril. &86—Owen Clane y's -artner. &7—Owen Clance y's Happy Trail. S8—Owen C lancy’s Double Trouble. &9—Owen Clane y's Back Fire. 90-—Owen Claney and the “C lique a Gold.” 91—Owen C laney’ s “Diamond” Dea 92—Owen Clancy and the Claim Farina: 93—Owen Clancy Among the Smugglers. 94—Owen C lancy’ s Clean-Up. 95—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Dick- Up Nine. 96—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s Diamond Foes. 97—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Great Game. 9S—The Merriwell Company. 99—Frank Merriwell’s First Commission. 100—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Cryptogram. 101—-Dick Merriwell and June Arlington, 102—Dick Merriwell’s Turquoise Tussle. Dated July 18th, 1914. 8—Dick Merriwelli T ‘ricked. Dated July 25th, 1914. 104—TFrank Merriwell, Jr., in the Gulf of Fire. Dated August ist, 1914. 105—F rank Merriwell, Jr., in the Stampede. Dated August 8th. 1914. 106—Merriwell vs. Merriwell. Cattle If you want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your news dealer, they can be obtained direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as money. Street & Smith, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., New York City