.

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An Ideal Publication For The American Youth —

  

 

 
  
  

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
   
 

 

 

  

 

e ‘ssued Weekly. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York Post Office, according to an act of Congress, Mdych 3, 1879. Published by
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t : No. 103. NEW YORK, July 18, 1914. Price Five Cents.
| DICK MERRIWELL TRICKED;
| ae Or, THE GIRL FROM SANTA FE.
Es
) By BURT L. STANDISH.

CHAPTER I.
THE UNCEREMONIOUS VISITOR.

Having descended from his little office in the adobe
building, Ramon Ruiz was picking his way across the
Santa Fe plaza. His work had kept him late, and twilight
was falling. Along the streets and in the stores lights

were shining.

 

Spanish in appearance, elderly, sedate, having also the
air of a scholar, Ruiz was a lingering representative of
the Spaniard of the old type in the Southwest. He liked
_ the old ways better than the new. A student weli versed
in New Mexican history, nothing delighted him more than
_ the work to which he had devoted his later years, the
running down of obscure threads of New Mexican legend,
and the unraveling of the genealogical records of proud
descendants of the old Spanish dons, of whom there were
not a few in Santa Fe.
_ Recentiy he had undertaken the task of tracing the gene-
- alogical history of the young Valdivian, Eugenio Duranzo,
_who, during his recent stay in Santa Fe, had at first as-
_ sumed the name of Rafael Reyes.
_ The result seemed to show that Duranzo was a lineal
descendant of an old Spaniard to whom had been given
a land grant. Within it was situated the new turquoise
_ tine claimed by Marcus Day. The title of the Duranzos
to the land had long since lapsed. Nevertheless, as Ruiz
had been made aware, Eugenio Duranzo had sought to
take the mine from Day. Not having heard from: Du-
ranzo since the latter had ventured out to the mine; Ruiz
_ did not know how the affair had gone, though he felt sure
_ Duranzo could not enforce his claim.
_ The old genealogist was thinking of this, as he walked

 

 

   

  
    
 
 

what sadly over what he considered Duranzo’s mad-

slowly through the plaza, and was shaking his head some-_

   
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
    
    
  
  
  
   
  
   
    
   
 
 

ness, when a man hurried up to his side—a Mexican with ©
a serape about his shoulders, and wearing a peaked hat. i
Ruiz turned, hearing the fellow call to him, and became
aware that a young woman stood near, and that she, BaQs >)
had apparently been intending to speak to him. = 8.
The young woman, whose face he did not see, for it was
hid by her reboso, drew back; and Ruiz gave attention —
to the Mexican.
“Sefior Ramon Ruiz, I think,” said “the Mexicans:
, I would have word with you of Duranzo.”
The old man looked at him closely, and saw tha
was of the half-Indian-peon type, swarthy of face,
with glittering black eyes. |
“Duranzo?” said Ruiz.

Cerillos; I am his messenger.” :
Ruiz glanced at the young woman, who now was 1¢
ing closer, as if she sought to hear.

“Come with me, and I will have word. with Salk abdu
this in my house,’ ” he said cautiously. “Durdfizo has mét
with misfortune?’ ®

“Senor, all the fiends seem to have made sport of hint.”

“We will talk of this at my house,” said Ruiz, and
moved on.

The Mexican fell in behind him, following along like
an obedient dog. ¢

The young woman diew (back her reboso for a aan “7
look, disclosing a clear-cu _ handsome face, and shiniig
eyes, in which lay a startle light. J

“At his home,” she whispeted. * in “

She turned aside abruptly, too :anothe? salle :
running by the time she had gain i the street beyond th
plaza. nd

Walking rapidly, but =A 1
not observe this. Once he ¢

     
         
 

  
     
      

 

  

        
 
    
  

 
  
   

 
    

   
  

the young woman was not following. He did not think
of looking ahead for her. Only vaguely did he wonder
why she had wished to speak to him, if that had been her
intention,

Ruiz had chosen his house as he wenlid Hate chosen a
friend, or a bottle of Spanish wine, because it was old, and
was of the old pattern. Its wide-spreading adobe, walls,
grayed and dulled by time, stood four square, like a fort,
blank, winddwiless, as though they had turned their backs
in disgustifon th@hsandy, tiresome streets. The windows
were on” ‘the inside, and opened on the patio, those in the
upper ‘story opening om balconies that overhung the patio.

_ #The patio was the tenter and bright spot of the old
house. A tiny fountain spilled its waters there in-a shower
of tinkling silver. “There, flowers bloomed in the long
New Mexican stmmer. And there, rustic benches and
chairs and lounges invited to quietness and siestas.

Still, the patio was a dusty place, except at the points
where it°was made green by flowing water, or where the
few trees grew and the flowers bloomed. Ramon Ruiz
delighted in°it, however, and thought it an idyllic retreat,

Yet, when Ruiz and the Mexican reached his house in
this quiet part of old Santa Fe, it was not to the patio
that Ruiz conducted the Mexican, but to a room in the house
which of all he most disliked; a room on the second floor,
that" thrust an-ugly bay window out on one of the old bal-
i conies; and set’a skylight in the roof, thus letting an abun-
, dance? of” light into what otherwise had been but a dark

hole.”
_ This room.had been remodeled according to ind dks of
an American’ painter, sojourning in Santa Fe for scenes
-and-coloring for his pictures. Of the painter, Ruiz had
purchased the old house; and, while detesting the room and
its innovations, Ruiz, in his slow-moving way, had never
bes ac I had the innovations cast out, though it was his constant
intention.

patio, away from the noise of the streets, the quiet he
_ demanded for his work, For, when he had turned the lock
of his door, he was, so far as the surrounding life and
es rhovement were concerned, as\ far removed as if he had
Pitched his studio in the moon.
‘ “We will’'go to the room at the rear,” said Ruiz, when
“» they were withiti the house; “for not even the servants
can hear us there: Servants are bears eager to hear
what does not concern them.”
x A word or two that the man had spoken, while they were
sir way, had made Ruiz even more sure that the
_ Message he had brought was one whose deliverance de-
f _ manded se

  

  
  

  
  
 

* thehted room, where Ruiz locked the door on them.
- “Now, what is it?” he asked. “Duranzo went out from
here a madman. He came to me for his genealogical
_ papers, and vowed that he would have Day’s turquoise mine
if he had. to swim in blood to get it. It has been his own
blood, I fear. There has been fighting?”

  
  
  

 
  

  
  
  

 
 
   

-“Sefior, it is here,” he said.
_ Ruiz opened the note and

s will be given to you by nmty.
caeacicies mine, and secured pos
ved nine points of
was ousted, with all
ee into ee the

 
 

   

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The painter had found in this room, opening on the .

So ide the Mexican, mounted to the sky-

  
  

     
  
 
   
  
    
  
    
  
   
   
   
 

mine. We were out but a short time, yet it was long
enough for Merriwell and his men to get in, by a hole they
had opened on the mountainside. The door at the mine
entrance they dropped, and we could not then force it, nor
could we, without a great sacrifice of men, get in at the
point where they had entered.

“This put me in a desperate state, as you can imagine;
and in my desperation I dynamited the door. Unfortu-
nately, my explosive was too powerful. For it not only
blew down the door, but tore the mine entrance to piecés
and brought the collapse of the mine walls, I do not
know how many men were killed in the mine by this un- .
expected happening. Merriwell himself and some others |
got out, however; I do not know how; but this shows
me that all were not killed, as at first I thought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“In my despair over what I had done, and in fear of
the consequences, I took the few men who were faithful
to me, and our horses, and went into the hills for safety.

I shall not dare to venture back to Santa Fe. If I did that,
Judge Lynch would summon his court, and I should no —
doubt be hanged to the nearest tree or telegraph pole. .

“As to my future course of action | am at present un-—
determined; I must be guided by time and the course of
events. But I want to get out of the country now, and
go to Mexico as soon as I can, where I have an offer
from General Villa to manufacture explosives for the
Constitutional forces. As soon as I can do that I shall
have plenty of money, for Villa offers to pay me well for
my manufacturing secrets. Then I can repay you, with
large interest, for the use of the money I now ask you ‘to
send to me by this messenger, who isa man I know I can |
trust. I must have at least one thousand dollars in Ameri- _
can money; as much more as you can raise for me. With
it I can get safely out of the country, by bribing my way —
if necessary. j i

“IT am a Dukehieuleie have yourself shown that; and
the word of a Duranzo, to friend or foe, is never broken. st
I pledge my honor to refund this money, with large in-
terest. I beg of you, Sefior Ruiz, do not fail me.

“And, further, as to this information, be as one dead
[ do not want it known sooner than Merriwell will make
it known himself. es

“Your obedient servant, on his knees to you’ in this.
his time of ‘need and trouble, EuGENIO Duranzo.”

 

 

 

   
     
    
   
     
      
      
      
 
  
       
       
     
      
  

   
       
    
      
      
      
   

Ramon Ruiz read this through carefully.

“Now, your story,” he said, turning to the Mexican, — Q
“You may speak in this room freely. I fear that your
master has plunged himself recklessly into greater trouble
than even he thinks. The Duranzos were ever hot-fieails, Cha
that, never could cool until they were in their graves.” ee ot

The story of the Mexican was much the same ag ‘ee
given in the letter, he had brought, except that it had
those personal touches and additions inherent in — a
natrative, giving the thing as he had seen. it.

“Duranzo’s men were drinking,” he said; “he had ‘isis
them liquor; for he thought there was to be a fight with
this man Merriwell, and he wanted them to fight. like
fiends. I think, too, that Duranzo took of the liquor him-
self, and that is why the explosion was so) samere worse
than he had meant it should be?’ eae

“You were drinking with them?” “i iid
' “Of a surety, setior; a Mexican does not let the.
go by without: testing its contents—that would be: throw= sas
ing away an conor. ee BS Passi less. then 80

      
   
   
  

 
 
          
    
   
   
   
   
   

   
  
 
 

   
 

 

 

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could namé—less than Juan and_ Christobal,
and——”

“Enough of that. You were all drunk and reckless; all
criminals, planning crime. I wash my hands of this. busi-
ness! You may tell your master that I have no money
for him; that he has disgraced the name of’ Duranzo;
and, moreover, that the American laws will exact of him
a penalty for the men he murdered in that mine. Re-
mind him that I warned him he was taking the madman’s
path, when he went out there with the intentions and feel-
ings he exhibited to me at the time of our last meeting.
I would have been a friend of Eugenio Duranzo, for the
honor and name of his ancient house; but now :

“But the money, Sefior Ruiz; he must have money !”

“T-——

Ruiz was stopped suddenly.

Over his head there was a crashing of ie and down
through the shattering skylight a figure hurtled.

It struck heavily against a lounge, was thrown back to
the wall, and rebounded to the floor. And down with it
in a ringing shower came the glass of the shattered sky-
light.

Cordova,

The Mexican had jumped aside, and stood crossing him- |

self as if he would ward off the Evil One. Ruiz, as
amazed, stood staring; then clutched at his chair for sup-
port.

‘The figure that had dropped with that noisy crash
through the skylight, and now lay on the floor, was that
of a woman.

_ Ruiz was the first to regain his equanimity. His Span-
ish politeness and gallantry coming to his aid, he hurried
to assist the woman.

As he did so she lifted her head, and as his hand fell
on her she struggled to sit up.

“Sefiorita,” he said, fof he saw that she was young,
“T fear that you are injured. Permit me to assist, you.
Here is a lounge on which you can rest. Then I shall

send for a physician.”

The woman caught him by the shoulder to brace herself,
and scrambled to her feet; that thought of the summoning
of a doctor had alarmed and startled her.

“Here,” said Ruiz to the Mexican, “do you not see that
a woman is in need of aid; so why do you stand there
staring? Your strong arm here; you are younger than I!”
The Mexican leaped to obey.
Together they supported the woman to the lounge, where
she lay back, breathless at first, her big, black eyes fright-
eed and staring, her cheeks pale, her lips white.
. ‘Suddenly she burst into hysterical laughter—a shrill,
“high, nervous cackle: that made the Mexican think she
was insane, and caused him to cross himself again.
“Tf you will but wait a moment here, sefiorita, I will
bring wine,” said Ruiz; “your nerves are shaken by that

~ fall, and I do not wonder! If you are not physically in-

_ jured, and seriously, it will be little less than a miracle.”
- “Do not go, Sefior Ruiz,” she begged; - am quite right
ua) Pik”

_ Here she rocked herself again, and again her shrill, wild
laughter rang in the closed room.

_ The Mexican looked up at the shreds of skylight hanging
to the casings above.
roofs of all the old houses of Santa Fe. So it was clear
‘to him how the woman had gained the skylight; she had
simply ascended to the flat roof from the balconies, which

he could have eee without trouble from the patio;

The roof there was flat, like the

then she had been looking into the room, probably listen-
ing; and the skylight had given way under her, so that
she came tumbling down into the room itself.

It was all quite simple, the Mexican saw. What he
questioned was—why was she there? Like Ruiz, he saw
that she was young, and he would have thought her won-
derfully handsome, except that now she was too pale,
her eyes were too big and wild, and her laughter had a
quality that made him think of insanity.

But almost instantly the wild laughter passed. When she
had conquered it she sat up straighter on the lounge, and
looked at Ruiz.

“Senor Ruiz,”
ing quality, even though the ring and slither of that
frightful imitation of mirth had gone out of it, “you did
not, and I did not, expect that—but now that it has hap-
pened——”

“And you remain unhurt?”

“Now that it has happened, and I remain unhurt, per-
haps you will require an explanation ?”

“It is not required,” said Ruiz, with his old-time gal-
lantry. ‘

“T was listening on the roof!”

“That is self-evident, sefiorita.”

“You do not know why?”

“I am not asking. The sejfiorita ventures into my house,
and tumbles thréugh my skylight; but she is a woman.
It is nothing. I will summon a servant, as soon as she
thinks she has strength to go—if she wishes to go—and
my servant will conduct her whithersoever she chooses to
go. The sefiorita may rest her mind in peace.” ~

“It was an unceremonious entrance, Sefion Ruiz, and—
it broke your skylight. I shall take pleasure in paying
for that. And soon I shall go. But I came for informa-
tion, which I feared I could not secure honorably, so tried .
to secure it in that dishonorable way. I seek informia-—
tion of Don Eugenio Duranzo.”

“VYou—are acquainted with him?”

“Sehor Ruiz, he is my life.”

“This Eugenio Duranzo is, then, your “hasbandi re:

“He is to become my husband—I hope. But all that
in good time, Sefior Ruiz. I was\about to ask you about
him, in the plaza, when this Mexican appeared there, and

I overheard him say he had a message from Duranzo. —

From his manner I knew that it was a message that was
for you alone, and I could not expect to receive it. So I
hastened to your house here—for you said. you would —
speak with him here. Knowing that when you had a pri-
vate matter to talk over with any one at your house you
always came to this room, I gained stealthy entrance
through a door I found unlocked, and climbed by way —
of the patio to the roof. How disastrous my search for
knowledge was you have seen.”

“You are an educated woman,” said Ruiz; “and you
are a woman of intelligence, as your face and your speectt
tells me. And you are in love with Eugenio Duranzo

“Therefore, entitled to know what the message was that
this man gave you, and that I saw you reading.
not hear well what you were saying; I tried to hear, and
leaned too hard on the skylight, and the result is my
.now hapless state. Yet if I gain the information I seek, —

I shall consider that my fortune could not have been —

better. Will you permit me to read that letter,

Ruiz stood looking at the woman intently. © E\
, was considering what he should do. : es

 

she said, her voice holding still a shak-~_

I could —
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

“T have washed my hands of Duranzo,” he said. “But

he is in’need of a friend. If your story is true, which

I do not permit myself to doubt in the least, sefiorita—he
is in need of you; and if you have money with which you
I do not even know

so much the better,

”

can aid him,
your name

She interrupted :

“Anita Carle. I am of a good Santa Fe family, as you
can learn. .When Sefior Duranzo was at the army post
here I became first acquainted with him. Since he came
here recently I have met him. For days I had not heard
from him, and I was about to ask you about him. Sefior

“Ruiz, I must see that Jetter. I will be Duranzo’s friend
in this time of need, if you fear to be one.”

“T wash my hands of him,” said Ruiz.

Then he took out the letter and gave it to the young
woman to read.

CHAPTER IT.

THE GIRL IN THE. AUTOMOBILE.

The light automobile that had purred so easily along
the dim trail, sank almost to its axles in the deep sand,
and came ‘to a full stop. The young woman who sat
at the steering wheel frowned in vexation, then vented
her feelings in wrathful exclamations, when she found how
impossible it was to go on.

“You will have to do something, Pedro,” she cried to
the stolid-faced Mexican at her side. “Get out and throw
some stones under the front wheels. And dig out the
sand there as well as you can.”

The Mexican climbed out, and did as she instructed.

She tried to back the machine; then sent it forward
with a rush. But it could not climb out; not even when
Pedro had piled in more stones, and had dug and scraped
at the sand until his fingers were raw and torn,
he wailed; “the more that I
dig the more does it sink. I think some fiend must have
seized it by the wheels, and is pulling it down. A wagon
like that is muy malo; it is not tight and natural, that a
wagon should go along when there is nothing to pull it.
_ It is magic, and those who make use of magic are rightly
- punished.”

Piously Pedro made the sign of the cross, to forefend
against evil. Z
‘The young woman descended, and looked the situation
a over. She threw in stones, and clawed at the sand; and

“It is no use, sefiorita,”

she commanded the Mexican, so that he aided her.

But when she tried again to send the automobile on, and
the effort seemed only to bury it deeper, she gave it
over.

- Tears of vexation stood in her eyes.

_ “Pedro,” she said, at last, “you will have to walk across
_ the hills until you find your master. 1 will wait here. I
am too fatigued to go. If you do not find him within two
or three hours return to me, and I will see then what we
are to do. If you find him, or any of his men, have them

bring horses, to pull this car out of the sand.”
_ She climbed into the car and dropped wearily down

on a cushioned seat.

_ Pedro, watching her from the side of the trail, crossed

the thing by the wheels he might drag it! down sud-
denly.”

The young woman answered with a nervous laugh.

“You are a fool, Pedro,” she said. “Now go on! I shall
await here your return. As soon as you meet your master,
tell him IT am Bere, with an automobile, and that he must
hasten to me.’

“But if the wheels sink and drag it down, sefiorita?”

“Go on, or J shall have you punished!” she cried sud-
denly.

Pedro fled.

For a time after that the young woman lay egsinsi the
cushions of the seat, and, with her eyes closed, seemed
to be asleep. Yet she was not; she was merely resting.
She had spent some strenuous hours on the way, and be-
fore she set out with the Mexican from Santa Fe she was
mentally and physically tired.

Yet she lifted her head and looked about with interested
attention when the chattering of a squirrel reached her.
It sat on the root of a pifion, and stared out at her. It
was a grayish red, with
New Mexican squirrel, called Abert’s squirrel.

“You lovely creature,” the young woman whispered ;
and she seemed strengthened, as well as pleased, to know
that there was something of life and beauty in this waste
of sand and mountains.

“When the squirrel had flicked away like a band of sun-
light, and disappeared, the young woman closed her eyes
again and leaned back, wearied.

She was in this attitude when a horseman, riding heavily
over the deep sand, drew her attention, her ears caught
the cushioned tread. of the horse’s booth:
erect, wide-eyed now and alert. Instantly she leaped —
down, and with her hands and feet smoothed out Pedro’s —
footprints.

The horseman was Dick Merriwell.
Observing the stalled automobile and the woman, he rode
forward, doffed his dusty hat, and saluted. $

“This is a bad trail for an automobile—no trail at all,
in fact,” he said, his manner friendly, sympathetic, and
sincere; “I suppose you lost the real trail some distance |
back. Permit me to help you.” _ c

Dick Merriwell swung out of his saddle, and deawing a

the reins over the head of his horse dropped them to the —

ground, for this is all the tethering that a trained nee ie

pony needs.

The young woman was regarding him with animation
and interest. The pallor of weariness had fled from her
face. And Dick saw at a glance that she was, of her type,
a beauty.
dark. ae
she cried; “how good it is of you,
to wish to help me! But can you do anything? I have
used all my devices. I tried to dig the sand from under —
the forward wheels, and to pave the ruts there with ‘flat
stones. It was useless.”

“I will see what I can do,” Dick promised,

The presence of the woman and the automobile: puizled
him.

-Seeming to read his thoughts, she began to explate te tthe.
soft Spanish voice that can be so attractive. Her Eng-
lith was good, her pronunciation that of an Americar

“T was in despair,”

 

beautifully tufted ears—the Lg ; Dy

Again she sat

It was the dark Spanish type that is not too aa
  

SN TE
nes v0 or ‘ee? oe ees

“TI was on my way to the mining camp at Pablo Springs,”
she declared.

“Without an escort?
in a wild region.

, oe “I thought I could manage it by myself,”
“It was necessary to leave the regular trail,
a if one is to reach Pablo Springs, in this direction? But
a I did not know about the sand. ‘It is so deceptive—this
a. sand; it looks smooth and hard, then it sinks right away,
ff as if it had no bottom. You do not. think it is quicksand?
I should be alarmed, if I thought it was quicksand. For
a the automobile is hired, you see, from the garage in
a Santa Fe.”
‘ “You will need a guide, if you ate to go on to Pablo,”
Dick urged. “But I think I can furnish one. You see,
Q I have a camp not far from here—not over two or three
- mS miles. I rode out from it to look for a strayed horse.
Permit me to introduce myselfi—I am Dick Merriwell;, at
present serving as mining expert for Rupert Hampton,
who is an English gentleman engaged in investigating
the possible value of a turquoise mining claim owned by
a4 Marcus Day. At my camp we have two iadies, and I
sam sure they would give you a warm welcome. You
need rest, I think.”
cae Ss, The color mounted higher in the girl’s face and her
ys eyes: brightened. They were luminous, dark eyes.
4 Dick had stooped, and was looking at the sand in which
the front wheels of the touring car had buried them-
selves. The girl stared at the back of his head, as if she
sought to look through into his mind.

“Dick Merriwell!” she whispered. “As I thought, when
first I saw him. Lucky I scattered the sand, and cov-
ered up Pedro’s tracks.”
For an instant she debated/ hesitating;
nounced, in her soft, melodious voice:

“It is but right that I should radigreealeragities you
are so good as to tell me your name. I am Anita Carle,
of Santa Fe.”
ie the name
heard it.
“J am very glad to make your acquaintance,” he said,
rising. “If you can go on to my camp, the young ladies
there will be pleased to meet you and make you comfort-

” said Dick; for Pablo Springs was

she asserted.
was it not,

we Ss fey CUS.

then she an-

brought no suggestion—Dick had never

os.

i . s~F54 I

_ J will arrange an escort for you.”
“T must thank you. You are very kind. But,” she
“5 laughed, “my automobile is not out of this sand slough
Avett”
“Very true,” said Dick;
not, my invitation holds,”
‘He knelt, and began to dig the’ sand away from the
front wheels. Having removed all that he could ‘readily,
“he rearranged the stones, making for each wheel a nar-
- row pavement that rose at a sharp slant.
Dick now brought up his horse, unslung the lariat that
_ swung at the saddlebow, made it secure there, and fastened
the free,end to the forward axle.
 “T shall try to pull you out,” he announced.
~ “Shall I dismount?”
“No. Keep the wheel, You will need to steer.
your machine, then I will start up my horse,”
_ The accurate adjustment of the stones under the front
i wheels, and the power of the automobile, supplemented now
by the pulling power of the horse, overcame the difficulty.

“but whether we get it out or

T’ll crank

  

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. 5

 

able. I should advise that you rest there a day; after that

e automobile rose noisily out of the pit which it had’ vanished. She had taken a swift surve

     
   

   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
    
  
    
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 

dug for itself; plowed on heavily through the deep sand,
and came to a stop only when firmer ground had been
gained.

“Bravo!” cried the
to have brains!”

“And horse power.”

“I thought that saddle would be pulled right off the
horse’s back.”

“A double-girth

dark-eyed beauty. “See what it is

saddle, cinched like that, is a hard

thing to dislodge. I had no fear for the saddle. You
will drive on now to our camp?”
Dick lifted his hat again, gallant and smiling. The

dark beauty of the young woman was not lost on him.

She seemed to hesitate, and gat looking at him. Dick
recoiled his lariat and swung it to the saddle. Then he
turned about.

“You are too tired to go farther, until after you Nase
taken proper rest,” he urged.

“Yes?” Her eyes were witching.

“I. was going to say that if you will not accept my in-
vitation, I can arrange toshave an escort come to you here,
and go on with you to Pablo Springs, as I do not think
you should go gn alone. But—I am hoping that you will
accept the invitation.”

“You think the way is dangerous—to Pablo Springs?
It shouldn’t be.”

“Ordinarily, it-isn’t. Perhaps it isn’t now. But there
have been some recent happenings,” Dick explained, “that
have scattered a number of rough men out through these
hills ; some of them, I fancy, are little better than brigands,
so far at least @s their inclinations run. We had trouble
at Marcus. Day’s mine. I will not go into details, but
there were two parties struggling to obtain the mine.
There was some fighting, and dynamite was used against
the mine door. The party that used it was defeated. Fear-
ing arrest, they scattered into the hills. If they had not
done that they would have been arrested, no doubt, for
the next day the sheriff came out with a posse from Santa
Fe. This does not interest you. But I,was showing you
why I think the hills between here and Pablo Springs
are not safe; why you must take an escort, and why, for
the present, I think you ought to go to our camp.”

Anita Carle had listened quietly to this rather long ex-
planation. Her face had paled, but Dick credited that to
the sudden fear his words had aroused.

“Who was the leader of the defeated party?” she asked.

“A man named Eugenio Duranzo. And, by the way, it
occurs to me that you may have seen him, or heard of
him, since you are a resident of Santa Fe, for he was
formerly a lieutenant, stationed at the Santa Fe military —
post.” "

“Duranzo,” she said musingly; “it seems to me that I
have heard that name.” , f

It was on Dick's tongue to say to ban that Duranzo’ dey
name had probably been in the Santa Fe newspapers, at the —
time of his trial and dismissal from the service of the —
United States, and she might have read it or heard’ it,
then. But he forbore. 4

The purring of the automobile was pulsing on the quiet
air. It did not drown, or much disturb, their conversa-
tion; yet it seemed to mount and overflow, like zune
water, through all the gorges of the hills. _

“You will let me lead the way to my camp

By this time the young woman’s appar

       

      
         
       
         
     
       
     
     
           
       
     
     
     
     
     
           
     
         
      
     
     
  

   
 
 

  

   
6 | NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

When Pedro returned he could be trusted to be discreet ;

so, too, any one who might come with him.

“T believe I will go with you,” she said to Dick, “and

I thank you for the invitation and for your kind offer of
an escort, which I hope I shall not need to accept.’ You
see, ordinarily, I ought to feel quite at home, even -in
these hills, as I am a native New Mexican, and have been
ip wilder places.”

“Alone?” said Dick.

“Not often alone,” she confessed.

Dick moiinted, swinging into the saddle with a litheness
and lightness the young woman could not but admire. And

she had béen admiring, not only his lightness and litheness
which spoke of strength and grace, but the fine lines of
his intelligent face, the @lear, dark eyes, the high, bold
forehead. Here was a man, she saw, intellectually and
physically of noble mold.

Instead of leading the way in advance, Dick Merriwell
tode beside the automobile, and pointed out the dim
route, and they talked as they went on, the conversation
flowing along in a pleasant stream.

It was general in its character? by intention on the part
of the girl; she did not choase to give information about

herself or her friends, and, of course, “Dick asked no
personal questions.

From time to time she turned in her seat and looked back
over the way they had come, making always some re-
mark about the roughness of the route, as an excuse for
looking, though her eyes were keenly searching, to see if
Pedro had returned, and possibly was following.

/

Pedro had not appeared when they arriyed at the camp, “

which was pitched on level ground, out in front of the
stone-cluttered entrance to Marcus Day’s turquoise mine.

’ There were white tents, horses grazing at the ends of
picket ropes, women servants moving about; and before
one of the tents two young women were standing, who
looked at the advancing automobile with a curiosity that
was undisguised.

Suddenly, one of the young women’ came running for-
_ward—it was June Arlington’s Santa Fe friend, Mrs.
Oliver.

“Why, Anita Carle,” she cried, “what a pleasure and
surprise it is to see you out here! It can’t be that you
knew we were here, and came out to join us?”

Mrs. Oliver’s fair, blond face was beaming.

“My automobile was stalled in the deep sand, and Mr.
Merriwell came to my rescue; I was on my way to Pablo
Springs,” Miss Carle explained. “I did not know you

_ were here, Olive. Mr. Merriwell was kind enough to urge
me to come to his camp, while he arranged for an escort
for me the rest of the way, as he says the hills are not
now safe.”

“Safe?” cried Mrs. Oliver. “I should say they aren’t!
Why, we have had the worst time out here that any one
ever heard about. But—I must introduce you to my
friend, Miss Arlington.”

June came forward for the introduction.

CHAPTER III.
DECEIVED.

Anita Carle’s weariness seemed to have fled away. She
alive with new interest. Listening to the thrilling
y of the fight that had been waged between the forces

ei ck Merriwell and Eugenio Dutanzo for possession

of the turquoise mine near by, she asked questions, and
showed an eagerness that delighted June and young Mrs.
Oliver, who were the narrators.

Miss Carle inspected appreciatively the camp and its ap-
pointments, and took time to admire the lariated horses.

“Everything is fine,” she declared. “One could camp
in this way a whole month, and enjoy every day of it.”

“All except the fighting,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Why, there
was One time, when we were shut up in the mine, and
Eugenio Duranzo’s drunken Mexicans were howling round
outside, that I wished I was anywhere else than here.
Anita, it was something awful!”

“I must see that mine,” said Miss Carle.
with turquoises must be an interesting thing.
find a turquoise, could I carry it away?”

“If you hid it,” said Mrs. Oliver, laughing, “otherwise
you couldn’t. Marcus Day is a miser for those turquoises.
He wants to sell the mine-to that Englishman who is here
—Mr. Hampton.”

“Mr. Hampton is to buy it?”

“We don’t know yet—no one knows. Mr. Merriwell is
now investigating, so that he can make an estimate of
its value. Then Mr. Hampton may buy it, if he and Day
can agree On a price. Day is crazy to sell out, but he
says he isn’t going to give his mine away, and I don’t
blame him; he will want something handsome if he tte
with it.”

“We can walk over to the mine now,” said June. “Well!
have to go along the mountainside, and get in at a hole
that was blown out there when we came out of the mine;
this entrance end, which Duranzo dynamited, is a jumble
of rocks, and, besides, it is guarded.”

“Guarded? Why is it guarded?” .

“To keep our Mexicans away from it; for in the porphyry
there are a lot of turquoises that haven’t yet been taken
out; the Mexicans would be likely to steal them.”

“This Eugenio Duranzo and his-men must have been —
an awful gang of scoundrels,” said Miss Carle, twisting
her red lips awry. “And they are somewhere out in
the hills! Isn’t it dreadful?”

Finding that the young women wished to look through

“A mine filled
If I should

the mine, Dick Merriwell volunteered to escort them, and

an hour or two was spent in that way.

Anita Carle saw that a diamond drill was being run
through it, under Dick’s direction; that he was carefully
opening up the mine so that the extent of the turquoise-
bearing porphyry could be determined with almost abso-
lute accuracy.

She noticed, too, that Dick had selected sample porphyry
from different parts of the mine, and was determining by
accurate investigations just how rich in turquoises these”
various parts of the mine were, so that in the end he
would be able to»-make an estimate of the amount and
value of the turquoises the mine held in a way that
would be amazingly complete.

“Mr. Dick Merriwell seems to be-a wonderfully bright
young man,” she remarked.

Mrs. Oliver laughed, and glanced at June. ice

“Miss Arlington,” she commented, “is quite sure is a
he is a perfect wonder.” ;

“Oh!” cried Anita Carle, and she glanced at June. “Well,
I don’t blame her.”

Around the camp fires that evening there was a pleas

ant gathering. Dick Merriwell was there, with his old

pard, Brad Buckhart. One of the company was Rupert

 
 

 

      

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tie

Hampton, the Englishman. Marcus Day came over from
his mine, and joined them.
- Sitting back, listening to the rattling conversation, was
Hampton’s negro servant, “Misteh Alonzo Johnsing,” from
Chicago. And backing Johnson was a ring of Mexicans,
men and women.

The camp fires glowed and the stars came out, while
the stories and the laughter went round. Every one

‘ seemed trying to do honor to Miss Anita Carle, of Santa
Fe, Mrs. Oliver’s acquaintance and friend.

So late did the camp fires flare against the darkness,
and so long did the conversation last, that midnight came
and went before talk and laughter died down and the
camp sank into the quiet of sleep.

For that reason, no doubt, there was a heaviness of
slumber that took no note of the fact that in the deep
darkness before dawn Miss Anita Carle crept softly forth
from the tent which she occupied with June and Olive, and
slipped to and fro, stealthily and silent. a

Not until Anita Carle’s automobile broke forth with
what seemed an unearthly yoar, followed by a clattering of

the hoofs of scared horses, did the camp rouse from its
somnolent state. ;
Dick Merriwell and Brad Buckhart tumbled out of their
tent. half dressed.- Everywhere Mexicans started up, shout-

ing questions. Frightened Mexican women and children
screamed. June Arlington and Olive Oliver, wrapping
blankets round them, thrust their heads: out, and shouted

a questions, too.

Out and away, after a honking dash among the horses,
went the automobile, its screeching horn driving the horses
frantically on before it.

ae ee ee ee

ities

 

     
        
       
      
      
         
    
   
    
       
         
       
     
     
    
        
     
 
    
 
 
   
 
 
  
 

“Who?” “What?” “Why?”
So the questions sputtered, and no one was. answer-
ing them.

Brad and Dick ran down to the spot, a grassy slope

near the camp, where the horses had been tethered, at the
ends of long ropes. They found that many of the ropes
had been cut. In other cases the small iron picket pins
that anchored them had been pulled out of the ground.
"By the time they had begun to gain some understand-
ing of the situation, June and Olive were awakening to
the discovery that Anita Carle was not in the tent rs
0 ems’
"Anita isn’t here,’ June announced.
“What ‘has become of Anita?” shouted Mrs; Oliver.
- “Something has befallen Anita! Some one must have

run off with her automobile, and—perhaps took her along.”
“By force?” said Dick, smiling grimly in the darkness,
» as ‘he came up.
“Some one has kidnaped Anita!” Mrs. Oliver ucdel

‘ “Oh-—”
-- *Not quite so bad as that, I fancy,” said Dick, who
had now arrived at the tent with Brad Buckhart. “I
think your friend Anita kidnaped herself, in her own auto-
- mobile, and also stampeded and drove off all our horses.
- Those are the indications.”
al “Suddenly Brad jumped, as if ‘he had trod on a snake.
~- “Say, Dick,” he yelled, “my revolver is wee
; X dig ae en

 

and my belt of cartridges.”
Dick stepped into his tent and struck a*match. ;
“didn’t belf mine on as I went ‘out--in too: big a
aare he said; “but—mine are gone, tog? «. ste

TOP "WEEKLY.

“My revolver is gone; yes, and my knife \is gone, too—,

,

“had been: in the automobile with her-when it mired. $fi- the
“'gand, had told her, as well as: “ cottld, where aii

7

All the weapons and all the cartridges were gone—that
was the startling discovery which was now’ made.

“Miss Carle seems to have been an expert, and then
some,” Dick grumbled.

“Do you mean that—she robbed us?” Mrs. Oliver cried—
“Anita Carle robbed us?” j
“Well, she is gone, in her auto, and the horses are.
gone, and our weapons and ammunition are gone.”

“By all the horned toads!” Brad exploded.

CHAPTER IV.
THE FLIGHT OF ANITA CARLE.

Anita Carle’s plan had been quite as clever as her
manner of carrying it out. Some generals burn the bridges
behind them; others plan carefully fora safe retreat, if it
becomes necessary. Anita Carle was of the latter kind.

In finally accepting Dick Merriwell’s well-meant invita-
tion, she had done so only because of the suggestion that an
opportunity might thereby be presented for’ striking a blow
at Merriwell in the interest of Eugenio Duranzo.*

For that she watched and schemed from the fits’
her’ acts and thoughts were directed to it.-

When in the darkness she slipped out of the tert}:4nd
began to lay her hands on all the revolvers and cartridges
‘she could find, carrying them to the automobile, shé was —
prepared to claim, if discovered, that she was ‘a ae
walker and her actions that of a somnambuilist.

In this way. even though she brought suspicion -on’ nile
self, she could fight stoutly for her claim of friendship
and honest intentions.

However, she had no need, as has been seen, to resort to
this ruse. The heaviness of sleep, brought by a senseé ‘of se-
curity, and the lateness of the hour, combined ‘to aid her.
She piled the revolvers into the automobile ; then she bia
to release the horses.

When they had been freed, and she started. the’ ‘atito-
mobile, she drove it, honking, down upon them, and* the
roar of its machinery, the flashing of, its headlights, and
the raucous blasts of its horn accomplished all that “she
had dreamed of doing ; the horses broke into a wild stam- 2
pede. : i
She followed them, honking loudly, and sent them’ on —
with a speed that soon took tliem, and herself in ‘the auto-
mobile, far from the roused and startled’ camp.

Fortunately for the success of her design, they ‘struck
into the trail that swung past the mine and. on round the —
‘mountain. ;

As the automobile drove by the mine, ais: saw Mahia is
Day and his men ‘rush out, half dressed, shouting wild
questions; but she only crouched lower over the wheel,
and sent the touring car on as fast as it would run. .

On, down the other slope of the mountain, the horn
screaming, the headlights flashing, the automobile tote,
with a recklessness that spoke of the girl's $ desperation.

Ahead of her the scampering horses fled as if for their
lives.

Anita Carle had another design, in making this noisy
dash along the trail. Somewhere out in the hills was —
Eugenio Duranzo and his men. The Mexican who had
brought the letter from Duranzo to Ramon Ruiz, and who

all

 
 

  
  

 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 

   
      

vg ot

hidden ‘camp was located.
She was hoping, and svi ee what this tra wi taking

    
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

her in the general direction of that camp, and it was her’

wish for Duranzo to hear the roar of the auto. and. the
honking of its horn, and see the flashing of its light.
For: she knew, or hoped, rather, that Pedro had ac-
quainted Duranzo before this with the fact that she had
come out from Santa Fe in that automobile to join and
aid: him.

As the automobile lurched wildly along, a mile or more
out from the camp of Dick Merriwell, a shrill yell rose
from the bushes beside the trail, and she saw that a man
had leaped up there, after the scared horses had passed
him.

With steady hands she threw on the brake, and brought
the automobile to an abrupt stop.

The man came running to her.

It was Pedro.

_“Sefiorita,”
other! But—muy malo——”

In the darkness she would not have been able to. recog-
nize him but for his voice.

“It is you, Pedro! Where is Sefor Duranzo?”

« “Back in the hills—he is coming,” Pedro chattered. “I
went with his message to you, and found the automobile
gone from the place I had left you; I was to tell you that
he would come on, as soon as he and some of his men could
get up their horses, which were concealed in a valley.
Not finding you I turned back, and rejoined him, with
the.news that you were gone, He sent me then off along
this. trail, to. spy at the camp of. Sefior Merriwell, and
see if you. were there, while he followed by another route,
that could: be trod. by horses. I. came the short way—
right over the hills... Those horses——”

“Are from Merriwell’ s camp; I bike cate them. Climb
in here with me, and tell me how we are to find Sefior
Duranzo. The horses will go on now for miles. Is Sefior
Duranzo well?”

“He is health itself, but nervous. Ah, who would not
be, under the circumstances? He has been at his wits’ end.
When I told‘him that Ruiz would not help him he was
wild. with anger; but he calmed when he knew that you
were coming. The sefiorita is his fair flower, his rose-
- bush, his guiding star, he says.”

“Perhaps his flaming comet—who knows? But-I would
aid him, Pedro. Now tell me how I am to meet him.”

Pedro reflected.

“Tt cannot be done in the automobile. And I think ‘it
is well that it is so; it is the devil’s wagon. When I saw
its lights but now, and heard it, and the horses came nigh
running me down, I was frightened;"I had but strength
to stand up and cry out, as you were rushing past me.
Let mé see, sefiorita—we shall have to climb over the
mountain if we are to join Sefior Duranzo while the chance
lasts. Otherwise, he will go on toward Merriwell’s camp.
And that would not be wise now, for I am sure they must
_ have their fighting men out and ready.”

Anita Carle laughed recklessly.

_ “They havé little if anything to fight with, my Pedro,”
_ she declared. “For I stole away all their revolvers; they
are in the tonneau there behind us, with cartridges enough
wt0: arm all Dufanzo’s men, if he has any with him that
_ have biting teeth, and are not cowards.”

“She stood up in the, automobile, listening for possible

‘sounds of pursuit, and she laughed again, softly, yet with —

bitterness, as she thought of the confusion and excitement
me which the Sainp must have been thrown. Her imagi-
)

ful and reckless thought.

he cried, “I thought it was you, and none’

nation pictured the horror of her quandom friend, Mrs.
Oliver.

“My reputation in the fine Santa Fe society in which
Mrs. Oliver moves is ruined, I fear me,” was her scorn-
“But I hope I shall not see -old
Santa Fe again soon; so what care I? I shall fare away
from here with my Duranzo; and I must help him now, if
L.can..

She asked questions of Pedro, as
Duranzo was to be met, and: of the
its roughness.

/ “I do not hear the horses longer,” she remarked; “nor

do I hear any one coming. Pedro, we will leave the devil’s

wagon here in the trail. I but hired it, you know, at the

Santa Fe garage. Perhaps Sefior Merriwell will be kind

enough to return it for me, to requite the evil I have done

him. Is there a deep gorge or hole near here, Pedro?”
mak crossed one coming.”

to the details—how
mountain path, and

| would have you throw these revolvers into it, as we
cannot take them; but saving first a few, the best, and
all the cartridges that we can carry. Duranzo has arms,
you reported; yet the cartridges will still be welcome to
him.” '
She dismounted now from the automobile; and to hurry
the work, she assisted Pedro in bearing off the revolvers
and pitching them into the chasm to which he led.

Then they turned aside, and taking the mountain path
by which he had descended they began to climb.

The path, after ascending, bent backward toward. the
turquoise mine; then it descended sharply to the left,
dropped rapidly, and they came out into a broader way, no —
more than a mile from Merriwell’s camp. ;

As the girl sank down there, faint from the terrific ex-
ertions to which she had been subjected, the hoofs of
Duranzo’s horses were heard, striking in the trail below
them. .

Duranzo was late—having ridden round the fountain;
but he was coming, and was at hand. ;

CHAPTER V.
HUGENIO DURANZO,

A peculiar thing about Eugenio Duranzo -was that while -
fancying himself really a fine gentleman he was .an utterly oa
unscrupulous scoundrel who stood ready to commit any
crime if it but promised revenge or money. The trouble
with his viewpoint was that he mistook the veneer of cul-
ture and education for those finer things they are supposed .
to typify. He combined the intellect of a civilized man
with all the base and cruel passions of a savage. Hence, he
always met opposition with enmity, and in defeat, planned
revenge. It was not possible for him to take a sane, view
of any subject.

The superficial polish of the man, together with his flat-
tering method of address, his luminous, dark eyes that
seemed always to be announcing unspeakable devotion to
a woman, and his frequent affectation of a soft air of
melancholy, had won the friendship and then the love of
Anita Carle, herself a passionate child of the passionate
Spanish race. ‘2 ar :

The devotion which had led bet to fly to him even tie
his dark hour of. defeat made a strong appeal to his sro- | fe
mantic nature. So that he swore. he would go to her
assistance, éven though he had to fight. his Pk through —

i

 
 

 

 

  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  

_ superstitious, and ignorant as his own.

all the forces Dick Merriwell and Marcus Day could
- muster.

He did not need to fight his way to her; she met him
in the trail on the mountain slope, with. Pedro at her
side.

Pedro hailed in high, quavering Mexican, and the horses
of Duranzo and his men came to an abrupt halt.

Thereupon, Anita Carle fluttered forward through the
half darkness; and Duranzo, seeing her, slid down, and
caught her in his arms.

“You must return, my Eugeriio, by the: ‘way you came,”
she said to himy “Dick Merriwell will pursue as soon
as it light.”

“T will fight him,”
fect on her.

“T wish it otherwise. And have I not shown my right
to make known my wish? I would not have my Eugenio
killed, or run the risk of being killed.” .

“My thoughtful one,” said Duranzo; “my brave one!”

She acquainted him with what she had done at the camp.
Already he had learned the details of her flight from Santa
Fe from Pedro,

“My heart’s delight,” he cried;
separated !”

“But you will return, my ‘Eugenio, to thé safe hiding
place in the hills, of which Pedro has told me? And I
will go with you.”

Pedro was speaking to the men about the automobile on
the other side of the mountain, of the revolvers he and
Anita had thrown into the gorge, and he was showing the
belts of cartridges they had brought away with them.

Duranzo began to praise Anita for drawing the teeth
of “those fighting dogs.”

said Duranzo, blustering for its ef-

“we shall nevermore be

~ “Without arms and horses they cannot pursue, and we
can go on toward Mexico together,” she suggested.

But Duranzo was not ready for that. The very thing
that Anita had accomplished was enough of itself to
make him decide against it. He had learned to fear Dick
-Merriwell. But why should he fear him now? His rage
began to flame again, now that he thought he saw a
chance of striking Dick successfully. At any rate, he
knew that he could annoy the camp if he could do no more;
that would be worth while. And perhaps the opportunity
fora real, telling blow would be presented.

He ‘thought of this all the way, as they went on to-
gether ina retreat to his hiding place.

The distance was circuitous, yet it was not really great;

a long way round for horses, but a short cut across the

mountain—the course Pedro had taken.

--Duranzo, by dismounting his meri, could lead them fead-
ily over the mountain, and within an hour or two he
could be on the hills above the mine. Yet, he asked him-
self continually, what was there that he could do safely,
when once he had arrived there?

A suggestion came to him, furnished by the fright of one

* _of his men, whose horse shied at a shadow by the trail.

The men declared he had seen something crouching there,

- that had hurried off; and he was filled with superstitious

fear, thinking he had beheld a specter of some kind, though
he had beheld but a shifting shadow as he advanced.
Duranzo’s thought took form when he heard the Mexi-

cans talking about this as they rode on.

Dick Merriwell’s force was composed of Mexicans, as
lf a fright was

 

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. 9

     

thrown into them they would no doubt abandon Merriwell
and streak back to Santa Fe. So Duranzo reasoned.

How was that fright to be brought about?

Then the full plan flashed on him.

“Ah!” he thought. “That is the way it can be done.
To-morrow night, when the darkness lies heaviest on his
camp will be the time. It is long to wait. My bomb ma-
terial is gone, except that package of phosphorus. Other-
wise, before this I should have hurled a bomb into that
camp. I can still use the phosphorus.”

Throughout the whole of the day that followed, while

. Duranzo and his men lay in close hiding, except that one

of them stole out now and then to look from the mountain-
top, Duranzo furbished at his scheme for frightening and
scattering Dick Merriwell’s Mexicans.

When night came he placed his scheme before Anita.

“T would have you keep away from him,”
though the plan appealed to the child element in her na-
ture. “Still, if care is used "

“T will do the work myself,”

“My Eugenio, I should like to see it,” she confessed:

“Could you climb over the mountain? But, no—I will
take horses. My plan was to capture and make use. of
one of theirs, that are near here. Yet we have here
with ours one of Merriwell’s, that strayed. One of our
men picked it up and brought in; all are in the valley below,
concealed.
others that we shall need.”

Darkness had fallen when Duranzo rode forth with
Anita Carle, and an escort of three of his men, their des-
tination the camp of Dick Merriwell. The strayed horse,
for which Dick had been seeking when he came on the
bogged automobile, they led by a lariat.

 

said Duranzo,

CHAPTER VI.
MISTEH JOHNSING SEES A GHOST.

Having lost his rabbit foot, while on his way out from
Chicago, Alonzo Johnson, Hampton’s body servant, was

constantly in that mental state which renders fright a

thing to be expected. Not even the promise of Marcus

Day that he would fill Johnson’s hat full of gold pieces, _

for favors done, could restore to the negro his equanimity.

Johnson had gone with Dick Merriwell, Brad Buckhart,
and others, when they followed the trail of the automo-

bile and the stampeded horses, simply because he felt safer

with Dick than he could have felt by remaining at the.

camp.
He had been with them, therefore, when they found

the abandoned automobile by the trail, and he had con-.
tinued on with them, when they made their long and ©

fruitless search for the missing horses.

They were practically unarmed. Dick had a revolver lent
him by Day. Brad had no weapon but his lariat. Johnson
carried in his hand a carving knife, which he would not

have used, as he would have run at the approach of an~

enemy, unless he was sure it was safer to stand still.

The bringing of the automobile into the camp could
not conceal the practical failure of the search. For an-
other thing, it.could not give courage and confidence where
it was lacking—in the heart of the negro. So, through-
out the evening, while he sat listening to the talk that ran

round the camp fires, he shook his woolly head ominously, —

and in whispers prophesied evils and calamities.
a midnight, Dick Merriwell went on guard, walkcirig

she urged,

I will have it brought up by my men, with the

  

   

        
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at first a round of the camp, then at last sitting on a camp
stool before’ his 'tént.

Suddenly he became aware that
elbow, and_in the same instant he became
horse was walking on the grass in the wide-open space
lying back of his tent. Johnson was shaking him, as if
‘he thought Dick had fallen asleep.

“Misteh Merriwell, suh——~”

The negro’s high Whisper sank ‘into a gurgle of fear.

“Dar itis, suh,” he said; getting his breath, and start-
ing up to rit; “dar it isa ghos” hoss on fieh!, Misteh
Merriwell——”

‘He dropped down at Dick’s feet, shivering, instead of
tunning, and cowered; then he thrust his head under the
canvas of Dick’s tent, and scrambled through like a fright-
_ ened turtle.

Dick sprang up.

As he did so a Mexican Howl - arose,

“That brought ‘a series of gasping questions from other
Mexicans, and there Was a unison of howls,

Before Dick could jump round the tent to investigate,
howlitig and: screeching: Mexicans were rtinning in every
direction:

; Ter a moment, When Dick came ift sight of hin, one of
the Mexicans was tréinblitigly statiding his grouiid.

‘Dick's eyes ‘felt on’a fiety horse—for ‘that ‘was what
Johnson had reported it, and what it was—a horse that
in the darkness shone in fire from head to foot, from
which fire:seemed to drip in shining gouts to the grass ‘as it
walked; a veritable ghost horse, from which the Mexi-
cans -were running pell-mell, screechiig loudly in ‘their
paroxysnis- of superstitious fright. —

The man who had tried to stand his ground lost what
little nerve and sense he had, as the horse walked slowly
_ toward him, and he ran off, screeching, after the others.

_ .The horse started to follow him, at first trotting, as if
_ to overtake him, then» breakitg into-a light canter. The

_ Mexitan dived round a tent, kicked out a tent pin, tangled

himself in the tent rope that he had thus torn loose, and

Fell. to the ground, where he began to bellow like a maniac,

as the horse came round to him.

The horse put down its nose, as if to touch.him.
sg terrified the man that he sprang up and ran away, still
howling, with. the horse in trotting. pursuit.

- “Misteh Mertiwell, sul

“Tes nothing but foolishness,” said Dick,

All round him heads were popping out of tents and
_ tongues were shouting questions. Brad Buckhart came
rolling out of the tent door, ;

“What's up? An attack? Where are they, pard?”

Brad was swinging his lariat, his sole remaining weapon.
_ “Just lend me your rope,” Dick requested; “there’s a
ghost out here that I’ve got to lay, and do it quick, or the
whole camp outfit of men, women, and children will be
running like crazy things out into the hills.”

Then Brad, too, saw the shining horse, as it trotted

ver the grass, now many yards away, in pursuit of the

creaming Mexican who fled before it, =~
“What is it?” Dick heard Jiine question.
ce ghost,” said Dick; “come out and get a look at it.

t's not often you'll get to see a real ghost; nis hepe is

40,” ‘

“A ghos’!” susaiac Johnson, gfoveling in the dafkness

f the tent. “Misteh Merriwell he done seen it,-too.”

Catching the lariat-ovt of Brad’s hand,- Dick Merriwell

Johnson was at his
aware that a

That «

tan Out and away, in pursuit of the ghost horse, It was
still following the Mexican, and Dick ran more than two
hundred yards down through the camp before he came
near it. Brad trailed along after him,

All at once Dick stopped.

“Brad,” he said, “better go back to our tents, and stand
guard there. Here is Day’s revolver. This is a trick of
Duranzo’s, | know, though I don’t get what it means yet;

he may be planning a faid on the camp, after this fiery

horse has scared all our Mexicans out of it. If that’s so,
and he tries to trotible June and Mrs, Oliverwell, you'll
know how to meet him.”

“Won’t 1?” said Brad, as his hand closed on the revolver.
“What’s he done to that horse? And where did the critter
spring. from?”

“He, Or some one, has smeared it over with phosphorus,.
and sefit it into the camp, that’s all I know now. I’ve
got to rope it, and bring it in, or we'll never get these
Mexicans to believe they haven’t seen something unearthly.
Now hustle back.”

Dick went on, running again, trying to get near the

horse. When it tired of following the badly scared Mexi-+

can, it stopped, and Dick thought his chance had come;

but his approach frightened it, and it swung about, kicked
out its heels, and made off in another direction; ~

However, it did not depart from the vicinity of the ©
camp. Now and then it stopped on the camp boundary,

and put down its head to gtaze. At such ‘times Dick tried

to get close to it, so that he could throw the noose over
its head. Evidently it watched him, and was wary; for al-

ways, just before he reached a point near enough for
a cast, it moved on again, and so foiled him, °

All round the camp, Dick Merriwell pursued the fiery)

steed,

Long before this time the Mexican portion of the camp ;

was a pandemonium, with men, women, and children run-
ning about and_ yelling.

hills, until a friend ran after her and told her of what
she ‘had done.

Already more than half the Mexicans were in the hills.

They could be heard yelling to each other there. _ Others,

perhaps too frightened to run away, had thrown them-. pn

selves on their knees, and were praying to all the saints
in the calendar for help against this manifestation of
evil.

Sduie of them did not know
what they were doing. One woman threw her baby to —
the ground, and caught up a bundle, thinking the bundle
was the baby, and started off with that, heading for the

On around the camp went the shining horse, and Dick

Merriwell, following it without being able to get within ;

casting distance.

“This would be the time for Duranzo to charge -us, ie
he and his men have the spunk, which I doubt)” Dick:
thought; “so it’s a good thing I sent Brad back to the
tents, If Duranzo does come Brad will surely pump fei
into him.”

Marcus Day had come running over from his turquoise
mine, though he had been careful to leave his men there”
as a guard for it.

_ “Bring: me overt one of your horses, saddled and bridled,” "

Dick requested. (Day now, for security, kept his: horses

in the mine.) “I’ve got to capture that besser foci

and do it quick.”
“Phosphorus ? So that’s it? Well, je

uo

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_ the pony that strayed.

 

Day turned about abruptly and no to run toward ‘his
mine.

Dick was still trailing the shining horse round the camp
when Day returned, galloping, on a horse he had hastily
saddled and bridled, ;

“Here he is, Merriwell,” he cried, and slid to the ground.

The phosphorus horse still tried to keep away from Dick,
as he now pursued it. Yet its efforts were not successful.
Dick maneuvered, cit off angles, dashed down on it, and
swung for its shining head. Though the horse whirled,
the flying noose dropped into place. The next moment
the fiery horse, making a diving bolt for freedom, was
thrown headlong as the noose tightened round its neck.

Dick slipped to the ground, drew off his coat, and
threw it round the horse’s head and over its eyes to blind-
fold it. After which he gave the rope a few turns, mak-
ing a hackamore, by which the horse could be led:

Marcus Day came bounding down to him.

“You got it!”

“Sure thing,” said Dick. “How is this for a first-class
ghost, Day? Or didn’t you ever see one? Or aren’t
ghosts in your line?”

“Not in my line,” said Day. “Jest a horse. But it
shore has got your “4 Mexicans going; I never saw such a
lot of scared cats.”

When the horse struggled to rise,
with soft words and soothing pattings. Some of the phos-
phorus came away on his hand; it was on his coat, and
the noose was shining, where it had rubbed round the
horse’s neck.

“You recognize the stuff, don’t you, Day?

Dick spoke to it

We found

. some of it in the mine, with that other material out of

I think it constitutes an
Foolish that he should

which Duranzo made his bombs;
ingredient in his new explosive.
do this thing.”

“Mebbe not so foolish as it looks,” said Day. “You
won't think so, if you'll stop long enough to hear them
Mexicans runnin’ and howlin’, No matter what you do,
or how you explain it, to-morrow more than half your
men and women here aire goin’ to be missin’. The trail
to Santa Fe will be jest bobbin’ with ’em, all scared to
death.

“Say, that Duranzo has planned to weaken you by
scarin’ your force away, and mebbe then attacking you,”
Day continued. “Looks to me like. this is his first move in
that game, and it has shore been a success, foolish as it
looks.”

’ When Dick had agiteiei the horse—he found that it
was an intelligent and obedient cow pony—he led it
through the camp, scaring out the few Mexicans who had
tried to stand their ground; and so took it to the tents,

where stood June Arlington and Mrs. Oliver with Brad

Buckhaft.

“Here is the ghost,” said Dick cheerfully.

“But what made it follow that Mexican all around?”
Mrs. Oliver asked.

“That’s easy,” said Dick; “I think it’s the pony that
particular Mexican has been feeding and petting and
riding; it simply recognized its Mexican master. This is
It was handled and coddled by a
Mexican named Speranza, and I’m pretty sure Speranza

i was the identical fool it tried to follow round the camp.”

“Perhaps the poor thing was wanting a lump of sugar,”

said June.

“Something of the kind,” Dick assented.

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

> world,

tt

   

As they thus talked, a sepulchral voice came out of
Dick’s tent:

“Misteh Merriwell, suh——”

“Is that you, Johnson? What you doing in my tent,
you rascal?”

“Misteh Merriwell,
ghos’ ain’t a ghos’.”

“It’s just a pony,” June declared to him.

“Come out of that tent, Johnson,” Dick commanded.

“No, suh, Misteh Merriwell, Ah ain’t comin’ out; if
I does come out, you cah’ies me, suh. If dat pony ain’t
a ghos’ it is sho’ like what dey is. I doan’ want tuh look
at it, suh.”

suh—Ah’m hearin’ you sayin’ dat

CHAPTER VII.
DURANZO STRIKES HIS SECOND BLOW.

The singular disappearance, or flight. of Anita Carle
had never been explained to the satisfaction of even Dick
Merriwell himself.

After his first burst of suspicion, Dick had admitted
that it had no sufficient ground of justification, and was
humbly apologetic to Mrs. Oliver, who was Anita’s friend.
It was not the part of a careful and courteous gentleman,
Dick saw, as soon as his astonishment had ended, to sug-
gest, or even hint, that this friend of a guest at the camp
had played false.

Now a new theory was rising. The coming of the
phosphorus-plastered horse indicated that Duranzo was
near, and that he was active. Dick could conceive of no
one else who would be even remotely urged to do a trick
like that. So his hope that Duranzo had fled was de-
stroyed.

Mrs. Oliver, who had warmly defended her friend, found
standing ground for her original argument, that Anita
Carle had been kidnaped, in the new evidence that Duranzo
was still near and still disposed to annoy Dick Mer-
riwell.

“It might have been me,” she urged, “that was taken,
instead of Anita, and even more likély June, for I am
beginning to believe now that it was really June he aimed
at, and that. he took Anita through a mistake as to who
she was, in the darkness. We slept that night like logs,
you know—we had sat up talking so late; and it seems
to me he just came into the camp, found us dead to the
took the revolvers and cartridges—all he could
lay his hands on—turned the ponies loose, and then drove
off in the automobile, with Anita as his prisoner. You
aren't sure, Mr. Merriwell, that you saw Anita at the
wheel, are you?”

“No,” Dick admitted; “I’m not sure. I’m sorry that I
even suggested she was at the wheel; I had no right to
do that when I was not ouactinehy positive of it; so I
beg your pardon again, Mrs, Oliver’

“Tt makes me wild,” said Mrs. Oliver, “to think that she
is Duranzo’s prisoner, or maybe lost out in the hills.”
“We made a pretty thorough search,” said Dick. “Where
she left the auto we found her ‘tracks and that of one

man, and——”

“Duranzo’ s, of course; that was where he made her leave
the auto with him.”

“I was going to urge that those tracks indicate thet
she is not lost out in the hills, whatever else may be
true. We will try again to get information about her. —

*

 

   

 
ing out;

match.
‘ now.”

 

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

If we can locate Duranzo’s camp, and she is there, we will.

attack it to rescue her.”

“Then you do admit that she is his prisoner?”

“IT am bound to admit it, or claim that she played us
false.”

The coming of daylight robbed all the shine off the fiery
horse, and even before that time the gleam of the phos-
phorus faded very much.

“Dis puts one oveh on dis nigger, Misteh Merriwell,
suh,” said Johnson, who hated to be convinced. “Huccome
it dat de hoss didn’t burn when de fieh was on him? Can
you ’splain dat?”

“When in the dark you take a wet match head and rub
it on your hand, the stuff off the match head will shine on

. your hand, won’t it?”

“’Cos; but dat’s diff’ent.”

“It’s about the same. The fire of the match head shin-
_ img on your hand doesn’t burn it, That’s as near as |
ean explain it to you.”
_ Johnson withdrew into a tent, darkened it, dug down
_ into his trousers, and brought up a match, which he moist-
ened and rubbed on his black hand. The streaks made

_ by the match gleamed like fire in the darkness.

“IT unnerstands it, Misteh Merriwell, suh,” he said, com-
“when a fieh ddan’ flame up it doan’ burn ye.”
He rolled his eyes at the horse, and shook his puzzled
head. “But if, befo’ he sweat and got dat stuff wet, dat
_hoss had tuck a notion to rub heself ag’inst a tree he'd
” bus’ into flame, des’ lack when you-alls scratches a
Yes, suh, Misteh Merriwell, I unnerstands it

About as dimly as Alonzo Johnson understood the
mystery of the phosphorus horse did Dick Merriwell un-
derstand the situation which confronted him, and _ this
was because he had been thrown off the track by Mrs.
Oliver’s protestations in behalf of her friend. Dick’s in-
tuitions were usually to be trusted safely.
_ Though Dick sent out that morning a search party, to
look for Anita Carle, and for Duranzo, he took care to
keep his camp guarded, He borrowed of Day the few
( weapons that Day could spare.
_ Dick’s force was now sadly depleted. Two-thirds, or
mate, of the Mexican men and women, taking their chil-
- dren with them, were out in the trail leading to Santa
Fe. As to try to’ bring them back would have been a
useless effort, Dick would not even attempt it.
_. To those who had remained, or had come sneaking from
the hills into the camp after daylight, Dick exhibited the
phosphorus horse, and explained /about it.
But he saw that throughout the day they kept well away
_ from the animal, showing that they understood the phe-
-fomenon no better than Johnson, and that they were still
- superstitiously afraid of it.
_ Brad Buckhart, in charge of the search party, returned
about the middle of the afternoon, without having ac-
_ complished anything. .

“No use, pard, ” he reported to Dick; “you might as

well try to find a needle in a haystack as to find Duranzo

in these hills. As for Anita Carle, if your first guess
wa wrong, I give it up.”

- He looked about the camo.
“Rather short- handed, Dick,” he remarked.,_

“L’ve ‘borrowed revolvers and cartridges | of Day, which

i hope we'll have no call a use, ciel is ee his mine

double guarded. Hampton is willing to return to Santa’
Fein the automobile, and I’ve half a mind to let him.”

“He could send out the sheriff.”

“That’s just the reason I don’t want him to go. 1I’d
prefer to fight this battle out without the sheriff’s help.”

“You can do it, pard,” said Brad, with enthusiasm.
“Let’s see—how many men have we got? Just you and
me, and Hampton, if he stays. No use courting John-
son.”

“The girls can bé counted on,”
larly June.”

Brad scratched his head.

“By the great plains of Texas,”

said Dick, “particu-—

he growled, “I wish I

_ knew the truth about Anita Carle!”

One or two scared Mexicans had come slinking in
throughout the afternoon, ashamed of their flight and
fright. After dark another came limping in, and joined
the group at the Mexican camp fire.

This man was Pedro Escobal, the black-eyed rascal who
had been with Anita Carle in the automobile, and with
her had joined Duranzo. He had been originally of
Dick’s party, then had gone over to Duranzo’s.. Now

he was welcomed by the Mexicans at the fire, for he could a
not only give them news' of other Mexicans who had gone

off with Duranzo, but he had that which is able to warm
the Mexican heart—a bottle of aguardiente.

The fiery Mexican liquor circulated freely, yet very

carefully, the Mexicans watching to make sure that they
were not observed in this by the Americans at the other
camp fire. a

Only one or two of the Mexican women tasted the ©
aguardiente, and that sparingly; but the men did not stop
until, after circulating a number of times, the bottle —
was emptied. ‘yt

Pedro Escobal made great pretense of drinking with —
the others; yet the rascal really did not let a drop of es
pass his lips. ; “

He was slyness itself, and when he talked it was i “
whispers. He told them, in the greatest confidence, that .
he had come from Duranzo’s camp, whose position he —
would not locate for them, unless they were willing to
go to it with him, and join Duranzo. ¥ xs

Duranzo had much aguardiente, he said, and he had
arms and horses, and supplies of food. Moreover, in
Duranzo’s camp there was very little work to do, and
most of that little was never pressing. It was a land of
mafiana. If they went to it, they would be welcome.

Duranzo stood ready to welcome any who wished oy
join him. By and by he meant to slip away into Mexico,
where there was now great chances for looting, ane any
who wished to go he would take with him.

In all this talk, however, Pedro was simply lying, of
else stretching truth beyond recognition. As a matter of
fact, Duranzo would not have desired to take these men
to Mexico, and Pedro knew it. But it served to grind
his ax. \

One by one the Mexicans became drowsy, and crawled
off to sleep. Pedro accepted a blanket, and lay down near
the camp fire. But at the end of an hour, when the whole
camp was quiet, Pedro lifted his blanket, and crawled T
of the camp, sneaking a aL. like a coyote.

‘Duranzo had struck another blow fleas to Tae oe

Chey

 
 

  

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forces. The Mexicans were not only drunk, but. they
plainly had been drugged. It was impossible to rouse them,
4 as they lay snoring by the burned-out camp fire.

It seemed a fortunate thing that the Mexican women,
with an exception or two, were able for duty. Dick stirred
them into getting breakfast.

Se

4 “It was Pedro’s aguardiente,”. one of the women fre-
bi marked to him.
_ “Where did he get liquor?” Dick demanded.

oe a “I do not know; he is now gone,”

)  ~=Then the story came out, as Dick questioned her—of
how Pedro Escobal, formerly one of his men, Had slipped
into the camp, coming from Duranzo’s, and had given the

i men aguardiente.
With the help of Brad Buckhart, Dick tried to rouse
some of the men. He thought he might get further in-

a .formation out of them. Besides, there was work to be

a7 _ done in the mine that day.

i The effort was a failure.

% Hampton was a man of experience—a world traveler;

i but when he took a hand he had no greater success than
| Dick.

Marcus Day came over from his mine, tried his skill,
and confessed defeat.

The Mexican women grew, alarmed. They would think
little of it, if their men had only taken a little too much
4} © aguardiente. But if they had been drugged, poisoned—
a muy malo! Would the men ever wake up? That was
what they wailed to Dick.

 

 

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE RETURN OF ANITA CARLE,

Mrs. Oliver’s anxiety about Anita Carle was relieved,
and her belief in Anita seemed vindicated, Anita. came
into the camp late that afternoon, draggled and footsore,
her hands scratched and her clothing torn.

The camp, at the time, was in the very act of being
abandoned. The Mexican women, with the help of Brad
and Johnson, aided also by June and Mrs. Oliver, and one
of Day’s men, had taken down the tents, packed the camp
belongings, and Day and his other men were bringing up
-Day’s horses that were to transport the camp outfit over
to the mine, for there were things that could not be taken,
readily in the automobile.

Dick was out in the hills somewhere—no one knew
where; but it was known he had tried to follow Pedro
Y Escobal, after finding his tracks i in the sand at the edge of
the camp.

Tt was at Dick’s orders that the camp had been struck.
_ He felt that it was no longer safe to trust to a camp out, in
the open. Dick’s Mexicans were helpless, lying about,
- fuddied and stupid. Duranzo had practically, in two days,
reduced Dick’s force to two men—Brad Buckhart and
Dick himself. Hampton, world traveler though he was,
“could not be relied on, because of his inexperience, Bk
-Hampton’s servant, Johnson, was merely useless and i
the way in a time of need.

This was the situation, when Anita Carle came with
dragging steps into the camp, to be greeted with a rapturous
outburst and a storm of questions by Mrs, Oliver.

Even the Mexican women stopped théir work and stared.
“You poor dear,” Mrs Oliver cried, her fair face alight
with sympathy, “I know you have had a dreadful time; tell
me all Pr it! You look tired to death, and re hands

 

 

 
 

  

    
 
 

 
 

  

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sick about

 
  

 

   
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
    
   
   
  
  
   
  
    
   
    
 
 

are scratched. I’ve been worrying
And so has June.”

Anita dropped to a seat on a blanket
too tired to stand.

June Arlington, after greeting her, deferred questions
until Miss Anita Carle had been given time to recover
her strength. But June went about the’ work of making
her : comfortable.

“There are still some coals in this fire,”
I'll make you some chocolate.”

“You were carried off by Duranzo?” said Mrs. Oliver,
as she fluttered about. “June, perhaps you can toast some
bread for her, too; and there is that butter tub Brad has
been getting ready to move—better get some butter out »
of it.”

Brad had dropped his work, and had come over to see
and hear Anita Carle, as well as to express his sympathy.

“T knew all the time that you had gone only because
that awful Duranzo had forced you to go,” Mrs. Oliver
chattered. “But how did he get you out of your tent?
I’ve wondered about that. He must have bound you, and i
pethaps gagged you, unless he drugged you as one of his
men did our Mexicans over there last night.”

“T had gone out of the tent myself—and I was asleep,”
said Anita.

“Asleep !” ; vee

“T am a sleepwalker. You didn’t know that? ‘ell,
one doesn’t acknowledge such peculiarities, you know, with-
out cause; so I had never mentioned it to you. But I
have: always been a sleepwalker.” ,

“Gracious me!” said Mrs. Oliver. “You were walking
round outside, in your sleep, when Duranzo came into the
camp, and he grabbed you? And it didn’t wake you up?”

“That must have been the way. of it,” Anita Carle ad-
mitted. “You see, I don’t remember it at all. But I found
myself in the automobile, out on the mountain somewhere
with Duranzo, Then he made me get out. After that he
forced me to go with him. Where we went I don’t know. —
Sut it’s a wonder I’m not insane.” Pa

June had hurried the chocolate, and now had it ready.

Anita drank it thirstily. sp

“Thank you so much,” she said.

“Don’t forget to toast some bread, June,”
urged. /

She turned again to Anita Carle.

myself
you.

roll; she seemed

she said, “and

= ie

 
  

 
       
       
       
       
     
     
     
 

ane rer

    
     
     
     
     
    
       
 

 

“And he held you in some place—in his camp, I sup-
pose? And no doubt he wanted ransom money? They
always do.” —

Anita nodded a weary assent to all this. &j

“And you escaped? To-day?” s

“This morning early, just before light,” said Anita

    
 

weakly. /
“You brave girl!” cried Mrs. Oliver.
“We were in camp——” he: ,
“In a cave, of course; it is always a cave, you know.”
“Yes, it was a cave they were in, and there was a guard
before it. But he had fallen asleep. I saw that he was
asleep, and I-slipped out past him, and then I ran.’ ;
“Ran all the way here?” :
“Certainly not; you couldn’t expect me to have been f
running ever since morning. I ran until I was a long
way from that cave, though, Then I just dropped down,
I was so weary; and I thought I was going to die there.
And I was so frightened!” She shivered. “I didn’t know
where I was, nor anything; and didn’t know what to do.”

    
 

“Tell me oar

 
        
 
 

  
  
   
      
     
 

   
 

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“I suppose,” said Brad, “you have no notion of where
that cave is—the direction to it, perhaps?”

“Not in the least, Mr. Buckhart; I don’t know whether
it’s north or south, or east or west, nor how far. All I
know is that as sdon as I felt able to walk again, I walked,
and walked. I fell into bushes and tore my clothing and
scratched my hands. I crossed chasms and climbed over
hills. I couldn’t have gone on, but that I expected every
minute to hear pursuers following. Often I started for-
ward running, when the wind in the bushes deceived me
into thinking I heard men there.”

“You poor dear!” said Mrs, Oliver.

“And I thought I should die of thirst and hunger, and
that——”

“June,” said Mrs. Oliver anxiously, “do hurry that bread
and butter. Can’t you see that she is starved? Oh, it must
have been terrible!”

“Words can’t tell it,” said Anita.

“But you found us!”

“An hour ago I found a trail, and I knew it was the
trail that came by this camp, for when Duranzo took me
from here, we passed over it, and I had remembered it.
That brought me on here.”

June Arlington had the bread and the butter ready, and
shé mow cut slices of meat for a sandwich, and began to
make more chocolate.

Anita Carle ate as if she were famished. |

“That horrible Duranzo has been starving you,”
Mrs. Oliver.

“He did it to make me write a letter, asking for money,
which he intended to send to my friends'in Santa Fe,
but I refused to write it.”

“You aren’t sure at all that Duranzo’s crowd tried to
follow you?” said Brad.

“I’m not sure of anything, Mr.
I’m nearly dead.”

“Isn’t it awful?”

said

Buckhart; except that

said Mrs. Oliver. \
“Because, if they had followed you,” continued Brad,
“we might be able, with your help, to find their trail,
and run ’em down in that cave. They’ve got horses there?
If they have, they’re better off than we are. You didn’t
see any horses astray in the hills, as you came along?”
Anita declared she had seen neither men nor horses.

CHAPTER IX, '
“SLEEPWALKING.”

he heard with interest
He had her repeat it,
Dick voiced his sym-

When Dick Merriwell came in,
the story of Ahita Carle’s return.
and asked a number of questions.

pathy.

Dick was wishing that he could. feel differently about
Anita Carle’s story. He had no reason to doubt it, he

Said to himself oyer and over. Nevertheless, he was
troubled. Dick’s intuitions rejected the story and de-
clared that from the first Anita had been playing a game
in the interest of Eugenio Duranzo, and was still playing
it. But he had no proof of it. And it did not seem

possible, nor probable. Moreover, was not Anita Mrs.

_ Oliver’s friend? He hoped that Mrs. Oliver had said
nothing to Anita about his early suspicions.

_ The diminished party had removed into Marcus Day's
turquoise mitie. Ample space could now be found in it,
~ . and in another part room for Day’ s few horses. The auto-

_ mobile stood out before the opening.

Dick had accomplished nothing during the day. He had
not been able to follow Pedro Escobal, and he’had found
no traces of Duranzo’s crowd. He was wishing that he
could have discovered Anita’s tracks in the hills, and back-
tracked her. But he put that aside. Even the sugges-
tion seemed disloyal to June’s friend, Mrs. Oliver.

The Mexicans who had been laid out with the drugged
aguardiente were now in the mine, with their families,
but they had not recovered, though on the road to it.
They sat about, dazed in manner, listless. They had been
assigned to the roomlike enlargement at the farther end
of the main gallery, for there they could not again be
reached’ by any meddling Mexican from the outside.

Dick Merriwell talked over the general situation with
Day and Hampton; to which he added a little private talk
with Brad.

“What’s the skunk going to put over next, I wonder Pr
Brad demanded. He shook out his lariat. “I’m aching
to drop the noose of this round his neck, and if I get
close to him I’ll do it.”

“I should myself like a chance to interview him.”

“We'd give him the third degree!”

“You saw Miss Carle when she came in?”

“Say, that woman was ready to drop!”

“That was a queer story she strung about sleepwalk-
ing,” said Dick, unable to get it out of his mind.

“It was,’ Brad admitted. “Yet sleepwalking will make
one do some funny and unaccountable things. I recol-
lect about a cowboy I knew once, over on the Brazos; it
was when we had a cow camp over there. One morning he
up and announces that he had been robbed during the
night of his revolver; he was red-hot about it, and crow-
hopped round like a redskin. He didn’t know who to
accuse, nor what to do.

“The next morning he got up wilder than before, and
said that some one had swiped his cartridges.

“The morning after his knife and coat were gone—his
coat had been under his head, too; and then the next
it was his trousers that went. It was lucky he kept his
shaps, or he wouldn’t had anything to walk round in.

“Well, the camp boss had been watching him, thinking
something was wrong; so many robberies chasing each
other right along, and no suspected thief in the camp.
And that night he caught the fool out on the prairie,
nearly naked, burying his shaps there—about the last
thing he had to part with. And the aforesaid cowboy
was so sound asleep while he was doing it that the boss
had trouble in waking him.

“When they dug down there in the sand they found
everything that he had lost; night after night he had
been robbing himself as he slept, and burying the things.
What do you think of that? I’m knowing to it.
story of the girl, though it sounds like a big one, doesn’t
phase me as much as it might.”

The question of guard duty that night had been much —
simplified by the removal into the mine. There was but
one entrance to be guarded—a wide one, it is true, that
had been blown out in the side of the ‘mine—and, includ-
ing Day’s force, there were six reliable men for the work _
—seven, if ,Hampton was counted in. With an arrange- —
ment of two hours of guard duty for each man, there
were more men than were really needed. -

“Merriwell,” said Day, as they were apportioning the
guard ‘work, “I think I understand Duranzo’s tactics ;
he’s plannin’ ‘to capture the mine again. I’ve all along "4

eres ne

\

 

So this ©
if he tried it, ye
to speak of. He

had *your forces
see, and

near by, to call on,
you ain't got rio force
had to weaken you down first, and now that he’s
it he'll be rush me. He though,
if he discovers that you’ve come into the itine with meé.
Jest the same, it’s goin’ to pay us to keep our eyes peeled,
So I suggest that the best men be. put on for the late
hours of the it will
come then.”

As this was also Dick’s idea, they planned that the final
six hours of guard work should be divided between Day,
Brad, and himself.

Dick went on duty at one o’clock in the morning.

It was fine starlight outside, but dark in the mine,

now
‘done

ready. to won't do it,

 

night, for if he makes his try at all,

 

oar except where lights were kept burning.

Dp \ Dick’s beat extended through the wide mine entrance,

i fe to the outside, and back into the mine, for it had seemed)
to him that the interior of the mine needed watching as

well as the entrance,
cans.

Dick walked his beat in silence,
of eye. .

since he was not sure of his Meéxi-
*

alert of ear and keen

Half his watch had passed, when he discovered that some
ofie was moving if the -mife.

Instead of rushing in, or making an bintery; Dick. kept
to the shadow of the wall, ‘and advanced toward the in-
tetior catitiously.

He was rewarded by seeing Anita Carle slipping about
stealthily, as if she seatched fot something.

“Mote -sleepwalking, I suppose,” Dick grumbled:
my yourg lady, I see you!”

“but

Dick. ©

That other was Mrs. Oliver. The young woman had
retired fot the night in a soft of alcove, well back, a
roomy place that Dick had blasted out in His efforts to
get at thé richtiess and depth of the porphyry.

There were comfortable cots in there, occupied by the
young women. Anita Carle’s was next to Mrs. Oliver's.
Perhaps that was why, when Anita slipped out and began
a hurried dressing, Mrs. Oliver was awaketied.

 

: lr re ee SR ta
teehee -

Recalling that Anita was a sleepwalker, together with
something she had read, to the efféct that if a sleep-
walker is stiddetly aroused the result is sometimes dis-
astrous, Mrs. Oliver lay still, while watching Anita.

When Anita slipped softly away from the side of her
cot, out into the mine gallery, Mrs. Oliver decided that it
would be wise to follow her and watch her, to keep her
from possible harm.

' “The poot deat’ Mrs. Oliver whispered, “it must be
something awful to be a sOomnambulist! If I don’t wake
her, perhaps she will ‘rettirn to bed in a little while, and
if not afouséd, in the morning ‘she will know nothing
_- about it. That will be the better way, if it can be done.
_ She must be sensitive on the subject, or she would fot
have kept this weakness a secret from all her friends.”
So, Mrs. Oliver, rising, wrapped a blanket round her,
and the next instant shé was Stealing softly along after
Anita Carle, yet keeping well back, and using care to make
no sound that might arouse the supposed sleepwalker.
_” At one side of the gallery} in a niche in the wall, Marcus
Day had stored a box of his turquoises, and he kept the
box locked,

a8 was queér, thought Mrs. Oliver, that Anita went

 

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

“Another saw Anita Carle, as soon became evident to-

 
   
     
  
    
  
   
     
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
    
   
    
   
      
  
   
   

straight to that box; and there began to fiddle with the
lock, twisting sométhing round in the keyhole
“She is trying to pick the jock with & wire
thought Mrs. Oliver. “Well, did ever?”
Anita Carle was remarkably successful with her
picking; in a ‘very short time the box dropped: open. ’
Within the a canvas bag: well filled with fine
the pick of all those Day -had taken out of

‘hait pin ve
you
lock

box lay
turquoises,
his mine.

Anita Carle was lifting out this canvas bag, when Mrs.
Oliver came to the hasty conclusion that it was timé for
her to interfere, even at the risk of upsetting thé sleep-
walker and doing much harm; she saw that the thing
would lave a very queer look, if Dick Merriwell or Mar-
cus Day caught Anita while she was pillaging the~tur-
quoise box. They might fot: be willing to believe: that
she was asleep. Besides, if Anita got: the turquoises ott
and away, some explanation would have to be made;-and
it seemed better to nip the thing right there.

So Mrs. Oliver slipped forward, and suddenly dropped
her warm hand 6n Anita’s shoulder.

The light from the distant lamp as poor, Mrs. Oliver’s
blanket was white, and the white apparition at het oe
was altogether too much for the strained nerves of Anita!
She shrieked, the bag of turquoises fell from her bind
and she slipped to the floor in a shapeless heap. -

“Now, I have done it; I’ve scared her to death, and the
consequences may be something awful,” was Mts. Oliver’s
thought, as she stooped beside Anita andgher arms en-
circled Anita’s shoulders.

Anita shrieked, again. :

“Tt’s Mrs. Oliver, Anita; don’t you know me?”

June was aroused, and came gliding out, wrapped also
in a blatiket; she was asking qtiestions. Marcus Day
camé thundering ott of the depths of the tunnel, with
his men at his heels) Hampton was arotised, aid Johni-
son. Even the Mexivans in the farthest recesses of the
mine had heard the outcry.

Dick Merriwell, who had seen all that Mrs. Oliver had
seen, thought it time tO appear. es

As he came within the area of the light cast 6 the
lamp, Mrs. Oliver and June were supporting Anita, cling-
ing to hér arms, and she was tottering back to ‘the ‘niche
that held her cot.

Day was demanding to know what had happened.

“Miss Carle has been sleepwalking again,” June threw
at hirh.

“There are your turquoises from that box,” Dick in-
formed him, pointing to the bag on the floor; “Miss Carle
seems to have taken them from your box. Mrs. Oliver
saw her, ard frightened her; that’s why she screatned.”

Day picked up the bag, opened it, then he looked at the
unlocked box.

“Say,” he growled, “what’s the meanin’ of this ?° i
“You will have to interview the young womatt,” said —
Dick. gee
Johnson had begun to babble inquiries. — é

“Was dat anotheh ghos’, Misteh Merriwell, suh?”

“Don't ask me, Johnson.” '

“But, say, boss, I’se skeered!
dé crack o° jédgitient.”

Day was inspecting
mumbling to himself.

“She was sleepwalkin’,

“Mrs. Olivet said so.”

    
     
     
       
       
     
     
     
     
       
       
     
 

      

 
    
     
 

  

Dat sho’ sounded lack

     
 

the lock of

  

the box, and’ was-

   

you say?” he asked.

       
  

Day pulled down the box, still mumbling.

Some of the Mexicans came streaming in, with voluble
sputterings:

“Explain the thing to them, Day,” Dick requested;
duty lies outside, you know.”

“That’s so,” Day admitted; “you ought to be out there,
and stay out there. This would furnish a good chance
for Duranzo to rush us. Scat—you!” he howled at the
Mexicans. “I dunno what’s happened, any more’n you
do; only I know that somebody’s been tamperin’ with
my box o’ turquoises. Hereafter I sleep with it under
my head, and I slams lead into anybody that tries to

‘ get it.”

4 Thrusting in the bag of turquoises Day locked the box,
after closing it with a resounding snap that but mildly
expressed his feelings.

Dick was making his way thoughtfully to the outer
end of the entrance.

“Somnambulism is good—as a cloak,” he was think-
ing ;“ “but you don’t fool me again, Miss Anita Carle.
You meant to swipe that bag of turquoises and get out
of the mine with it.”

~ Duranzo’s intentions were clear to him now.

Finding that he could not regain possession of the
mine, and fearing to return to Santa Fe, Duranzo had
planned to have Anita Carle steal out of the mine all the
valuable turquoises she could lay her hands on; then to-

Ges, gether they wauld attempt to get out of the country with

ih them. ’

rer Dick was sure that Mrs. Oliver’s faith in Anita was

misplaced. Further, he knew now that Anita and Duranzo

had known each other intimately in Santa Fe. Also, he
felt sure that Anita had driven out to this point in the
automobile for the sole purpose of meeting Duranzo if
she could, and aiding him.

Yet, not all of these things could be proved, Dick
knew.

 

CHAPTER X.

DICK MERRIWELL’S COURAGE.

‘The disturbed people in the mine had no more than
time to fall soundly asleep again, when Dick Merriwell
became aware that Anita Carle was once more doing her
sleepwalking act.

She was slipping toward the entrance, as he made his
discovery.

Not anxious to have her make a second pretense of
somnambulism, he did not disclose to her that he saw
her, but dropped into the shadow of the wall.

She approached the entrance with much caution, tip-
toeing and peering. She was looking for Dick, and plan-
ning how she could get past him. It was apparently a
relief to him when she did not discover him; she stood
‘more erect and walked more rapidly.

_ Dick did not wish to stop her; he wanted to see what
~ she would do. This time, it was clear, she had got out
' of her cot and away, fully dressed, without arousing any
one. But Dick did not believe she had secured the bag
of turquoises, which Day had declared he meant to place
under his head.

As soon as she was out of the mine, Anita Carle began
to run.

“If I keep her in sight I must be traveling, too,” Dick
thought. But he was hesitating.

  

 

7. 36 aes NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

‘others were his. Mexicans.

He felt that he ought not leave the mine opening un-
guarded; yet if he went back to get Brad or Day, Anita
Carle would have so much start that in the darkness he
could not hope to follow her.

Dick decided to follow, and let the mine take care of
itself. There were seven men in it, including Hampton

and Johnson. f

Anita Carle was but a flitting shadow out on the mour-
tainside when Dick Merriwell reached his hasty decision
and set out in pursuit.

Dick did not try to get closer—he could not afford
to frighten her. He only wanted her kept in sight. If at
any time she disappeared, he hastened a little until he saw
her again.

It was a merry chase that Anita Carle led him; up and
over the low mountain; down on the other side; into the
trail there; then out of it, and finally along a ledgy shelf
that overhung a dark, cedar-choked valley.

This shelf was a dangerous place in the night, yet Anita
went along it without hesitation, showing that she had
been over it by daylight;
not break her neck Dick Merriwell could follow.

As Dick passed along this shelf of rock, he heard
the neighing of a horse. He listened for it again, as he
went on, and again he heard it.
from the cedar-screened valley.

“ll find out if there aren’t other horses down there,
ip the morning,” he determined. “Just now I haven't

‘ime for more work than is here cut out for me.”

In a little while Dick began to think the ledge trail
would take him into the valley, and that he would, that
night, be given a chance to see what horses were there.
But the trail swung sharply about, instead of descending
farther; went on for two or three hundred yards; then
it apparently ended,.on a wide shelf, half an acre in
extent. 4

When she had arrived at this point, with Dick closer
to her than any time since the pursuit began, Anita
stopped; then blew a piping blast, with her fingers at her
lips.

Instantly a man who had been unseen came out of the
darkness by the wall.

Anita said something to him, and went forward.

“This grows mighty interesting, and dangerous, as
the man saidy when they were exploring him for bullets,”
Dick muttered.

He dropped softly to his knees, then went down on all
fours, and began to move on again.

He beheld the flashing of a light.
struck and touched to the wick of a candle. It’s light
illumined a dark hole in the rocks straight ahead—a hole
that opened on the half-acre ledge of the mountainside.

About the candle half a dozen men had grouped, with
Anita in their midst. Othe of the men was Duranzo. The

citedly.

“l’d give away one of Day’s best turquoises to know -

what they’re talking about,” Dick whispered.

He wondered 4f he could not get wrap ol in, and de- :

termined to try it.

By keeping close to the mountain wall, where the gloom
lay heaviest, he succeeded. When he had crawled up to

a point that enabled him to hear, the Mexicans ‘had scat-
tered, and only Duranzo and. Anita stood there..:

and where Anita could go and .

It came from below— -

A match had been

All seemed to be talking ex- |

‘One _
of the Mexicans passed Dick at a run, and went out |

    
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 

 

  

tet eines SS

  
  
      
    
   
   
   
   
    
   
 

     
  

Sse. 2 --

 

 

 

 

  

 

  
  
  

 

  

  

 

 

along the ledge trail, to explore there and see that no
one was coming.

Anita had apparently been telling ‘Dutieo the story
of her night’s efforts. The sentences that reached Dick,
in fragmentary form, indicated that.

“Though I couldn’t get the turquoise bag, I did bring a
lot of them, that I stole from Day yesterday,” she was
saying; “and here they are. I didn’t want to tell you
until after you had sent the men away.” ~

Duranzo seemed to be examining them, by the candle-
light; he and the girl were bending over the light, how-
ever, so that Dick could not see well.

Dick heard the words with grim interest. Here was

positive proof at last, to his own mind, that he was right

   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  

 

  
  

 

 

  

 

 

  

_ followed from Day’s mine had not. been large.
was not. vigilant.

 

  

—that his intuitions had been right from the first—and
that Mrs. Oliver was wrong in her estimate of the char-
acter of Anita Carle.

Dick was doing such rapid thinking that his mental
machinery seemed in danger of heating its bearings; his
thoughts flew backward and forward. He surveyed as in
a flash the entire course of Anita Carle, from the mo-
ment he had found her in the stalled automobile until the
present instant. And at the same time, he was thinking
of the many things Eugenio Duranzo had done since he
had become connected with Day’s mine.

On top of all this thinking was the unanswered ques-

- tion of what was now his proper and safest course of

action.

“When in doubt, go slow, or you may not live to get
back again,” Dick muttered, as he lay on the rocks, peer-
ing out and watching.

Anita Carle, after talking a while with Duranzo, went
on into the black hole that was evidently the mouth of
a cave, and she took with her the candle. Whether she
had left the turquoises in Duranzo’s possession, Dick did
not know; yet it seemed a safe guess that she had done so.

One of the’ Mexicans came out and talked with Du-
ranzo. Then he retired inside.

Duranzo rolled a cigarette; and,
lighted it.

“Shows,” thought Dick, “that he feels secure here;
otherwise he wouldn’t risk that, and he wouldn’t have
risked flashing the candle round on this ledge.”

Dick was forced to admit, in view of his defeated at-
tempts to locate Duranzo, that the latter had good grounds

striking a match,

for feeling safe here.

“I wonder if in getting horses into that valley he
brought them down that shelf of rock? It’s a safe proposi-
tion that he did. The rock would leave no hoof marks;

- and the ground above, before the ledgy path begins, is as
hard as flint.

Clever Duranzo!”
Duranzo was walking to and fro before the mouth of

.the cavern.

Dick began to plan how he would crawl up on him and

capture him.

This was temporarily dashed by the return of the Mexi-

can who had been sent off along the ledge path.

Duranzo, smoking his cigarette, listened gravely to the

_ man’s low-voiced report; then he went inside, leaving the
man doing guard duty at the mouth of the cave.

Dick still lay flat in the Pr atae oe and wait-

ing.

_ Evidently from the first, the fear that Anita had been
The guard
He did not walk a beat, but dropped

 

NEW. TIP TOP WEEKLY.

‘up a fight.

down in a crouching position, with his back against the
wall of rock, his rifle lying across his knees.

The silence and darkness were good sleep provokers.
The guard’s head dropped forward on his arms. Dick
Merriwell began to craw! slowly upon him.

Dick meant now to capture the guard, get a look into
the cave, and then determine his course of action. But
he must not be discovered—discovery would be fatal. For
even if Dick escaped, after being seen, Duranzo would
learn that his hiding place was known, and would shift
his. position.

Dick’s progress toward the guard was painfully slow.
But the guard did not arouse. And as Dick drew near

‘he could hear the fellow snoring.

The capture of the guard was easily and quietly ef-_
fected, yet not so quietly that no sound of it penetrated
the little cavern. Dick’s right hand closed on the man’s
throat, at the same time that his left clamped down on .
his mouth and kept him from erying out.

The fellow was too frightened to make an outcry or put
He slumped down with a gurgle of terror,
when he felt those clutching fingers. The touch of a re-
volver muzzle sent a shudder through him, and so para-
lyzed his remaining energies that he submitted without a
sound, while Dick trussed him up with his own lariat.

Yet, as has been said, a small amount of noise and con-—
fusion had resulted.

Dick feared as much. Having dragged the guard to one
side, he was standing in a listening attitude, when he heard
some one coming out of the cave.

Dick’s hand was on his rey oivenal Mencas Day’s revolver,
which he had borrowed, a big .44, with proportionate —
weight. It made a formidable club.

Dick was mentally half prepared for what happened—
the appearance there, before the cavern, of Eugenio Du-
ranzo himself. Duranzo had come out to investigate the
sound he had heard. :

When he looked about for the guard, he saw in the dim
light a-man, who slipped instantly between him and the
cavern’s mouth; a man, who, thrusting a revolver into
his face, threatened sternly to blow his brains out if he
did not immediately throw up his hands.

Duranzo’s hands went up with surprising quickness. :

“Ahead of me—march, pronto!” Dick commanded, and
the revolver muzzle, cold and ominous, touched Duranzo’s
throat.

Duranzo’s face writhed—even in the darkness Dick’
could see his eyes glitter; for an: instant it seemed there
would be a duel to the death in front of the cave.

But Dick’s finger on the trigger drew the revolver
hammer up with a click, and Duranzo felt sure that at
the first movement he would feel the lead crashing through
his neck.

“Keep your hands up!”

The up thrust arms stiffened again. *

“Up the path—pronto!”

Duranzo shivered, but he obeyed, and stepped away.

Dick was right behind him, with the revolver poked .
now and then against the back of his neck in warning.

“Hands up!” said Dick inexorably.

Duranzo knew whom he was dealing with; knew, too,
that Dick had followed Anita from the mine. He was |

‘raging, voiceless, and terror was shaking him.

He had at his hip a belted revolver and cartridges, and

J

 

  

  
 

  

 

those stoleri turquoises in ft for a collar button,”

ey , lodgings }

“Pll never trouble you again,”
out of the country.
at oncé, if you will release me,

. you well, if you'll let up on me.

- about the horses.

also a knife,
them.

“Hands up!” Dick ordered, and Duranzo did not try.

The path favored Dick now, instead of Duranzo. On
one was the mountain wall; on the other a black
chasm. Duranzo could only. go forward, If free, he
cotild not have hurried with much speed, for here the
path was rather steep.

Dick prodded him on with the revolver,

At length Duranzo began to whine for mercy.

“IT can’t hold my hands up longer,” he urged; “the pain
of it is killing me. Even if you shoot me, I shall have
to lower them.”

“Just wait a moment,”

He wondered if he dared. try to get at

side

Dick ordered.

With the revolver muzzle held against Duranzo’s neck,

Dick reached round and pulled loose the belt, unbuckling
it; so bringing away revolver, knife, and cartridges.
Slinging them across his shoulder, Dick ran his hand over
Duranzo’s pockets, searching for other weapons. He found
the turquoises, a big handful, in a leather bag, and took
them.

Duranzo moved in uneasiness and desperation.

“Steady!” Dick warned, as again that cold revolver
muzzle touched Duranzo’s neck.

“T’'m boring a hole there, so that you can set one of
said
‘Dick, with grim humor. “Don’t tempt me to make the
hole bigger with a bullet.”

Having disartned Duranzo, Dick drove him again before
hith up the trail, though now he permitted Duratzo to
lower his hands.

“You'll pay for this, Metriwell!” the rascal threatened,
ifi hig misery.

“Think so?” said Dick.

“ll kill you for it!” \

“T shan’t visit the Santa Fe jail, whefe you’re to find
so you are not likely to get the chance.”

_ Duranzo began to whine again, and ended by offering
bribes, which he knew he could not pay:

“You like money, Merriwell; every one does. I'll pay
No one knows about
this but us. You can let me go, and I’ll come down hand-
somely.”

“Rot!” said Dick, “Where is your money, and how are
you to get it to me; that is, if I should be fool enough
to believe you, and permit you to escape now? Take
another think, Duranzo. You've troubled me a long time.
It began a good while ago—at West Point, and you chose
to continue it here. That’s where yo’ showed your
folly.”
said Duranzo; “I'll clear
I want to go to Mexico, and I'll start
Til get my men out of
that cave, and start off before morning,”

_ “And take my horses?” said Dick.
“T'll leave the horses.” e
Dick’s question had been a ruse, to discover if Duranzo

“Shad his horses,

“Getting them down over this ledge into that valley
was some job,” Dick commented, still after information
“But, Of course, you haven't all of them
there.”

doh - ney. y
We haven't many of your horses,” said Duranzo; “they

“wetit on south, and are down int the valley of the Perdidus: ;
the others wé corfalled here.

I’m telling you this in the

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY

 

 

hope that You'll let up-on me,
Merriwell.”

I’m through trying to in-
jure you,

“It didn’t pay?”

“T admit that it didn’t.”

‘Working for
dishonesty are Treachery——

Duranzo tried to whifl round. It was as if the word
spoken by Dick had fired a mine of treachery in his brain.
As a matter of fact, though, Duranzo, growing more deés-
perate, had been talking to gain time and throw Dick off
guard.

As he whirled now his hand came up, and with his fist
he struck at Dick’s face. But the revolver came down at
the same moment, across his arm, nearly breaking it; the
arm dropped like the wounded wing of a bird. Duranzo
cried out in pain, and reeled. If Dick had not caught
and stayed him, he might have pitched off the cliff.

“A pat illustration of the fact that treachery never
pays,” said Dick. “Now face about, and don’t tempt me
to shoot you. You’re my prisoner, Duranzo, this trip;
don’t forget it.” ;

Duranzo, weakened again, whimpered like a whipped
schoolboy. J

“Have mercy, Merriwell!” he gasped.

revenge never pays,

sure roads to ruin. ¥K

. CHAPTER XI.
ANITA’S ACT OF DARING.

Dick Meértiwell had departed, capturéd Dufanzo, . and
had rettitned with his prisoner; yet no one at the mine
had discovered his absence; they had slept through it all.

Day was bféaking when Dick dfove his prisofier up to
the mine entrance. Brad was the first to appear, in an-
swer to hig halloo. Brad was a rmitich astonished individual.

“Hope I ain’t sleepwalking, too,’ he said, as he stated
at Dick and Duranzo, and heard Dick telling his story;
“hope I don’t wake up ina minute and fifid that this is a
dream.”

“Duranzo cafi tell you that it’s no dream.”

Duranzo snarled an imprecation.

“Séunds natufal+that rattlesnake does, aftyhow,”
Brad; “so I guess I’m awake. Wow! Dick, you'fe sure
a wondeft, ‘Toa bad you couldn’t brought Miss Anita.
What’s Mrs. Oliver going to say about this?” ;

The talking outside, combined with Brad’s yelp, brought
out Mareus Day; always hard-eyed and uncertain of
temper, when he thought he had been wrotiged.

“Let me get at him,” he yelled, when he saw Duranzo;
“let me set my fingers in his. neck.”

Dick would not permit it,

“Stand back, Day,” he commanded; “he is my prisoner,”

“But ain’t it me he’s been striking at; ain’t it my mine
that he knocked galley-west with his dynamite?”
tugged at his revolver. |

“All true,” said Dick,
at me, and hates me like fire, but I brought him in, und,
of course, I’m going to protect him.”

“We'll string him up,” said Day;
fot him!”

“No,” said Dick;
Fe jail, and then let the law handle hit.”

“The law!” cried Day.
lawyers and buy up judges, and——”

“Call it off, Day!” said Dick, in a way that. Vought
Day to his senses.

“hahgin’s

 
 

  

and thieving and—

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Day discovered that Dick meant to see that even Eugenio
Daranzo had fair play.

The astqnishment of Mrs., Oliver was of a speechless
character at first. She was simply dazed by what Dick
told her. But soon her confidence in Anita Carle reas-
serted itself.

“T understand: it, Mr. Merriwell, since I’ve had time to
think—get over my confusion. The situation of Anita is
terrible, now—with those Mexicans. But what I meant
to explain is that she is a sleepwalker——”

“Is she?” said Dick. \

“Why, of course she is, Mr. Merriwell; haven’t we had
proof of it? And a sleepwalker, you know, is of all
persons, perhaps, the most readily susceptible to hypnotism.
Duranzo has hypnotized her. He must have done so when
he held her a prisoner, after taking her out of the camp
in the auto. He hypnotized her then, sent her back, to
the camp with a story to tell, and a command laid on her
to take all the turquoises she could find and bring them
to him.”

Dick was smiling.

“Do you really consider that possible, Mrs. Oliver?”

“Possible! I’ve thought it all out—just how it was;
and I know it is true. You recall that Anita. acted
__ queerly, after she came into the camp; she wasn’t natural,
wasn’t herself. She was under his hypnotic spell, and was
under it when she arose in her sleep and tried to get
Day’s turquoises out of his box.”

Mrs. Oliver proceeded to interview Duranzo,
confirmation of her theory, and found it.

“You hypnotized Miss Carle,” she charged.
ry, “Certainly,” said Duranzo.
ee “T knew it. You hypnotized her, and sent her into the
camp to steal the turquoises.”

“You're a witch for knowledge,” said Duranzo; “I
never would have believed you could guess it.”

Mrs. Oliver was a bit confused—it really seemed that
i‘. Duranzo was mocking her; yet she clung to the belief. that,
| mocking as his words appeared, he had but admitted the

truth.

Forthwith, the impractical Mrs. Oliver, wildly anxious
for the safety of Anita Carle, proposed the plan of open-
ing communication with the Mexicans who had turned
. outlaws, with the view of exchanging Duranzo for Anita.
Duranzo\leaped at the suggestion; whatever came of it, his
- condition could hardly be made worse than it was.
Dick Merriwell\ however, was not enthusiastic.

“We'll wait a bit,” he said, “and see if those Mexicans
do not come to us.”

“Do you mean they may core to propose the exchange ?”
said Mrs. Oliver.

“Come, rather, to attack us, in the hope of freeing Du-
tanzo.” |

“But can’t something be done at once for Anita?”
_ Dick had been wishing something could be done. Al-
though knowing now that Anita Carle was a treacherous
and lying little minx, he was willing to help her, if it
could be done safely; he feared she would be detained
in the cave by the Mexicans. Still, Anita had shown
great fearlessness and courage, so that it really seemed
if she desired to depart from the cave she would do it,
despite any objections they might make.
One thing appeared certain to Dick, as he turned the
question of Anita over in his mind—she would be likely
to follow Duranzo, if she knew he had been captured and

i salad at alae
Bays Roe

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19

taken to the mine. But did she know that, or could she
know it? So far as Anita and the Mexicans were con-
cerned, all they could know would be what they learned
from the guard Dick had left tied up there, and his ideas
and information concerning what had happened, it seemed
likely, would be in a very hazy state, indeed.

Day was for making ready the mine, in anticipation of
a fight.

So he set his man Robinson and the laborers to work
building a barricade at the mine entrance.

Dick sent Brad Buckhart forth to scout along the moun-
tain.

Brad returned in a few hours, and reported nothing
doing.

The barricade of cedar logs and stones was completed
before noon.

Mrs. Oliver was still of the notion that Dick ought to
send out a flag of truce, to the cave, and bargain with
the outlaws there—for they were now nothing but ount-
laws.

Dick refused.

“See here, June,” he said, talking it over with her

salone, “I wish you’d try to get some sense into Mrs. Oliver's
head. Day and his men wouldn’t join me, if I went out for
that purpose. Day intends to stay here and guard his
mine, and he has no faith in Anita.”

“You haven’t, either?”

“Not a particle.” .

“She was such a fine girl in Santa Fe—Mrs. Oliver
says.”

,

“T’m not in a position to deny it. I’ll admit that she was.
But what of it? She became infatuated with Duranzo.
She has virtually turned outlaw in joining him.”

“T’ll have a talk with Mrs. Oliver.”

“If I went out with Brad,” said Dick, “it would leave
only Day and his men here to resist an attack. My first

duty is to see that you and Mrs. Oliver are safe.”

June knew that Dick Merriwell was right in this.
she had a quiet talk with Mrs. Oliver.

It was without much effect.

“You are siding against me, too,” said Mrs. Oliver, “and
I thought I could depend on you, June. You don’t
know Anita. If you did, you wouldn’t be willing to re-
peat those things.”

That afternoon Mrs. Oliver had a rude awakening.

Robinson was on guard alone at the barricade; the other
members of the party were back in the mine, with the
exception of Mrs. Oliver herself, who chanced to be
near the entrance.

Mrs. Oliver had been talking with Duranzo, in a tone »
that seemed sympathetic.
with Duranzo, yet she stood ready to credit his story,
rather than Dick Merriwell’s. She had been talking with
him about Anita, seeking his viewpoint, asking him if he
thought Anita was safe with the Mexicans at the cave.

Duranzo craftily asserted that Anita was not safe there.
He declared that when he was removed forcibly, she.
had been left without a protector. :

“Yet Mr. Merriwell refuses to do anything,” Mrs.
Oliver wailed.

“If you would free me,” Duranzo suggested.

Mrs. Oliver drew back from this suggestion, almost in —
fright.

“No,” she said,

1
1

So

“I wouldn’t care to do that.”

She did not really sympathize. —
 

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“You might, at least, loosen this rope that binds my
arms; you have no idea how painful it is.”

Mrs. Oliver shook her head in dissent.

“T wouldn’t dare.”

She walked away. Duranzo had been too keen and
eager.

At about this time, Robinson received a great surprise,
as he sat idly by the barricade, looking off over the moun-
tainside, where he expected enemies to appear, if they
came. A form hurtled down on him from the rocks over
his head, sharp heels drove with almost cutting force
into his shoulders, and Robinson, hurled by this human
catapult to one side, struck his head heavily against a
stone of the barricade, and rolled over senseless, with the

blood streaming out of his mouth.

The human catapult that had put the mine guard out of
commission was Anita Carle.

She was white-faced, and a bit dazed herself for a
moment; for she had ventured a trying and dangerous
leap. That it had been successful was the thing. She
dashed her hand across her eyes, to clear away the sudden
mist that blinded her, and turned into the mine entrance,
without the delay of a moment, and without hesitation.

She carried a revolver ready for use, and the look on

her face would have shown any one that she would use
it if it became necessary.

Mrs. Oliver had heard the heavy fall at the barricade.
With her attention thus drawn, she saw Anita come hurry-
ing in, the revolver in her hand.

“Anita!” she cried. “You have escaped !”

“Yes,” said Anita, her eyes wild, her voice shaking; ‘

have escaped.”

She was moving straight on, looking about.

“Do tell me about it,” said Mrs. Oliver. “You are as
pale as death. They must have treated you terribly?”
“Yes,” said Anita quietly.

_ “Oh, I’m so glad that you got away! I have been want-
ing Mr. Merriwell——
“Where is he?”

“Back in the mine.”

“Where are they holding Duranzo?” Anita asked.

Duranzo answered before Mrs. Oliver could speak.

“Here!” he called.

Anita ran forward, and saw him sitting in the gallery,
near the wall with his arms. and legs roped.

Mrs. Oliver fluttered after Anita.

Anita now did not seem to notice her. She had drawn

_a knife, and with it she began to saw at the ropes.
“What are you doing?” said Mrs. Oliver.
Hack! Hack!

_ Anita was chopping with the knife.

“Anita!” Mrs. Oliver cried, “Anita!
walking again?”

“Sure, I’m sleep-walking,” said Anita, with a curling

of her white lips; “can’t you see that T am?”

“But—you must not free that man.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Merriwell——”

_ “Go and tell him,” advised Anita.

_ Mrs. Oliver, instead, caught Anita by the shoulder.
“Stop, Anita!” she cried.

_ Anita shook her off roughly.

“Let me be!” she said.

“But, Anita!”

Are you sleep-

All the while the hacking and sawing knife was busy.
The ropes fell away. Duranzo jumped to his feet. ‘

“What have you donei ?” shrieked Mrs. Oliver.

“Released this man,” said Anita coolly, while she stood
watching Duranzo’s frantic gymnastics, as he rubbed the ©
knots out-of his limbs. “Hadn’t you better go and tell
Mr. Merriwell?”

Mrs, Oliver began to scream.

“Help!” she cried. “H-e-l-p!”

Duranzo started toward the mine entrance,

Mrs. Oliver threw'her arms round Anita, as she started
off, too.

“You shall not,” she shrieked;
—you; I——”

The screaming sentence was broken; Anita struck her
roughly on the mouth, and as Mrs. Oliver fell back, her
hold broken, Anita started in a wild run after Duranzo.

Mrs. Oliver’s screams rang through the mine. Already
she had been heard, and men came running from all di-
rections.

“Anita!” she shrieked. “Duranzo!”

She pointed to the entrance.

June Arlington came out, hurrying at the heels of the
men,

“June!—June! Anita—Duranzo!

Then Mrs. Oliver fell over, almost in a faint, and lay
white and gasping when June feached her.

Before Dick and Brad and Marcus Day could gain the
mine entrance, the roar of the automobile arose in the open
ground beyond it, where the auto had been kept.

As they dashed at the barricade to climb it, they saw
Robinson lying there, unconscious and bleeding. When
they got outside the automobile was disappearing in a
cloud of dust over the trail that ran round the moun-
tain.

“it’s my duty to—save

e

CHAPTER XII.
CONCLUSION.

Robinson was seriously but not dangerously injured. |
It spoke well for Mrs. Oliver’s good qualities of heart —
that she volunteered to take upon herself the work of |
nursing him. Perhaps she felt that she could thus atone

in a measure for the mistake she had made in her judg- =

ment of Anita.

[he effort that was made to Hobe Dytanzo and Anita
was neither strenuous nor long continued’ The atitomobile —
was found, where they had abandoned it, at the base of the ) ‘
mountain. La eee

Near this point, it appeared. Duranzo had kept tala %
tethered, in waiting. The grass was trampled, and it _
was eaten in circles, At the center of each circular —
space was a small hole in the soil, showing where the
picket pin had been. Three horses, it was thus seen, had —
been kept there; and they had no doubt been saddled, or
the saddles, with bridles, had been kept near.

It seemed clear that, abandoning the automobile at uly?
poitit, Duranzo and Anita had taken to the horses, and
had ridden away, leading one of the animals. Perhaps
—though that could not be determined—the led animal
bore a pack, Here

There were no indications that Duranzo had gone near
the cave, nor that he had ventured into the cedar-screenes a
5 7 where Dick had heard a horse neighing, pir

 

 
  

NEW TIP

Dick and Brad, with
the automobile
Day rode on a short distance, following the tracks of the

Day, formed the group that trailed
and found these telltale marks.

three horses. His rage against Duranzo had not abated.
“I'd like to foller him to the jumpin’-off place,” he said.
“I’m perfectly willing to let him go,” Dick declared.

“He will not come back now to trouble us.

away for good.”

“But see what he done!”
I remember all of it.”
“Yet you’re willing to let him go!”

“You was goin’

- said.”

“It was my duty to do that, not my pleasure. \ If I
could have held him, I should have fulfilled my duty. But
| he is gone, and it’s not likely that we could overtake him:
ir lf we did there would be a fight, and in that fight Anita
Carle might be killed. So, altogether, I vote to let him go.”

Brad voted with Dick in this matter.

“Tf he comes back!” Day fumed.

“You will never see that rascal again, Day,” Dick as-
sured. “He knows when he is whipped. He has aban-
 doned his men; they can look out for themselves, so far
as he cares. That’s like Duranzo. If we ever hear of
him again, he will be in Mexico. He told me once that
he meant to join Villa, as he could get big money out of
Villa for his new explosive.”

“Tg some explosive, all right,’ Day was willing to ad-

mit.

_ Before venturing back to the mine, the three swung off
- toward the valley in which Dick thought the horses—Du-

-ranzo’s and his own—were held.

To gain it they had to climb to the rocky divide, then

descend the narrow trail along the mountain, a ticklish
place for hotseback riding.

_ Thus they came after a while to the cave that Duranzo

had occupied; a hole in the rocks, at the end of a tortuous
and difficult path.

_ They were not sure but that a fight would ensue, and
they approached the cave carefully; yet they found it had

‘been abandoned.~ No doubt the story. told by the guard,

‘together with Anita’s departure, was the cause. The chief

factor must have been the guard’s story. For: it informed

the Mexicans that the cave had been located by their en-

-emies.

_ When the yalley was reached, after a further difficult

descent, they discovered that some of the Mexicans were

down there, trying to round up the horses.

The Mexicans fled, when they saw the three armed

Americans canter into the valley,

- Here were the horses that Duranzo had run off, or
“picked up, at various times, and those that Anita had
-teleased and stampeded from the camp, with a few ex-
_ Ceptions.

To get them out of this hole between the hills was going
to be difficult work, and they postponed it until another
time. They knew that those they had left behind at the
mine were growing anxious over their long absence.

- So they rode back over the toilsome ‘way.
On another day the horses were roped; and, one by one,
taken up over the narrow path, and on to the teéstablished
camp. at the mine.

He is off and
growled Day.

Day seemed amazed.
to land him in the Santa Fe jail, you

 

 

    
   
   
   
  
   
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
 
    
   

     
   
 
   
 
   
   
 

 

   

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able to continue without interruption. his work of mine
investigation.

He conducted it with care.

When at last he was ready to make his report, he knew
what the mine was worth, as well as the extent of the
porphyry, as nearly as such things can be ascertained.

His report to Hampton set out in detail how his con-
clusions had been reached, as well as his figures, and con-
tained also his estimate of the amount he believed Hamp-
ton could safely pay for the property.

It was not as much as Marcus Day wanted. Day, there-
fore, haggled, demanding more. But he yielded when
he saw that Hampton meant to stand by Dick Merriwell’s
estimate.

So in the end, Rupert Hampton added the New Mexican
turquoise mine to the other mining properties he had in
various parts of the world.

Hampton wished Dick to become the superintendent and
general manager of the property.

This offer Dick declined, though it held the promise of
a generous salary.

He was already employed, he said, by the Merriwell
Company, and with it he chose to remain,

THE END.

In the next issue of this weekly, No. 104, out July acth,.
Mr. Standish brings us back to Chip and his new pard,
Doc Fisher, a character of whom the readers have grown
very fond. The story is entitled “Frank Merriwell, Junior,
in the Gulf of Fire; or, The Rain Makers of Palo Verde.”

Men and Treasure.
By R. KEENE THOMPSON. .

(This interesting story was commenced in No. 100 of the New Tir |
Top WEEKLY. Back numbers, can be obtained from your news
dealer or the publishets.)

CHAPTER XVI.

THE LUGGER.

In the rush up the narrow ladder, both Vaine and

_ Brood reached the deck at once.

“Where?” they shouted in chorus.

Hawkins was dancing up and down at the rail—an
animated ball of fat. He pointed to the west. |

“There—see ?” Oh

They piled to his side. A lugger clipped a white patch
out of the horizon dead to port. She might have been
five miles off; maybe only half that distance separated _
them.

“Has she sighted us?” Waite: cried.

“We don’t know,” the girl called,

Brood bounded for the ladder.

“Rockets!” he gasped. “Close—they’ll see in daylight-=
one chance!” :

He was gone.

Professor Hoxley, with unexpected agility, ran up tlie
ratlines.
one hand at his shirt, which he tore off over his head and
waved wildly, at the same time keeping up a piping treble —
hail that could not have penetrated the atmosphere for a
greater distance than twenty yards.

There he clung to the rigging, tugging with z %
 

 
   

 

 

 
 

Brood dashed back on deck, in his arms all the rockets
that were left in the locker.

“The whole business at once!” screamed the millionaire.
“Make ’em see!”

‘The engineer set the three-stick base of a rocket on
deck, and fell to his knees beside it. He struck a match,
another, and another.

His fingers shook so the things wouldn’t light. Mut-
tering softly to himself, he dumped the contents of a
box in his hand, bunched them, and scraped the lot
along the sandpaper.

There was a flare, the fuse caught; with a swish and
shower of sparks in its trail, the rocket soared up, up
high in the heavens. It broke. The rain of colored stars
hung garishly for a moment against the bright sky, then
dropped in a rapidly extinguishing festoon.

As the second rocket sizzled on high, there came a
sudden puff of white from the other ship, followed by a
sharp report. A cannon shot had signaled that they were
seen by. the lugger.

“She’s turning!” Hoxley cried down to them from
his perch. “She’s coming—she’s on the way——”

He slipped, lost his hold, dropped a few feet along
the ropes, caught hold again with a frantic hand, and so
descended to the deck, shaken and breathless.

Slowly—oh, so slowly!—the lugger grew in bulk.
Now the figures on board could be distinguished from the
background of the deck. ,

“Listen—everybody!” said Brood curtly. “We’re going
to be rescued. Now—we’ve got to think quick—what about
the treasure below? Once that vessel bearing down on
us takes this ship in charge, the stuff belongs to them by

right of salvage!”

“Hail ’em, and ask for a couple of men who'll run us
to port!” Vaine suggested. “Don’t let ’em find out we’re
a derelict !”

“You can’t conceal it, anyway!” Brood retorted. “If
they lift a finger to help us, they own the ship and all cargo
aboard. Once we ask aid of:them, we’re done for, so
far as what’s in the hold is concerned.”

“Wait!” the reporter cried. “We found this ship a
derelict. The salvage comes to us—what?”

“And when we got on board and couldn’t run her,”
the engineer answered, “she turned back into a derelict
again. She’s that now, according to marine law.”

“What’re we going to do, then?”

“I — Good Lord!”

Brood bounded to the girl’s side as she swayed at\the

rail, her face suddenly pale.

“What is it?” he cried.

She steadied herself by an effort.

“You don’t need to waste breath talking over the treas-
ure below,” she said, in a dry, choking voice. “It won’t
go out of our hands as salvage to that ship.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brood, mystified.

“Do you know who that man standing at the wheel,
there, and those men in the bow, are?” she demanded.
“They’re Captain. McGar and his crew!”

Vaine stared at the ever-nearing craft.

“By George!” he muttered, shading his eyes.
McGar !”

There was a second puff of smoke from the lugger, a
louder “boom” than before, and a shot whistled across
their bows.

“That means heave to!” said Brood.

“It ds

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

CHAPTER XVII.
AN UNWELCOME VISITOR.

They looked at one another, dazed.

“But,” said Vaine, “how do you heave to?”

Brood shook his head.

“We don’t,” he said.

“We——”

“Can’t—that’s why!” the engineer ‘snapped.
of us know how. Isn’t that plain?”

“Then,” quavered Hawkins; “what’ll happen ?”

By way of answer came another explosion of smoke
and noise from the lugger. A second ball whizzed, cury-
ing downward, and cut the water not ten yards in fr¥nt of
them.

 

“We none

“But we’ve got to stop!” yelled the financier, in a panie
of alarm. “We—we'll be blown out of the water if we
don’t!”

“He will sink us, anyway,” cried the girl.
he will!”

“And sink the treasure?” asked Brood. “He doesn’t
mean to harm this vessel. He merely wants to frighten us
into stopping. Well, we wouldn’t now if we could, As
long as we continue sailing on we can’t, be boarded. And

with that cargo in the hold we’re safe from their can-
non.”

“Tf he can

Swift refutation of his assertion was brought at that
minute by a third ball that sang above, striking midway
of the mainmast with a splintering crash. Rigging and
sail swooped toward the deck, caught in the jagged
stump of the mast, and hung, flapping and torn, in ruins.

“It’s stop, or be shot to pieces!” shrieked Hawkins,
“The anchor—what fools wé were not to think of that
before!” c

He ran toward the bow, followed by Brood, og the
dead run. The latter had realized at last that they must
either heave to, or be sunk, treasure or no treasure—
it was the only thing that could save them.

The anchor was got over the side. Whether it took the

other two masts out and entirely derfolished the one

already half gone, it was better to risk a stop that might —

wreck them on the spot than to continue under fire.
Fortunately, there wasn’t much wind blowing. The

anchor at the end.of its cable caught bottom. And, the

ship’s headway being too slight to offer strong resistance,

they came to a halt without harm. cans

The bombardment from the near-by lugger ceased. |
Brood ran back over the deck and caught Hoxley _
roughly by the arm, spinning the scientist around. | His

-white face, working with fright, was upturned to the

young man.
“Were you wrong,” Brood asked,
those bars of metal?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” cried the other.
_ “Was it really gold? Would you swear to it?”
“C-certainly !”
‘Brood passed his hand over/his forehead,

“in your analysis of

“I thought we might have been fooled,” he said dully, we
“I thought even I might have made a mistake in taking

the stuff in the hold for—the hoard I located in Peru.” j
He looked across the water at the other craft, “Tf thé.
treasure is real, and those men know it’s on board us, —
why do they want to risk sending the whole business to
the bottom?”

  

 

 

  
   
  
  
   
  
 

 

 
 

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NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. = oe 23

_ Hawkins, anxiously watching the lugger, now riding
at anchor, too, turned from the rail.

“They're lowering a boat,’ he said.
over !”

Not three cable lengths separated the two vessels. Signs
of activity on board the lugger could readily be made
out. It was true—a boat was being dropped .over the
side.

Janet Deveraux drew. back.

“What am I going to do?” she asked hopelessly.
—what will I do?”

Brood tried to reassure her.

_. “Don’t worry,” he said briskly, his shoulders diraights
ening. “There won’t any harm ‘come to you, be certain
of that. Their boat’s small; it can’t hold more than a

“They're coming

“What

few; we'll be a match for any party that comes on -

board.”
She stared at him with wide eyes.
“You'll be a match for them?”
whisper.
The young man drew himself up, his muscles bunching
‘under. his threadbare. clothes, fire in his eyes,
»“Just that!’ he said determinedly;
He looked around.-at. the others. . Hawkins and Hoxley
were weaklings, unfit for: physical..combat with anybody,
should the occasion arise. Reegan—maybe he could give a
-ereditable account of himself if called upon, And there
‘was Vaine.
The reporter’ shrugged as he encountered jhe en-
_gineer’s eyes.
. “Captain Jack, ” he remarked, reckide, his baad toward
the- lugger, “isn’t anybody I'd care to bump up against
under the most ordinary circumstances. I know his rec-
ord. Ley the thought of ae him on board,

she repeated, in a

: The girl stepped forward eva Brood,

“What could you do against even an equal number of
those rascals?” she asked. “All of them are armed.

here’s but one weapon among you—you’re at their

ae t

7 “Not while I still have these!” replied the engineer
‘grimly, raising. two knotted fists. “I'll say this: Maybe
well come out second best in’ whatever
place. cea so. help me, before a hair of yout head is

es an fees *heleed on his waist to boot!”

He whirled and looked toward the lugger.
The small boat was in the water. Over the side scram-
bled a man—another—another. The boat shot away from
1e side; pulled by the first two who had gained the
ender. The third man sat in the bow, his head turned
ward them, as the little craft raced ovér the water it
ir direction.
‘T take it, that’s the famous MeGar? ” said Brood, nod-

He" answered the gifl, alt a shudder.
0 below!” Brood ordered. She took a step toward
ne companionway, then paused, timidly looking back at
"Oh, T meant to/tell you,” he said. “It’s all right.
ere’s nothing down there. Reegan just imagined it.
70 down. | And—keep out of sight, if you Bleabe, till I

etd’ for you.”

“went ‘past Vaine with a whispered Word and a
pettare which the others missed; tlien she mina

meeting takes

o

peared down the lddder, and they turned their attention
to the approaching boat.

“Only three,” Brood muttered. “Three to four—Lord,
what are we, if we can’t make some kind of a showing if
it comés to a show-down ?”

A hundred yards divided ‘the vessel and small boat: The
two rowers shipped their oars, atid there was a brief but
vehement altercation.

It was ended by the man in the bow rising, stepping
to the gunwale, and, with a laugh that pealed heartily
across the water to the watchers on the derelict, diving
into the sea.

His head bobbed up. He was swimming with leisurely
ease the remaining distance, seemingly enjoying the fe-

' freshing exercise, as though out for a “dip” at some sea-

side resort. On to the anchored vessel he. swam.

The rope up which the castaways had clambered when
they first boarded the ship was still trailing in the water
from the rail. The swimmer caught hold of it. Seeing
this, his companions in the tender turned afd bent to their
oars once: more, rowitig swiftly back to the lugger.

With monkeylike agility, Captain MeGar drew hittiself
hind over hand up the rope, stepped over the tail onto
the deck, and advanced toward the little group. ; :

“Good afternoon, gentlemen !”. he’ said, ee a cold
smile,

CHAPTER XVIII.

CAPTAIN: JACK M’GAR.

Brook surveyed him sourly.

“What do you want?” he demanded eurtly. ;

The visitor drew back, and the smile was replaced. by
a look of pained disapproval.

“Hardly a cordial greeting,’ he said, his eyes stetn,
“to be accorded by a helpless party to their rescuer, I”
am surprised at such a show of discourtesy. ao suf
prised |”

“Well, you’re not half as surprised as we ate,” re-
tutned the engineer, “to heat you call yourself our
‘rescier.’ Since when has it been customary to signalize
a rescue by trying to blow a ship out of the water

The captain shrugged his shoulders.

“My dear fellow,” he said, “there are some people in
this world who have to have the best thing for their
welfare literally shot into their heads: before they will
appreciate it. Could you go on sailing over the seas the
way you were? Of course, you couldn’t! When we
came along and you wouldn’t stop~what was there to do?
You had to be shown that it was the best thing for you
to heave to and accept our willing assistance. We took
the only niéans at hand to show you, that’s all.” :

“You seem to ufiderstand a great deal about our-
plight,” remarked Vaine. “How did you mer we were:
in tieed of any help, might I ask" 2

“Rockets,” said the captain, “are sigabli of distress.

You called to us a short while ago for aid, did yoru ‘ xe
- not?”

Brood surveyed him sourly,
“Well, we’ve changed our mind,” he said.

“We thank
you for the trouble you’ve been put to, but~-we won’t need |
your assistance.”

Captain McGar looked around, the cofners of his thouth ¢
twitehing. Watelinng him, the others saw a man we:

 
ae as 3 NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY,

e
medium stature, black-haired and olive-skinned, with a
dapper mustache curling upward at the ends.

A really handsome rogue he was—despite a scar that
ran from eye to chin along one smooth-shaven cheek.

“You don’t look independent of help,” he said, sur-
veying thé dismantled mast, the torn-down frame of the
cabin, and the three-quarters completed raft on the after
deck. “Let me offer you a better means of leaving than
that frail raft. I can give you safe passage on board my
own vessel——”

The newspaper man laughed aloud.

“Come, come,” he said. “We know just about what you
mean by safe passage—Captain McGar!”

The adventurer scrutinized him.

“Have I ever had the pleasure——” he began, in a
doubtful tone.

“No, captain,” Vaine explained, “you’ve never met me
anywhere. Nor I you—in the flesh. But you must be
aware that sufficient of your life has been immortalized
in print to make something of a prominent “figure of you
in your -particular line. It happens that I scratch paper
for a living—newspaper work, you know. And: between
you and the half-tone lineness of the greatest rascal un-
hanged, I see the most striking resemblance imaginable !”

The captain looked at him.- Slowly he smiled, with a
baring of his teeth this time that was not pleasant to see.

“You flatter me,” he said, and bowed.

“Not at all!” the reporter coolly assured him, “For
that reason, you see,) we’d much rather take chances where
we are, than accept your hospitality. To slip off a raft
and drown is better, to my mind, than to saunter, blindfold
and bound, from the end of a plank. You catch my idea
of the entertainment I expect you would supply for our
benefit if we became your guests?”

-~McGar’s face fell.

“Really, you do me an injustice,” he protested, sincerity
ringing in his voice. “It must be a very yellow paper
» you are connected with. _What you have read of me
has been grossly exaggerated, I beg you to believe, if
you think Pan capable of anything such as you suggest.
Do you think this is the seventeenth century ? That I am
"a pirate? Besides, what reason could I have for doing
away with you?

“I may have lived something of a hard life” he went
on, after a pause; “but, then, that has: been the fault-of
circumstances. I am not exactly a murderer——”

Brood stood face to face with him.

“What else do, you call yourself,” he said, in a low.
tone, “to abandon this ship. with a girl on board, who
was left aloné to face death from starvation or drown-
ing?”

Captain ‘McGar stared at him.

_ “Eh?” he cried. “You—is that woman alive?”

“No thanks ‘to you that she is,” growled Brood savagely.

McGar seemed scarcely to hear him.

“T thought that she killed herself,” he muttered. “I
fieand the shot. It came from the direction of her cabin
where——”

_ “It was because you believed she had carried out her
threat to take her life if you touched her that you left
her behind?” asked Vaine.

Captain McGar came to himself with a start. He looked
around at the others, trying to read in their faces to

pi what extent he had committed himself.

“Cards are on the table now!” said Brood shortly, “We

know who yor are. That this is not the first time you
have stood on this deck. That it was you—you and your
crew across there—who left this vessel a derelict as s
found her!”

The captain dropped his former mahner for one more
businesslike.

“Then we how where we are!” he snapped. “Perhaps
I can ask a question that’s been puzzling me ever since
we sighted you. How do you come to be on board?”

Brood took it upon himself to explain.

McGar chuckled. i

“And you found Devine in the cabin and buried him,
eh?—with a prayer!” he cried. “By the Lord Harry, I'll
bet that didn’t help to sidetrack him from where he was
bound !”

“Ah—was there anything else you—er—cafhe upon?”
he asked sharply.

“You mean what’s in the hold?”

The captain nodded.

“What is there?” he asked.

“Something like haff a billion in gold and silver ae my
gems!”

McGar’s eyes half closed. ;

“Ah, yes!” he said. “Ah, yes—you have discovered it.
Of course—naturally you would. And—what is your
idea of sharing in it? It isn’t to be supposed that you

haven’t already formed an idea_on that score.”
Brood started tospeak, but Vaine checked him.
REED 9: he said, “you tell us your idea, captain?”

CHAPTER XIX.

AN ULTIMATUM,

Smiling, Captain Jack McGar leaned one elbow on the |

rail, wrung the water out of his dripping sleeve, and looked _
at them with half-closed eyes. tele

“The treasure below practically amounts to the sum
you’ve mentioned—very near it, anyway,” he said, after a
moment. “It is a very large amount; very large, indeed.
Therefore, I am disposed to be generous.” AS

His teeth showed below the jet- -black mustache as. he ;

‘smiled.

“T will take you aboard the lugger, bring you to what-
ever port we make first in safety, and give you an equal
share in the cargo with my friends over there, providing —
you relinquish any other claim on the stuff now and fore
all time.” f

“What share has your crew?” asked Vaine. .

“One-half the total amount, divided between them—a if
dozen’men.” . a

“What guaranty can you give us that you'll’ oes as you
say—put us into port unharmed ?”

“My word!” replied MeGar, and his jaws met with a
snap. “I tell you, whatever you’ve heard or read of me is
exaggerated—the way such things always are. Give a
dog a bad name, and so forth. That’s the case with me.
What I say goes—straight as a string!” : :

The reporter looked around at his cocaine’ ©
Hawkins and the dumb stoker were gazing with longing ©
eyes at the lugger across the water. Hoxley, too, stared’
at the other ship; in his eyes a desperate desire to get
aboard any guided craft that meant home. Eee alone
was watching the captain. ie Taek

“Is that all there is to your proposition ?” aint Vaine.

“On my honor—that’s all,” said he. “Just agree to

 

 
 

NEW TIP

Share and share alike in the crew’s fifty per cent of the
spoils, come across to my ship, and go back to civiliza-
tion richer than mud—what do you say to it?”

“And the girl?” asked Brood,

McGar grinned and twirled his mustache.
“I thought you’d understand that,” he said.
belongs to me!”

“Captain,” said Vaine, “I don’t understand this whole
business. You leave this ship, with its priceless contents,
_ to drift at random over the sea. Then, when you find it
again, still afloat, still with its cargo intact, but with
Strangérs aboard, you offer to make those strangers a
present of a part of what would have been all yours if
you hadn’t abandoned it. Tell us why you deserted in
the first place?”

“I wanted to stay,’ answered McGar. “But the crew
—well, you know about what they’d do with anything
going on aboard such as sent ’em away!”

The reporter leaned forward.

“But what was it?”

-“Why”—the captain stared at him—“you know! Oh,
don’t try to pretend you haven’t seen that, as well as the
rest! .You understand what I mean, all right enough.”

“I give you my word,” replied Vaine earnestly, “that
we know nothing of what you mean. It’s been a mys-
tery to us all along.”
~ McGar shook his head, and laughed again.

“Don’t joke me!” he replied. “You're. perfectly , well
- aware of it, just as I am.”

“You mean to tell me,” the reporter said slowly, “there’s

something aboard-this vessel that drove a dozen hardened
men off, leaving behind a fortune that would set all of
_ them up for life?”

“Well,” answered the other, “not exactly that. We

didn’t desert with the expectation of never coming back,
you know. The idea was this: The crew wouldn’t hear
of anything but getting off the ship in the devil’s own
time. To satisfy ’em, I had to give in and go along.
“We were within ten miles of the coast at the time.
All hands of us piled into the boat, without burdening
ourselves with any food for a short pull to land, and cut
adrift from the ship. She was stanch, sound as a bell, and
there wasn’t one chance in ten million of her sinking.

“All sail was set when we left. That was a good
thing. The craft would go kiting round the waters un-
der her own canvas, preventing anybody from boarding
~her—so we thought—and thus the secret of her cargo
- wouldn’t be discovered,

“Tn the meantime,/our plan was to rig out another
vessel, armed with a cdnnon, and pursue the treasure ship.
Knowing what was on board in the line of valuables,
when we sighted the derelict we'd trail her till she poked
her nose into shallow water, and then—bang!
_ “Train the cannon at her and sink her. With the wreck,
the terror of the. crew would be sent to the bottom, ‘dead
‘as water could make it. Then it would be a simple matter
‘to mark the spot of the sinking, get out the diving ap-
Paratus we've got over there, and bring up the yellow
“a bars, the little stones, and all—right as ever. Do you
ee?”

Brood ‘asked the séestien that had: been roe for

‘ome moments on his lips :
_ “Where. did you get hold of this treasure, anyhow?”

lh, back of the Andes, in Peru,” answered the cap-

quite frankly. “It was a storehouse of the old Incas.

“The girl

!

‘McGar went on.

‘TOP WEEKLY.

A peon gave me the secret... I saw him drinking himself
silly in a grogshop in Lima, wondered where he got the
coin, and worked a-bluff on him to find out.

“Pretended I was an officer of the law, you know, and
accused him of theft. In trying to prove his innocence, he
told me he’d been paid the money he was throwing away
by somebody he’d divulged a great piece of information
to. The rest -was easy.

“With the facts and figures locked up in my head, I set
out at once, and beat the other fellow to it. The fool
didn’t know any better than to pay the slave his price
before he got the goods into his hands. The lesson will
cost him something, eh?”

The engineer reddened, but said nothing.

“But you wanted to know where you came in on this,”
“You've taken possession of this vessel
Therefore, you’re entitled to some con-
I’m willing
Now, what

since we left her.
sideration—a per cent of salvage, as it were.
to give it to you. Hence my proposition.
do you say to it?”

Vaine was rubbing his knuckles. ‘

“Where do we come in if we refuse your terms?” he
inquired.

“T’m sure,” said the captain, “I haven’t an idea. This
ship is going to the bottom just as soon as I give the
word, and as fast as my gunner can pump the balls’ into
her. Unless you come over to the lugger——” - He
paused significantly. }

“And yet,” said Brood,
derer !”

“I’m offering you a chance,” he explained. “Of course,
if you’re obstinate——” .Again he paused and shrugged
his shoulders expressively.

Vaine faced the others.

“Well,” he asked, “what do you say?”

“Accept!” cried Hawkins eagerly. “It’s the only thing
we can do!”

“We must take his offer!” added the professor.

“He can’t have the girl!” cried Brood. “You know
what her life would be in his hands. If it were a ques-
tion of giving up the treasure alone, it would be different.
But he won’t get Janet—that’s all!”

“And how, my friend,” asked McGar softly,
think you will prevent that?”

“We've got her on board!” said the engineer.
her own protection, and ours. Until we give her up you
can’t sink the ship. If you did, you'd lose her!”

“You don’t understand,” the captain told him. “Re-
member, I thought I had lost her. I believed her dead. I
survived that blow, and—to tell you the truth—I’m not so
mad to have her nowjas I once was. I believe I could get
along without her if—well, if she were really not alive,
you understand. I want her now just to break her proud
spirit; to show her that what I go after I pretty gen-

7?

erally get!

“you say you’re not a mur-

“do you

said Vaine suddenly, “I have you covered
with a pistol in my coat pocket. What would be the con-
sequences if I should shoot you where you stand? You
are absolutely at our mercy on board this ship. Don’t at-
tempt to draw, please!”

McGar laughed. |

“T have no intention of ‘drawing,’ as you put it,” he
said. “I am unarmed. You ask what would happen if
you shot me? There is a man on that lugger who. is
watching me like a lynx. The instant I am molested in

“Captain,”

 

“She’s \
26 : NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

the least,
then start firing on this vessel at once. Oh, I looked
out for that! As long as I am on this deck I am safe.
The minute- you harm me, you sign your own death war-
rant.”

He put a whistle to his lips and blew a sharp blast.

At once the tender left the lugger, the two men who
had previously manipulated the oars rowing it swiftly
toward the ship.

“You can suit yourselves about agreeing to my terms,”
said the captain, stepping to the rail. “It’s all one to me.
But I should think it would be a matter of some little
importance to you, and it shouldn’t take long to make up
your minds.”

He looked at the sky, then at the boat which had stopped
within a hundred yards of the ‘ship.

“Those silly children!” he laughed, shaking his head.
“They're afraid even to approach the vessel. It means a
ducking again for me. Well, if you want life, and a
passage home, and a share in a treasure that will make
princes of you all, hoist a square of something white
as a signal that you wish to be ferried over to the lugger—
with the girl. But, one way or the other, I begin firing
at sunset, so you’ve got just about one hour to decide.”
~ He gave them a cheery smile, and, turning, “Hell-bent”
Captain Jack dove off the rail into the sea.

TO BE CONTINUED,

THE. MISER’S MONEY.
By ALBERT MORTON.
Ruff, Willie’s grandfather, was a ‘miser.

Old “Jimmie”
He never spent a cent for anything he could possibly
“get along without, and looked upon a generous, benevolent
brother man as unworthy a place in his affections. He
preferred to save his money, and enjoy its company as

‘long as possible. He never patronized a bank, remarking
that he had no use for banks, and preferred to care for his
own funds,

For years after his wife died, he lived alone:in his
old log cabin, and did not even care to receive visits from
his friends for fear they might discover some of his
treasures. He did not accumulate a large fortune, but
his possessions were found to have been greater than was
at first supposed.

He had one son, William; who lived a short distance
from his father’s cabin, although the son seldom visited
him, owing to the old man’s peculiarities.

One day the son ventured to call at the cabin, where he
found his father very ill, and suffering for the comforts
of life. A physician was immediately stmmoned, but
it was soon ascertained that the old miser’s life was fast
ebbing away.

_ A short time before his death, he took from underneath
his pillow a package of bills amounting to about five hun-
dred dollars and handed them to his son, but was unable
to speak. A few moments later, just as he was about
to die, the miser’ suddenly raised himself up in bed, and,
pointing toward an old clock, made an inarticulate sound,
and fell back upon the pillow, dead.

Ray At the time, this was thought to be simply an extraor-
ae dinary death struggle.

~The’ old cabin passed into the ‘hands of the son, but
‘was’ never ne after’ the ois man’s death until the

he has orders -to call to the gunner, who will .

son was forced to inhabit the place with his family, owing |
to his extreme poverty.

Willie, one of his little boys, six years old, was cae
ing for his marbles one day, having forgotten where he
put them the day before.
hand through a hole in where his f

the board back of

grandfather’s clock used to stand, and felt a bag filled — 3

with something. Running to his mother, he exclaimed:
“Oh, mamma, come quick, and see what I have found!”
The mother lost no time in making an investigation, —
when, to her surprise, she produced a bag containing six
hundred dollars in gold and silver.
The little boy was at once ‘sent to inform his’ aie
of the discovery. The father was cutting wood about half
a mile distant from the house, and when his little six-—
year-old approached the spot, he exclaimed: i
“Papa, stop cutting wood and come home; we have
found a lot of money—yellow and white.”
“What do you mean, Willie?” inquired the surprised
parent. '
“Come home and see,” proudly answered Willie, rine
ning back to the house as fast..as-he could go..
The ‘father lost: no time in following the fs and

when he entered his humble home and saw the. pile of |

shining: coin, great tears of joy ran down his cheeks, —

“And that is what poor father was trying to tell us
about when he. died,” said Mr. Ruff. “He suffered for
the comforts of life to save the money for us.”

“Well, William, it could not have been diseaoennee in
a better time,” replied the woman. “How grateful we
ales to be to the kind Providence who ‘has thus furnished
us the means of providing for our hungry little ones.” a te

“Yes, and we will thank God here and. oN teplied ;
the husband.

‘Then William Ruff and his abe dnoneed upon their
knees with their three childern about them, and devoutly

chines the remainder of life. The neighbors of: the
fortunate family rejoiced with them, and ere 8 one is sur

that the money will be well expended:

‘THE COLLECTING FAD.»

‘We are accustomed to hear of postage-stamp. collect n,
as also of coin and china collecting ; but we would hardly +
credit that there exist many persons with even more
traordinary fads. Among these are several collector
legal documents, such as writs, summonses, et ceter;
all cotintries, and of the earliest times, which assist t
students in reconstituting ancient forms of bale 98
cedure.
or Sanden ied wall papers, of all nations and all times;
lectors of colored posters, and handbills, and menus, vi
ing cards, and. see ae people collect, old violi

bid balls. ‘ei of various sorts are in great wie est
with certain collectors. To the above must be added the
legion of collectors of multifarious antiquaries, the col-
lectors of curious specimens of h aryware, of ele i

adathy, and those bookworms who hint up ofd at it
editions, as well as those who form collections”
of fossils and minerals, “and prehistoric” ‘Specimens

‘silex, ot irene of coins; ancient and modern.

 

In his search, Willie put his
Books for Trainets and Athletes.

So many inquiries reach us from week to week con-
cerning the various manuals on athletic development,
which we publish, that we have decided to keep a list of
them standing here. Any number can be had by mail by
remitting 10 cents, and 3 cents postage, for each copy, to
the publishers.
“Frank Merriwell’s Book of Physical Development.”
' “The Art of Boxing and Self-defense,” by Professor
Donovan.
“Physical Health Culture,” by Professor Fourmen.

Can’t Say Enough in Praise of “Tip Top.”
Dear Epitor: I have been a constant reader of TiP
Tor, and can never say enough in its praise.
I like it better than any weekly I have ever read.
_ As for my part, I would like Frank Merriwell, lupior,
series.
_ Chip is an old favorite of mine.
I will close, with three cheers for the Merriwells and
Street & Smith. CuHas. Tozer.
Clendon, Texas.

Wants Catalogue of Medal Books.

Dear Eprtor: I have been a reader of Trp Top for five
years, and find it an excellent weekly. I liked Owen Clancy
very much, but prefer to hear more of the Merriwells.

’ Please send me a catalogue which gives the titles of
the books in the Medal and New Medal Libraries. I re-
main, a true Tip Topper, NAAT.

Charleston, S. C.

Glad of the Change.

Dear Epiror: I have been a reader of Tip Top for a
number of years. I liked the Owen Clancy series, but
am glad to get back to where I can read about Frank
Merriwell and Owen Clancy in Tip Top. Yours truly,
Boyne City, Mich. Jay Erickson.

The Making of a Boy in “Tip Top.”

Drax Epitor: I want to congratulate you on publish-
ing one of the cleanest weeklies ever printed.

I have read Tir Tor for nearly two and a half years,
and must say that it is the cleanest, and most upright
weekly I have ever read.

Will you please tell me if they have ever tried to put
these stories into motion pictures? If they did they have
hever come here. ;

here is the making of a boy in Te Top if the boys only
1ew it. Many parents will not let their children read

this weekly because it is cheap, and has a paper cover, but

if these parents would read it, I think they would let

their children read .it, and also read it themselves. An

interested reader, LAMAR CHRIST.
Mahanoy City, Pa

Lfkes Chip Best.

Dear Epnitor: Have been a constant reader oF Tip Top

for about two years, and I don’t think its equal can be

found. I like Chip Merriwell best of all. I wish you’

would send me a set of your post cards. I would appre- —

ciate them very much. A. G. Ketty.
227 Beatty Avenue, Danville, Ky.

We have mailed you the cards,

Took First in Pole Vault.

Dear Enitor: I have been a reader of Tip Top for
about seven years, and I consider it the best weekly pub-
lished. I like Frank Merriwell, senior, best, with Dick
a close second. I like athletic stories best.

We have a track meet here every year between three
different high schools. This league is called the “Kansas-
Colorado School League.” I took part in the meet. this
year, and took first in the pole vault. I also was on the
first basket-ball team until I sprained my back. In basket
ball we were never beaten.

Hoping this escapes the wastepaper basket, I remain,

Holly, Col. HERBERT NEWBANK.

Thinks Clancy Stories Were Best.

Dear Epritor: I have read Tip Top for the last four
years, and find it a very good paper. Your series of Owen
Clancy stories were excellent. Am glad to hear from
Frank Merriwell again. Yours truly, SHELDON Brown.

Chilton, Wis.

Best Weekly Published.”

Dear Epitor: I have read Tip Top for three years, and
I think it the best weekly ever published. While looking
over the Applause Column of No. 88, I saw something
about a set of Merriwell post cards. If you have any
left please send me a set. Hoping to see my letter in
Tip Tor, I remain, Sootvic SHAHBAZIAN.

465 Central Avenue, West Hoboken, N. J.

We have mailed you the cards.

Advises Friends to Read “Tip Top.”

Dear Epiror: I have never written to the Applause
Column before, and I wish to do so now. I have read the
New Tie Top WEEKLY for about two years, and also the
stories of Frank Merriwell in the New Medal Library. I

 
a8 Sas” NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

% ai
it Ry -
* i %

hich the ‘weekly is the most up-to-date, high-class Ameri-
can weekly, ‘published, and advise every boy to read it.

I am very ‘glad to see Frank Merriwell, junior, back in
the weekly again, for | always did like stories about him
better. than the Clancy series, All the boys are asking for
post tards. I don’t know what they are, but I would

be ‘Pleased if you would send me a set, if you have any
to spare.

Closing with best regards and three cheers for all con-
nested with Tip Top, I remain, yours truly,
aye FRANK PretscH, JUNIOR,

 pxa700 Indiana Avenue, Chicago, III.
~~ P. S—I am inclosing five cents in stamps for “Owen
© Clancy’ Clean-up,” No, 94, which I didn’t receive. Hope

mae eae send it soon. Pook x -

“We have mailed you the cards and Tip Top No. 94.

‘e,
e

at ‘Think you will like the story. Thank you for your ‘iil

te eS
Be Mp Growing Better Every Week.
Dear Epitor: I saw in a recent number of Tip Tor a
* hoy asked for a set of Tip Top post cards. As I am a
“er reader I wish you would send me a set.
Hoping this does not reach the wastebasket, I remain,
" yours truly, Cuas. RALsTIN.
Indianapolis, Ind. ,

P. S—I think Trp Top is growing better every week.
’ C. W. R.

We have mailed you the cards.

The Use of Dnomb-bells.
Dear Epitor: I am fifteen years old. What size and
_ weight should dumb-bells be for me? Are they good prac-
tice for a boy? How should they practice, and how
much each day? I weigh about 125 pounds. Do you
advise me to use dumb-bells?
Hoping to hear from you soon, I remain, yours truly,
Woonsocket, S. D. Eart, STEGEBERG.
Use the lightest wooden dumb-bells you can get. Use
them night and morning. Stop when you feel real fatigue and
any numbness in your arms. You can increase the weight
of the dumb-bells later, but I do not care for heavy dumb-
bells, for you can easily get strained with them. The use
of dumb-bells cannot fail to do you good.

Some Questions About Old Friends,
Dear Epiror: As I have been taking Tip Tor for some
_ time, I thought perhaps you would like to hear from me.
Are you going to continue writing about Chip? I hope
so, because he is the one that has held me a reader so
long.

;Where is Villum and Hop Wah, also Mose, the colored
cook? Please have them back again. Give Mr. Standish
my regards,

I will close with three cheers for the best weekly pub-
lished. A Loyar Tie Topper.

Yes, you will hear lots more about Chip, and no doubt

_ Mr. Standish will again introduce the old friends you
- speak of.

Cotrect Measurements,

_ Dear Epitor: I have read Tir Top for five years, and
I think it the greatest weekly subligher in te United
States. .

Wetle you be kind enough to tell me what t my bt a oe

‘measurements should be? I am § feet 7 inches tall, and

I am 14 years old. Please tell me what part of track ath-
letics I am fit for. If you have any more Tre Top post
cards, I wish you would please mail me a set. Hoping
that -you will publish more about the Merriwells on the
baseball field, I remain, a constant reader,

Columbia City, Ind, FRAMEN Caupiine

Your measurements should be: Weight, 137 pounds;
neck, 13.9 inches; chest, contracted, 34 inches; chest, ex-
panded, 37.2 inches; waist, 29.3 inches; forearms, 10,5.
inches; upper arms, down, 10.6 inches; upper arms, up,
12 inches; thighs, 20.1 inches; calves, 13.7 inches.

Set Does Not Contain Elsie and Inza.
Dear Eprror: I have been a reader of Trp Top, and
like it very much.
Please send me a set of your post cards, including ise
and Elsie, and oblige, HARLEY Ferree.
Ellendale, N. D.

£

: Likes it iiss,
Dear Epiror: I have been a reader of Tip Tor a ‘long
time; a subscriber for three years, and like it fine.
Salem, Neb. Orrey Lezow.

Butt L. Standish. iY
ProFEssor FourmeN: I have read the New Tip Top —
WEEKLY for a long time, and I find it the best weekly ever
published. I would like to read more of Frank, junior, at
Fardale. Please write me. the age and describe appear-
anceéyof Burt L. Standish. I remain, yours truly,
MeDonald, Pa. Ase SILVERMAN. -

Mr, Standish is forty-five years old. Though his hair i is
beginning to silver, his eye is as bright and his laugh as.
jolly as a boy’s. He is a big man, standing over six Eat
and he has an extra fine build. ;

The Metriwells Put Punch into “Tip Top.”

Dear Epiror:. Having followed the Merriwells since
Frank Merriwell, senior, first appeared at Fardale, I more
than welcome their return to the pages of Tir Tor. Th
Clancy stories were interesting, but without the “Merrys”
they seemed to lack the familiar “punch” that is character
istic of. Trp Top.

How about Bart and Elsie and their ‘daughter? \
insight into Frank, junior’s, home life with Frank, senio:
and Inza, also bringing in Bart and Elsie and their daugh
ter, would seem like old times. There are great possibilities
there for an interesting series. A Trp oe

Middletown, Ohio, .

Some Suggestions.
DEAR Mr. STANDISH: Being an ardent lover of the

sider, ease the following suggestions which, to “my.
mind, would improve the weekly: may
First: Have Frank, junior, and all of ae old idesidd
that accompanied him on that baseball tour in the West
meet at Frank, senior’s, home in Bloomfield, Then, whil
the whole bunch is there, have Dick and Brad show. up.
Second: Let Frank, junior, lose in a foot race after
exciting finish, I really think if he should lose once in,

_ while it would improve the interest,

Third: Why not run a department in the back

 
NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

weekly for questions propounded by readers and answered
by Chip? Questions concerning athletics. How about it?
Yours respectfully, A Lova. Tre Torrer.
Thanks for your suggestions, How about Professor
Fourmen? %
Kind Words,
_ Dear Eprtor: I have been a constant reader of Tip
Tor, and I have read every one of your books. I think
you have done a great many Tip Toppers a great favor in
continuing to write books about Frank, junior, going
through Fardale.

_ I saw a great many readers ask for Tir Top post cards
through the Applause Column, and I would be much
- obliged if you sent me a set. I remain, yours truly,

I, Katzman.

415 Sumner Street, New Bedford, Mass.

P. S—I forgot to say something which I meant to say.
“Three times three” for the editor of the weekly which

a TD

shall never be outmatched in America. Lt

Thank you for your letter. We have mailed you the
mi cards. . “he
No Name Can Take the Place of Mettiwell.

Dear Epitor: It has been several years since my name
appeared in the Applause Column of Tip Top, and as I have
not missed a number since Tip Top first started, thought

I would write a few lines to say how glad I am to learn
“Merriwell” has not been dropped from the pages of this,
best of all weeklies. I sincerely hope one or the other
Merriwells will be the hero in every future number of
Tw Top. There is no other name can take the place of
the name Merriwell.

- Would like very much to receive a set of the post cards,
if you will be so kind, Thanking you for the pleasure
of writing this letter. I remain always a Tip Top reader.

‘ours truly, _E. J. Marreson.

Allensworth, Cal.

‘Mighty glad to hear from you again. Do not wait so

_ long next time. We have mailed you the cards.

“Tip Top” O. K.

ale Batra: I have been a reader of Tip Tor for about

cat I do not subscribe for it, read it every wat
1630 Tonia Street, Jacksonville, Fla. T. L. Karricu.
oy ia let us hear more of Dick and June.
rey ac te

" Clancy Stories All Rrght—but.

Dear Epitor: I have been reading the Tir Top stories
some time, and like them very much, he Clancy
Yours

T. Monrog Shite

“Congratulations in Order,

I think congratulations are now in or-

Dei Eprror :
r reinstating the grand old Merriwells in the pages
I am sure that nears all the readers are

Top at the head of mick weeklies. |
have about one hundred and fifty Tir Tors on file.

I would be glad to exchange for any numbers of New
Tie Tors between Nos. 71 and 82.

I agree with Philip Skelton that the looks of Tip Tor
would be improved by issuing it in covers like those from
Nos. 738 to 808.

Hoping to see this letter appear in Tip Top in due time,
[ remain, a loyal Tip Topper, Luster KLEINKNIGHT.

Ossian, Ind,

Old Friends.

Dear Epitor: I am very well pleased with Tip Top, and
have read it for some time, and I like the Clancy series
very well. Let us hear some of Frank, senior, and Dick’s
old friends. GB

Ebensburg, Pa. i :

Well! Read This,

Dear Eprror: I have been a constant reader of Tie
Tor for the last year, and I like the stories very much. ©
1 am sorry you have left off writing the Clancy ee
for I liked them better than the Merriwell. stories. Fe

I notice in the letters to the Applause Column requests — i
for a set of post cards. Would you please send me a
set?

What should the measurements be for a boy of thirteen?

Hoping to see my letter published, I close, with sincere ~~
thanks. Reep S. BARTLETT.

Lancaster, Mass.

We have mailed you the cards, Send me your height
and I will give your proper measurements.

4

Has Read “Tip Top” Six Years.

Dear Epiror: Please send me a set/of the post cards. I
have been a constant reader of Tip Tor for six years, and
like it very much. Yours truly, A. F. Linscort.

7 Lyman Street, Beverly, Mass.

We have mailed you the cards.

Glad to See Chip Back.

Dear Epiror: I have been a constant reader of Tip Top.
I like the Clancy series, but am double glad to see chip
of the old block back again. ,
Please send me a set of cards,
stanch reader,
Brooklyn, N. Y,
We have mailed you the cards.

if you ‘have any. A
. I. Krarp.

Chip Come into His Own Again.
Dear Eprtor: I have had the pleasure of reading Tre
Tor for the last four years. I like the Owen Clancy sto-
ries, but I am glad Chip has come into his own again.

Hoping, as all readers seem to hope, that this letter will

escape the wastebasket, I remain, yours truly,
Fall River, Mass. A Constant Reaper.

Glad I Am Back,

Proressor FourMEN: [I have not seen any letter in from
this part of the world before, so I thought I would write. —
Am more than glad to hear that you are back to the columns
of Tie Top again. Owen Clancy is fine, but I don’t think
anything you ever print will equal the Merriwells, I am
sure old readers that have been following Frank and Dick >
from the start at Fardale feel more than sorry to see other
stories in Tir Tor. I am sending my measurements, and
would like to know my weak points. ve

Weight, 135; age, 17 ee 5. feet 6 Inches; ore As f

 
 

“%

NEW TYP TOP. WEEKLY:

chest, 33; waist, 2814; thigh, 19. I remain a
loyal Tip Topper. Wishing you all long life, I remain,
yours truly, W.: PENVELL.
St. Johns, N. F.
Your measurements are good if you cart expand your
chest from 33 inches to 36 inches.

forearm, 9%;

Has Read “Tip Top” for Ten Years.

Dear Epitor: I have been a reader of Tip Top for about
ten years, and I think there is no book like it.

I would like to hear more about Dick, June, Frank, and
Brad.

Hoping to hear from you soon, and wishing you much
success, I remain, yours truly, Harry TROUTVETTER.

Warsaw, II.

From a New Friend. |
I became one of your many readers this
last week, and like the Tip Top fine. I attend the Leicester
Academy, second year. I have the first twenty of the
Frank Merriwell, junior, series already, and as many others
are writing for a set of your post cards, I, too, would
like a set. Just tell everybody for me that Tip Top is
just fine. Yours truly, Harotp Ramsey.

Leicester, Mass.

Welcome to the fold, Harold.

Dear Eprtor:

Your Question Now Answeted,

Proressor Fourmen: I have been a reader of Trp Top
for some years, and I take the liberty to let you know I
am alive. Will we hear of Dick and June again, and his
old Fardale chums? I like the Frank Merriwell, junior’s,
but I think the old Fardale stories the best of all. I re-
main, Ropert CLARKE.

1936 N. Patton Street, Philadelphia.

‘Takes Fifty Needles from Girl's Body.

While twenty noted physicians looked on, Doctor Harry
H. Germain, of Boston, Mass., removed fifty needles from
the body of Miss Marion Gibbs, who lives in a Boston
suburb.

Miss Gibbs told the physicians she had swallowed the
needles, which were from one to three inches in length,
so that she would suffer. Relatives thought until an X-ray
examination was made that she had indigestion, and she
was treated for that ailment by several physicians.

Doctor Germain made an incision from the throat to
the abdomen, and found needles every few inches. Al-
though some of the needles were rusted, there was no
evidence of blood poisoning. Miss Gibbs is twenty years
old and a member of a wealthy family.)

Fifteen Days in a Mexican Jail,

After living ten years in Mexico, the last ten days of
which were spent in jail—part of the time in a_ wet,
slimy, underground cell, three feet square, Doctor Herbert
F. Saunders arrived at Galveston, Texas, bringing with
him his wife and three children.

Repeatedly told that he would be shot soon, sleeping
in an upright position, with his feet constantly on the
_ wet floor, and suffering almost every imaginable mental

torture and physical discomfort, Doctor Saunders lived
through fifteen days of solid misery before he was finally
released. He still shows signs of the misery and torture
he endured.

During a part of the time Doctor Saunders was con-
fined in a cell next to that occupied by John R. Silliman,
the American vice consul at Saltillo. Soon after Doctor
Saunders was released, Consul Silliman also was allowed
to leave. He went to Mexico City, and from there
journeyed to Vera Cruz.

“We had no real trouble with the Mexicans,” said
Doctor Saunders, “until the news of the American .occu-
pation of Vera Cruz was received, Even before we had
finished packing, after hearing of the Vera Cruz battle,
I was called outside and told to accompany a Mexican
detective. Another American was picked up soon after-
ward. Our carriage was stoned and we were cursed ang
threatened by the mobs on the streets.

“At thé jail I was searched, and my money, watch,
and hat were taken from me. I was then struck several
times and literally thrown down two flights of stone
steps and locked up in a dirty little cell, three feet square.
The floor was wet and covered with filth and I,had no
bed clothing whatever. However, it would have been
impossible for me to lie down in the cell, anyway.

“T was told that I would be shot at daybreak, and
when I asked if I might communicate with my wife, IT
was told that they would bring her to the execution, if
she cared to come, but that I could not speak to her.

“I was left alone.in the cell, which had no ventilation —
or light for twenty-four hours,
At the end of that time they brought me. some foul-_
smelling soup and a pan.of dirty water. Feeling sure I
was to be shot, I would not eat or drink On the
third day Mrs. McMillan, wife of the Britsh consul, sent /
me a mattress, a pillow, and some food. The mattress —

_kept my feet from the wet floor, while with the pillow I aA
was able to sleep a little, crouched down in a narrow

cell. After that Mrs. McMillan sent food every day.
“T finally recognized the voice of Mr. Silliman among
the other prisoners, but I could not talk with him, as the
Mexicans drowned our voices with curses. ‘
“Later all the Americans were taken out and put in
better quarters in another part of the same prison. After

fifteen days the Mexican officials came to me, and after ~

I had signed a paper, stating that I had been well treated
while in prison and that I Lad been imprisoned only to
save me from the fury of the Mexican mobs, I was
released.

“After getting Bissisokc, I went from Saltiflo £6:
Mexico City, and twice was stopped and searched for
valuables.. My children were robbed of one hundred Besos.
they had saved.” :

Before going to Mexico, Doctor Saunders was a sur. é
geon in the United States army. :

Wartime Conductor Dead; Served Fifty-four Years,
William Gaston Smith, veteran railway conductor of

fifty-four years’ continuous service ‘with the Southern
Railway Company, and a trainman during the Civil War,
is dead at Anderson, S. C., after an illness of four —
months. “Captain Billy,” as he was called by his thou-
sands of friends in this section of the country, was
seventy-five years old. He was retired on full pay be
the railway company on January I, 1912.

Captain Smith had many thrilling experiences as- -con-
ductor during the Civil War. After Lee’s surrender, he
hauled two-thirds of the Confederate forces under Lee |
and Johnson. When Richmond was evacuated, the

 

without food or drink. —
.

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. . 7 31

treasury and records of the Confederacy were shipped
from Richmond to Winnsboro, S. C., and thence were
carted to Alston. At this point Captain Smith with one
other railway employee kept guard over the records and
valuables, which were packed in ammunition boxes,
marked “ammunition” and consigned to General Kirby
Smith.

“Captain Billy” and his companion delivered the precious
property to Abbeville, S. C., but it never reached Wash-
ington, Ga., its destination, for the train was held up and
raided in the darkness.

U.S. Troops Stay in Coal Fields.

President Wilson is expected to appoint a commission
of high-class men to deal with the Colorado strike situa-
tion. The Senate has been considering ordering a rigid
investigation of the strike, more thorough than that re-
cently conducted by the Congressional committee, which
accomplished nothing.

‘Senators Kern, Martine, and Kenyon, to whom the
wives of miners told their story last week, have been
so impressed with the horrors disclosed that they be-
-. fieve the situation ought to be thoroughly inquired into
' by men of such standing that their findings must be ac-
' cepted by both sides.

 ” President Wilson told the Calarado men and women
who called of him that no decision had been reached to
recall the United States troops from the strike region.

His Machine Pitches Baseballs Over Plate.

A device for pitching a baseball to a batter, built into
a system of planes whereby the batted ball, no matter
where it is slammed, will be returned automatically to the
hurling device, has been invented and set up in Prince-
‘ton, N. J., by Alexander MacMillan, son of Professor
Charles MacMillan, of the Princeton University faculty.
The machine delivers to the batter any number of
‘balls as fast as one in, every eight seconds, if the batter
‘wants them. Every one passes directly over the plate,
and the height and speed at which they can be thrown
is regulated by a lever. ,
It is composed of a throwing arm of steel riveted in
a frame, with fingers attached to one end and a strong
spring at the other.. When the balls drop from a chute
immediately above a trigger, it releases the catch and the
spring forces the arm to catch the ball and hurl it across
the plate.
A Generous Apple Tree.

An apple tree belonging to S. W. Alexander, of a
ngeles County, California, is exciting considerable in-
rest because it bore two crops in one season, and. the
second crop was of different variety than the first. The
apples of the first crop were light in color and of medium
ze, while the second edition. were dark reddish in color
and in no way resembling the earlier crop.

Chained Women'in Battle With Police,

The militant suffragettes in England are at it again. ©

They ‘stormed Buckingham Palace recently in an attempt
‘to see the king, they invaded the national gallery and
‘Royal Academy of Arts and destroyed six national
art treastrres, they secreted themselves in a’ theater, and
ig’the. mainte, which was attended by ~—s apne

speech of a militant, and they chained themselves together
and paraded through to Victoria Park.

The streets were filled with people when the chain
parade started.

Sylvia Pankhurst and fifteen of her ardent supporters
were fastened together with iron links, and half a hun-
dred women, armed with staves, formed a bodyguard
about the manacled sixteen. The police allowed the
women to proceed down the street, although they were
frequently called on to protect some straggling suffragette.

However, at the park gates, the “chain gang” marched
through; ahead of the guard, and the rest of the women
suddenly found themselves facing iron gates. The police
quickly broke the chains which bound the sixteen women,
arrested Sylvia Pankhurst, and released the others. A
hand-to-hand conflict started between supporters of the
women and the antisuffragists on the outside of the gates,
and it was some time before the police quelled it,

Prior to the trouble at the park, a small band of
women attempted.to gain access to Buckingham Palace,
where the king was. A sharp battle, in which clubs were
used by both police and women, resulted in the arrest of
more. than thirty suffragettes.

While the king and queen were at a matinée at his
majesty’s theater, a woman rose in the stalls and began
to address the king.

“You Russian czar!” she shrieked.

The attendants rushed in and tried to get her out,
but found she was chained to a seat. They had to file
through a link before they could remove her. While
this was going on, other women, in different parts of the
theater, began shouting at the king. Eventually all the
disturbers were thrown out.

There was a riot in the Bow Street police court when
some suffragettes were on trial. At a given signal the
magistrate was pelted with sacks of flour and other mis-
siles, .One woman took off her shoe and threw it at
the judge.

Matthewson’s Big Pay.

Christy Mathewson, the great pitcher of the New York
Giants, gets more money per hour than any other salaried
man. in the world. Tris Speaker, of the Boston Ameri-

ns, draws more money in a year than Matty, yet he gets
less than one-third as much per working hour.

President Woodrow Wilson, with his salary of $75,000
per year, gets less than one-sixth as much per working
hour as Mathewson, and Elbert H. Gary, of the United
States Steel Corporation, whose yearly salary is said to
be $100,000,- gets less than one-fourth of Matty’s hourly
pay.

The veteran pitcher is paid $15,000 per year, but at
the most he works is only forty ball games of two hours
each each season.
or a little more than $3 per minute. Walter Johnson, of
the Washington team, gets $156.25 per hour; Speaker,
$60; Woodrow Wilson, $30; Elbert H. Gary, $40, and
W. J. Bryan, $3.

Pugilist Makes Risky Dives. .

Kid Williams, the Baltimore, Md., bantamweight, who
meets Johnny Coulon for the championship this month,
has been ordered by his manager

ming. Sam Harris, who handles Williams’ affairs, dis-

 

This makes his wage per hour $187.50, :

to refrain from swim- _
 

a

covered recently that the little pugilist had been making
high dives from elevations of forty and fifty feet. Harris
considers Williams is taking a great chance of losing the
Coulon battle by being crippled.

*

Cat Hatches Chickens; Hen Adopts Kiitens.

Louis Walther, who lives south of St. Louis, Mo., has
“a eat which hatched out six Plymouth. Rock chickens
and then refused to deliver them to the mother hen.
According to Walther, the hen became jealous of the cat’s
affection for the chicks, that she kidnaped three kit-
tens which had been neglected in the interest of the
chicks. Walther, who is manager of a fireworks factory,
is proudly showing the strange families to his friends.

School Children Driven to Death:

The end of the winter school term in Germany has
again been marked this spring with the psychological
problem and annual manifestation which has confronted
school authorities and government for years: the inevitable
epidemic.of suicides of school children.

Again the stiff annual spring examinations have literally
proven the “hari-kari” for boys nervously broken down
by overstudy under the tremendous pressure of the Ger-
man school system. These boys preferred death to the
reproaches of father and mother and the gibes of their
companions because they failed.

Just how many families have discovered too late that
they were driving their sons to death by their goading,
their threats if they did not pass, their reproaches because
they did not learn faster, and daily upholding before
them that they would be the disgrace of their parents if
they failed, is not yet known, as all the returns are not
in. The number, however, is said to be in excess of last
spring.

In Berlin, Hans Jirjahn, aged eighteen, failed to pass
in high school, and promptly fired the contents of an
automatic pistol into his chest. The same day the fifteen-
year-old son of a printing-house proprietor threw himself
in front of a train at Jannowitz station and was ground
to death. In the pocket of his coat was found a note.
It read: “I failed. I cannot go home.” That same after-
noon the body of a boy, aged seventeen, son of a clerk
in the city council, was fished out of the River Spree.
He, too, had failed in his examination.

In no country is” education the “gate,” in fact, the
only entrance to employment, occupations, and profes-
sions, as in Germany. Almost every occupation or calling,
except menial work, is barred to all except those who
have succeeded in obtaining the one-year certificate or
diploma, which entitles the holder to serve but one year
in the army instead of two, and, to a large extent, prac-
tically determines his social and economic chances for the
future.

The cause of the suicides, which some years have num-
bered as high as fifty, is attributed: by physicians and

these are overstudy, exaggeration of the disgrace of fail>

ure in examinations, the foolishness and lack of con-
sideration on the part of parents in telling their children
that failure spells mental and intellectual inferiority, and
too little attention paid to physical training.

Privy Councilor Adolf Mathias, a specialist on the sub-
ject, said that suicides of schoolboys were fearfully on
the increase. He considered that the cause and fault was

eras ;

NEW: TIP’ IOP’: WEEKLY.

with the parents rather than with the schools.
he said, which teachers and parents often fail to recog-
nize and understand is that children who are slow to’
acquire book knowledge in school and in that respect
appear stupid, often are the most sensitive and impres-
sionable and require delicate and sensible handling. He
added jthat these very ‘children often prove most success-
ful later in life.

Baseball Records Teach Temperance.

An article in these columns several weeks ago told
how the lives of baseball players and other athletes taught
a lesson in temperance. | It was shown that the players
who were not addicted to the use of intoxicating liquors
were the men who remained in the game the longest and
made the most money. The premature death of Rube
Waddell, the famous left-handed pitcher, was proof of
another kind of the value of temperance to the young man
who would be successful, but there are other statistics
to prove the same point. ve

A baseball expert has compiled figures from the play- —

ing averages from 1908 to 1914. He made a list of ail
the players in the major leagues in 1908 who drank.

From this list he took twenty playérs, with their batting — 4

and fielding records, and then found an average for the
entire twenty. To compare with these he took the records
of fourteen players, whom he knew did not drink. No
pitchers were included in either list. Here is the com-
parison :

FIELDING.

08 ees 40 "Tr care
Pepe kerss..\ gesgs 971 964 965 982 947 945
Nondrinkerg .... 964 966 963 969 964
BATTING, ei
08 "09 "10 "II "12 "33)0:
Drinkers ........ 201. 261° 254 - 252. 250° sage
Nondrinkers ..... 255 254 266 269 204 269

Then he compiled similar figures to show the result of 1

The percentage of victories for

4

drink on pitchers.
pitchers of each class for five years follows:

09 "10 "ot "12 ots

 

One thing, —

lt a ne

Sighs q

962 4

 

  

 
 

 

  

 

 

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
   
  
  

 

  
   
 
 
   
 

 

Drinkers ...... Bie oi4 ds 614 602 609 574 538
Nondrinkers ..........4. 547. 571 G12 605 633

The man who compiled these figures may have Picked |
some pitchers lucky enough to be with winning clubs
and some unlucky enough to be with losers. aa

 

 

 

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results %
edeemer ig the only

  
 
 
   
 

 

     

   

  
  

 

    
   
    

    
 

        
       
 

  

 

    
 

 
SOME OF THE
BACK

NUMBERS OF

+

W TIP TOP
WEEKLY

THAT CAN

B

Sir PLIED

 

 

725—Frank Merriwell in Diamond Land.
726—F rank Merriwell’s Desperate Chance.
727—Frank Merriwell’s Black Terror.
728—Frank Merriwell Again on the Slab.
729—F rank Merriwell’s Hard Game.
730—F rank Merriwell’s Six-in-hand.
731—F rank Merriwell’s Duplicate.
732—Frank Merriwell on Rattlesnake
Ranch.

83—Frank Merriwell’s Sure Hand.
734—Frank Merriwell’s Treasure Map.
735—Frank Merriwell, Prince of the Rope.
rhea Merriwell, Captain of the Var-

sity.

737—Dick Merriwell’s Control.
738—Dick Merriwell’s Back Stop.
739—Dick Merriwell’s Masked Enemy.
740—Dick Merriwell’s Motor Car.
741-—Dick Merriwell’s Hot Pursuit.
742—Dick Merriwell at Forest Lake,
743—Dick Merriwell in Court,
%744—Dick Merriwell’s Silence,
745—Dick Merriwell’s iF

746—Dick Merriwell’s Subterfuge.
747—Dick Merriwell’s Enigma.

748—Dick Merriwell Defeated.

' 749—Dick Merriwell’s “Wing.”

eo Dick Merriwell’s Sky Chase,
4-—Dick Merriwell’s Pick-ups.
—-Dick Merriwell on the Rocking R.
—Dick Merriwell’s Penetration.
54—Dick Merriwell’s Intuition.
55—Dick Merriwell’s Vantage,
56—Dick Merriwell’s Advice.

5 '57—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue.

—Dick Merriwell, American.
Dick Merriwell’s Understanding.
0—Dick Merriwell, Tutor.
Dick Merriwell’s Quandary.
Dick Merriwell on the Boards,
Dick Merriwell, Peacemaker.
Frank Merriwell’s Sway.
Frank Merriwell’s Comprehension,
Frank Merriwell’s Young Acrobat.
Frank Merriwell’s Tact.
Frank Merriwell’s Unknown.
—lFrank Merriwell’s Acuteness.
0O—F rank Merriwell’s Young Canadian.

f '71—F rank Merriwell’s Coward,

772—Frank Merriwell’s Perplexity.
~Frank Merriwell’s Intervention.

-Frank Merriwell’s Daring Deed.
Frank Merriwell’s Succor.

—Frank Merriwell’s Wit.

—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty.
Frank Merriwell’s Bold Play.
Frank Merriwell’s Insight.
Frank Merriwell’s Guile.
Frank Merriwell’s Campaign

—Frank Merriwell in the

Forest.

rank Merriwell’s Tenacity.
? Dick Merriwell’s Self-sacrifice.
785—Dick Merriwell’s Close Shave.
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 Fellowship.
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-

try.
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.

“National

807—Dick Merriwell’s Prodding.
808—Frank Merriwell's Boy.
809—F rank Merriwell’s Interference.
810—F rank Merriwell’s Young Warriors.
811—F rank Merriwell’s Appraisal.
812—Frank Merriwell’s Forgiveness.
813—Frank 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.
§27-—Dick Merriwell’s Astuteness. |
§28—-Dick Merriwell’s Responsibility.
829-—Dick Merriwell’s Plan.
830—Dick Merriwell’s Warning.
831—Dick Merriwell’s Counnel,
832—Dick Merriwell's Champions.
833—Dick Merriwell’s Marksmen.
834—Dick Merriwell’s Enthusiasm.
335—Dick Merriwell's Solution.
836—Dick Merriwell’s Foreign Foe.
837—Dick Merriwell and the
Warriors.

Carlisle

_888—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.

Oppo-

Swedish

*-NEW SERIES.
New Tip Top Weekly

1-—Frank Merriwell, Jr.

2—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in the Box.

8—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Struggle.

4—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Skill.

5—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Idaho.

6—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Close Shave.

7—Frank Merriwell, Jr., on Waiting Or-
ders.

8—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Danger.

9—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Relay

thon. |
10—Frank Merriwell, Jr., at the Bar Z
Ranch.
11—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Golden Trail.
12—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Competitor.
83—Frank 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—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Blind Chase.
18—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Discretion.
19—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Substitute,
20—Frank Merriwell, Jr., Justified.
21—Frank Merriwell, Jr., Incog.
22—Frank Merriwell, Jr., Meets the Issue.
23—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Xmas Eve.
24—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Fearless Risk.
25—Frank Merriwell, Jr., on Skis.
26—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ice-boat Chase.
27—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ambushed
Foes.
28—Frank Merriwell, Jr., and the Totem.
29—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Hockey Game.
30—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Clew.

Mara-

31—F rank Merriwell,
2—F rank Merriwell,
3—Frank Merriwell,
4—F rank Merriwell,
)
)

o—Frank Merriwell,
6—Frank Merriwell,
37—F rank Merriwell,
38—Frank Merriwell,
Race.
389—Frank Merriwell,
40—F rank Merriwell,
41—F rank Merriwell,
42—F rank Merriwell,
43—Frank Merriwell,
44—Frank Merriwell,
45—F rank Merriwell,
46—F rank Merriwell,
47—F rank Merriwell,
48—F rank Merriwel];
49—F rank Merriwell,
00—Irank Merriwell,
ture.
5i—Frank Merriwell,
52—Frank Merriwell,

>
)
,
)
>
)
>
)
)
»
)
>
)

‘
‘
e
.

.
.

ble.
58—Frank Merriwell,
Doctor.
54—Frank Merriwell,
55—Frank Merriwell,
56—Frank Merriwell,
57—Frank Merriwéll,
58—Frank Merriwell,
59—Frank Merriwell,
mate.
60—Frank Merriwell,
61—Frank Merriwell,
62—Frank Merriwell,
63—Frank Merriwell,
64—Frank Merriwell,
65—Frank Merriwell,
66—Frank Merriwell,
Black Box.
67—Frank Merriwell,
68—Frank Merriwell,
emy.
69—F rank Merriwell,
70—Frank Merriwell,
Honors.
1—Frank Merriwell,
2—F rank Merriwell,
8—F rank Merriwell,
cation.
4—Frank Merriwell,
Wolves.

5—Frank Merriwell,

6—Frank Merriwell,

Jr.’s, Adversary.
Jr.’s, Timely Aid.

Jr., in the Desert.
Jr.’s, Grueling Test.
Jr.’s, Special Mission
Jr.’s, Red Bowman.
Jr.’s, Task.

Jr.’s, Cross-Country

Jr.’s, Four Miles,
Jr.’s, Umpire.

Jr., Sidetracked.
Jr.’s, Teamwork,
Jr.’s, Step-Over.

Jr., in Monterey.
Jr.’s, Athletes,

Jr.’s, Outfielder,

Jr.’s, “Hundred.”
Jr.’s, Hobo Twirler.
Jr.’s, Canceled Game.
Jr.’s, Weird Adven-

Double Header.
Peck of Trou-

Spook

? h wie B
Jr.’s,
Jr., and the
Jr.’s, Sportsmanship,
Jr.’s, Ten-Innings,
Jr.’s, Ordeal.

Jr., on the Wing.
Jr.’s, Cross-Fire.”
Jr.’s, Lost Team-

Jr.’s, Daring Flight.
Jr., at Fardale.

Jr., Plebe.

Jr.’s, Quarter-Back.
Jr.’s, Touchdown.
Jr.’s, Night Off.

Jr., and the Little

Jr.’s, Classmates.
Jr.’s, Repentant En-

Jr., and the “Spell.”
or.'A, Gridiron

Jr.’s, Winning Run.
Jr.'s, Jujutsu.

dL.'6 Christmas Va-
Jr., and the Nine
Jr., on the Border.
Jr.’s, Desert Race.

7—Owen Clancy’s Run of Luck.

8—Owen Clancy’s Square Deal.

9—Owen Clancy’s Hardest Fight.
80—Owen Clancy’s Ride for Fortune.
81—Owen Clancy’s Makeshift.
82—Owen Clancy and the Black Pearls,

83—Owen Clancy
84—Owen Clancy

and the Sky Pilot.
and the Air Pirates.

85—Owen Clancy’s Peril.
86—Owen Clancy’s Partner,

87—Owen Clancy

’
,
,
’
’

8 Happy Trail.

S8—Owen Clancy’s Double Trouble.
89—Owen Clancy’s Back Fire.

90—Owen Clancy and the “Clique of Gold.” ©

91—Owen Clancy’s “I
92—Owen Clancy and

yiamond”’ Deal,
the Claim Jumpers.

93—Owen Clancy Among the Smugglers.
94—Owen Clancy’s Clean-Up.

95—Frank Merriwell,
96—Frank Merriwell,
97—Frank Merriwell,

98—The Merriwell C

99—F rank Merriwell’
Dated June
100—F rank Merriwel

Dated July

Jr.’s, Pick-Up Nine. —
Jr.’s Diamond Foes, ~
Jr.’s, Great Game,
ompany.

s First Commission.
27th, 1914.

Ky dt. 4;
3d,

Cryptogram. x
1914. i

101—Dick Merriwell and June Arlington.

Dated July

102—Dick Merriwell’s Turquoise Tussle.

Dated July

10th, 1914.

17th, 1914.

103—Dick Merriwell Tracked.

PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY. 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

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