Transcriber's Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

The long horseback ride of the morning had whetted their appetites.—Page 125.

Dave Porter Series

DAVE PORTER’S GREAT SEARCH
OR
THE PERILS OF A YOUNG CIVIL ENGINEER

BY

EDWARD STRATEMEYER

Author of “Dave Porter at Oak Hall,” “The Old Glory Series,” “Colonial Series,” “Pan-American Series,” etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER S. ROGERS

BOSTON

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Published, August, 1917

Copyright, 1917

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.

All rights reserved

DAVE PORTER’S GREAT SEARCH

Norwood Press

BERWICK & SMITH CO.

NORWOOD, MASS.

U. S. A.

PREFACE

“Dave Porter’s Great Search” is a complete story in itself, but forms the thirteenth volume in a line issued under the general title of “Dave Porter Series.”

As my old readers know, this series was begun some years ago by the publication of “Dave Porter at Oak Hall,” in which my readers were introduced to a wideawake, American boy at an up-to-date American boarding-school. This was followed by “Dave Porter in the South Seas,” where our hero had gone to find his father, and then by “Dave Porter’s Return to School.” After that we had “Dave Porter in the Far North,” where the lad went on a second journey looking for his parent; “Dave Porter and His Classmates,” in which our hero was put to a most unusual test; and then by “Dave Porter at Star Ranch,” in which he took part in many strenuous adventures.

From the Wild West Dave returned again to school, as related in “Dave Porter and His Rivals.” Then he took a sea voyage, as told of in “Dave Porter on Cave Island,” and later still taught some of his school chums a much-needed lesson, the particulars of which are given in “Dave Porter and the Runaways.”

The lad had imagined his strenuous adventures were now at an end, but this was not to be. He heard of a lost mine, and, with his chums, went in search of it, as related in “Dave Porter in the Gold Fields.” Coming back, he put in some fine times in the Adirondack Mountains, as related in “Dave Porter at Bear Camp.”

By this time the lad had graduated from school, and he now took up the study of civil engineering. There was another lad who looked exactly like Dave, and this person caused our hero much trouble, as told of in “Dave Porter and His Double,” where we last met him.

In the present volume Dave is still pursuing his calling of civil engineering. He is at work in the mountains when he comes face to face with one of his old-time enemies. Later still word comes to the youth that his dearest girl friend, Jessie Wadsworth, and his sister Laura have disappeared from home. One surprise is followed by another, and the young civil engineer is confronted by many perils.

Once again I thank my young readers for the interest they have shown in the various volumes I have written for them. I trust that the reading of this book will benefit them all.

Edward Stratemeyer.

May 1, 1917.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER |  | PAGE
I | In the Mountains | 1
II | Something About the Past | 12
III | A Surprise of the Road | 22
IV | What Phil’s Letter Told | 34
V | Nick Jasniff’s Visit | 45
VI | News from Home | 58
VII | The Fight on the Trail | 68
VIII | What Was Missing | 77
IX | Dave at Orella | 88
X | What the Girls Had to Tell | 98
XI | The Oak Hall Chums | 109
XII | On the Mountain Top | 120
XIII | To the Rescue of Shadow | 130
XIV | Something About Bears | 142
XV | The Trail to Nowhere | 152
XVI | Waiting for Letters | 162
XVII | Bad News | 172
XVIII | On the Way East | 183
XIX | The Demand for Money | 192
XX | Beginning the Great Search | 202
XXI | Stuck on the Road | 212
XXII | The First Clue | 221
XXIII | What the Little Girls Knew | 230
XXIV | Another Clue | 238
XXV | What Horsehair Had to Tell | 247
XXVI | The Mountain Road | 257
XXVII | To the Rescue | 267
XXVIII | Prisoners | 277
XXIX | Trying to Escape | 286
XXX | The Round-Up—Conclusion | 296

DAVE PORTER’S GREAT SEARCH

CHAPTER I
IN THE MOUNTAINS

“What do you think of that sky, Dave?”

“It looks to me as if we were in for a storm, Roger,” answered Dave Porter, a trace of anxiety crossing his usually pleasant features.

“Perhaps it is only wind,” vouchsafed Roger Morr, after he brought his horse to a standstill so that he might scan the distant horizon minutely. “You know they do have some terrible wind storms out here in Montana.”

“Oh, yes. I remember the big winds we had when we were out at Star Ranch,” answered Dave. “Don’t you remember once we thought we were in for a regular tornado?”

“I surely do remember. Say, Dave, those were certainly great days on the ranch, weren’t they?”

“Now that we’ve moved up here to Montana I hope some day to get the chance to run out to the ranch,” continued Dave. “I would like very much to meet Belle Endicott and her folks.”

“I’ll wager you’ll find Phil Lawrence sneaking out this way some day,” laughed Roger.

“Can you blame him, Roger? Belle is an awfully nice girl.”

“Of course I shouldn’t blame him, any more than I’d blame myself for—for——”

“Than you would blame yourself for sneaking off to Crumville to see my sister,” laughed Dave.

“Humph! I guess you wouldn’t mind being back in Crumville this moment, calling on Jessie Wadsworth.”

“I don’t deny it. But say, let us get on our way. Those black clouds are coming up altogether too rapidly to suit me.”

“How many miles do you suppose we are from the camp?”

“Six or eight at least. You know we followed this trail for a long time before we stopped to have lunch.”

“If that new branch of the M. C. & D. Railroad comes through this way it will certainly follow a picturesque route,” declared Roger.

“That will suit the summer tourists, even if it doesn’t cut any ice with the natives. But come on, we had better not waste any more time. Before you know it it will be dark and that storm will be upon us.”

The two young civil engineers were high up on a trail among the mountains of Montana. Far below them stretched a rugged valley, containing more rocks than grazing lands. Off to the southward could be seen a small stream which some time before had been shimmering in the sunlight, but which now was almost lost in the sudden gloom that was overspreading the sky.

“What a difference between the scenery here and that along the Rio Grande,” remarked Roger, as the two chums made their way along the narrow trail leading to the camp of the Mentor Construction Company.

“I’m glad of the change, Roger. I was getting tired of the marsh land along that river, and I was also mighty tired of those greasers.”

“Not to say anything about the raids the Mexicans made on us,” laughed the chum. “Say, we came pretty close to having some hot times once or twice, didn’t we?”

“I hope, Roger, we are able to make as good a showing up here on this railroad work as we did on that Catalco Bridge. That certainly was a superb piece of engineering.”

Dave was silent for a few minutes while the horses trotted along the stony trail. Then, pleased by a passing thought, his face and eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

“Wouldn’t it be grand, Roger, if some day you and I could put through some big engineering feat all on our own hook?” he cried. “Think of our putting up some big bridge, or building some big tunnel, or some fine skyscraper, or something like that!”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to do it some day. The men who are at the head of the Mentor Construction Company had to start as we are doing—at the foot of the ladder. What one man has done, some other fellow ought to be able to do after him.”

“Right you are! But ride slow now. If you’ll remember, the trail is rather dangerous just ahead of us.”

The admonition that had been given was not necessary, for both young men knew only too well the danger which lay ahead of them. At this point the trail became exceedingly narrow and wound in and out around a cliff which towered at least a hundred feet above their heads. In some spots the trail was less than a yard wide, and on the outer edge the rough rocks sloped downward at an angle of forty-five degrees.

“If a fellow slipped down there I wonder where he would land,” murmured Roger, as he held back his steed so as to give his companion a chance to pick his way with care.

“If you went over there you’d probably tumble down several hundred feet,” answered Dave. “And if you did that, you and your horse would most likely be killed. You be careful and keep your horse as close to the cliff as possible.”

At one point in the trail where it would have been utterly impossible to pass another person, the young civil engineers stopped to give a long, loud whistle, to announce to any one coming in the opposite direction that they were approaching. No whistle or call came in return, so they took it for granted that the trail was clear and proceeded again on their way.

By the time the vicinity of the cliff had been left behind, more than three quarters of the sky was overcast. Far off in the distance they could hear a murmur which gradually increased.

“It’s the wind coming up between the mountains,” announced Dave. And he was right. Soon the murmur had increased to a strange humming, and then, in a moment more, the wind came rushing down upon them with a violence that was anything but comfortable.

“Come on! Don’t linger here!” shouted Dave, as he urged his horse forward. “We’ll soon be out on the regular road.”

A quarter of a mile farther brought them to another turn in the trail, and in a minute more they went down a long slope and then came out on a broad trail running to a number of mines and ranches in that part of Montana. Here for over a mile riding was much easier, and the chums made good progress in the direction of the construction camp at which they were making their headquarters.

“Do you think we can make it before the rain comes?” questioned Roger, as they dashed along.

“No such luck. Here comes the rain now,” answered Dave.

As he spoke, both of the young civil engineers felt the first drops of the on-coming storm. Then the rain became a steady downpour which threatened every minute to turn into a deluge.

Fortunately for the two young men, they were not hampered by any of their civil-engineering outfit. They had been asked that morning by Mr. Ralph Obray, the manager of the construction gang, to ride up the trail and make sure that certain marks had been left there by the surveyors for the railroad. The work done by the railroad had been merely of a preliminary nature, but this preliminary work, crude as it was, was to be used as a basis for the more accurate survey by the engineers of the construction company.

“I don’t think we can make camp in such a downpour as this,” gasped Roger, after another half-mile had been covered.

“Maybe you’re right,” responded Dave. “It certainly is coming down to beat the band! But what are we going to do? I don’t believe in standing still and getting ourselves drenched to the skin.”

“We ought to be able to find some sort of shelter near by. Come on, let us take a look around.”

Both did this, sheltering their eyes from the rain with their hands. In such a downpour the scenery on all sides was practically obliterated.

“Can’t make out a thing,” remarked Roger in disgust. “I suppose we’ve got to go on and take what comes. By the time we reach camp we’ll feel like a couple of drowned rats.”

“Never mind. We’ll have a chance to change our clothing, anyway,” responded Dave lightly. “And we won’t have to take a bath or get under the shower.”

“Take a bath or get under the shower!” repeated Roger. “Wow! If I had a chance to do that I wouldn’t know myself,” he added with a grin. For neither of the chums had seen anything like a bathtub or a shower for several months. When they took a bath it was usually in a small stream that flowed not far from where the construction camp was located.

Forward the young civil engineers went once again, the rain beating furiously in their faces as they proceeded. The downpour was so severe that presently they came to where a hollow on the road was completely filled with muddy water.

“Stop, or you may get stuck!” cried Dave, as he brought his horse to a halt. “I think we had better try to go around this pool.”

“Come on this way,” returned his chum quickly, and turned off to the left.

And right here it was that the two young civil engineers made a big mistake. Had they turned to the right they would soon have come out on the road at a point where it would have been perfectly safe to proceed. But the turn to the left led them downward, and almost before they knew it they found themselves between the rocks and on the edge of a thick woods.

“Hello! where have we landed now?” queried Dave. “I don’t believe we can get back to the road from here.”

“Oh, come on, let us skirt the woods,” urged Roger. “We are bound to get back to the road sooner or later.”

Somewhat against his better judgment, Dave allowed his chum to take the lead, and on they went through the rain and increasing darkness. The first rush of wind had now somewhat subsided, but in its place they could hear the low rumble of distant thunder. Then a sudden flash of lightning lit the scene.

“Say, I don’t like this!” cried Roger, as the thunder became louder and several more flashes of lightning flared over the surroundings.

“Watch for the next flash, Roger, and maybe you can see the road,” suggested Dave.

Both young civil engineers did as had been suggested, but, though they waited not only for the next flash of light but also for the two following, they were unable to see more than the rocks and trees in their immediate vicinity.

“I’m afraid we’re lost down here,” said Dave at last. “And if that’s the case, the only thing we can do is to ride back to where we came from.”

“Oh, let us go ahead a little farther. Maybe the road is at the edge of the woods yonder.”

“If we only knew of some miner’s camp or some ranch-house around here, we might get shelter, Roger. I don’t much like the idea of riding in such a storm as this is getting to be.”

“True for you! But I don’t think there is any kind of shelter such as you mention within a mile or two of this place. I didn’t see anything that looked like a house or a cabin when we came up the trail.”

Once more Roger went ahead, and with increased unwillingness Dave followed him, all the while thinking that it would be better to retrace their steps to the point where they had found the roadway covered with water.

“We might have skirted that pool somehow,” thought Dave. “Now we don’t know where we’ll land.”

The two riders found a slight rise ahead of them, and this encouraged Roger into believing that the roadway was not far distant. Less than a hundred yards further on, however, they came to a sudden halt.

“Well, I’ll be blessed!”

“I think we’ll have to turn back now, Roger.”

“I suppose so. Isn’t it too bad?”

Without warning of any kind they had suddenly come to a spot where the jagged rocks arose in front of them several feet higher than their horses’ heads. Off to the left flowed a swift mountain torrent, bordered on one side by a low, irregular cliff and on the other by the jagged rocks and the tall forest. The rain was now coming down as steadily as ever, while the thunder and lightning constantly increased in violence. The sky was entirely overcast, so that when there was no lightning it was almost totally dark at the edge of the forest.

“Maybe if we could get across that stream we might climb up to the roadway,” suggested Roger, who hated to think of going back. “Anyway, let us take a good look the next time it lightens.”

Roger had scarcely spoken when there came a tremendous crash of thunder so close at hand that it made both of the young civil engineers start. The horses too were badly frightened, and both gave wild plunges one into the other. As a consequence, a moment later Dave found himself unseated and thrown to the ground, and an instant later Roger landed almost on top of him.

“Hi! Stop the horses!” gasped Dave, when he could speak.

To this Roger made no response for the reason that he had come down on the rocks with such force that he was all but stunned. Dave attempted to struggle to his feet and catch the plunging animals, but before he could do so the two horses had bolted away in the semi-darkness, leaving their former riders to their fate.

CHAPTER II
SOMETHING ABOUT THE PAST

“We’re in a pickle now, and no mistake!” panted Roger.

“Let us try to catch the horses before they get too far away,” came from Dave. “We don’t want the fun of tramping back to camp on foot.”

“Not to say anything about losing two valuable animals.”

“I hope you didn’t break any bones,” continued Dave, as he saw his chum feeling of his knee and his elbow.

“Oh, I guess I didn’t get anything more than a good shaking up. And you didn’t escape entirely, either. See, your hand is bleeding.”

“Oh, it’s only a scrape. Come on;” and thus speaking Dave ran off in the direction the runaway horses had taken, and his chum followed.

To my old readers Dave Porter will need no special introduction. For the benefit of others, however, let me state that when a small boy he had been found wandering alongside the railroad tracks in Crumville. As nobody claimed him he had been put in the local poorhouse, and, later on, bound out to a broken-down college professor, Caspar Potts, who at that time was farming for his health.

In an elegant mansion on the outskirts of Crumville, lived Mr. Oliver Wadsworth, a wealthy jewelry manufacturer, with his wife and his daughter Jessie. One day the gasoline tank of an automobile took fire, and Jessie was in danger of being burned to death when Dave came to her rescue. As a consequence of this Mr. Wadsworth became interested in the boy, and decided that he should be given the benefits of a good education and had sent him to a first-class boarding school, as related in the first volume of this series, entitled “Dave Porter at Oak Hall.” With Dave went Ben Basswood, his one boy friend in the town.

At Oak Hall Dave made a number of close friends, including Roger Morr, the son of a well-known United States Senator; Phil Lawrence, the offspring of a rich ship-owner; “Shadow” Hamilton, who loved to tell stories; and Buster Beggs, who was as fat as he was jolly.

In those days the principal thing that troubled Dave was the question of his parentage. To solve the mystery of his identity he took a long sea voyage, as related in “Dave Porter in the South Seas,” where he met his uncle, Dunston Porter, and learned much concerning his father, David Breslow Porter, and also his sister Laura, who were at that time traveling in Europe.

On his return to school, and during the time that our hero spent in trying to locate his father and his sister, as related in succeeding volumes of this series, Dave made many new friends. But there were some lads who were jealous of the boy’s success, and two of them, Nick Jasniff and Link Merwell, did what they could to get our hero into trouble. The plot against Dave, however, was exposed, and in sheer fright Nick Jasniff ran away and went to Europe while Merwell went out West to a ranch owned by his father.

Dave’s sister Laura had an intimate friend, Belle Endicott, who lived on Star Ranch in Montana, and through this friendship all of the boys and girls were invited out to the ranch. There, to his surprise, Dave fell in once more with Link Merwell and finally exposed that young rascal so that Link thought it would be to his advantage to disappear.

“You’ll have to keep your eyes open for those wretches,” was Roger’s comment at the time.

“They’ll get the better of you if they possibly can, Dave,” Phil Lawrence had added.

“I’ll watch them,” the youth had answered.

When the Christmas holidays arrived Dave went back to Crumville, where he and his folks resided with the Wadsworths. Directly after Christmas came a startling robbery of the Wadsworth jewelry works, and Dave and his chums by some clever work discovered that the crime had been committed by Merwell and Jasniff. After a sea voyage to Cave Island, Jasniff was captured and sent to jail, but Merwell at the last minute managed to make his escape.

The trip to Cave Island was followed by another to the great West, where Dave aided Roger Morr in locating a gold mine which had been lost through a landslide.

After this our hero went up to Bear Camp in the Adirondack Mountains, where he had a glorious time with all of his chums and also the girls. At that time Dave fell in with a young man named Ward Porton, who was almost our hero’s double in appearance. Porton proved to be an unscrupulous person, and caused our hero not a little trouble, he trying at one time to palm himself off as the real Dave Porter. This scheme, however, was exposed, and then Porton lost no time in disappearing.

Our hero had now graduated from Oak Hall, and he and Roger Morr had taken up the profession of civil engineering. In the midst of his studies Dave was startled by the news of the disappearance of some valuable miniatures which had been willed to his old friends, the Basswoods. It was discovered that Ward Porton was in this plot, and later on this evildoer, along with his disreputable father, was brought to justice.

As soon as their first examination in civil engineering had been passed, Dave and Roger had succeeded in obtaining through their instructor positions with the Mentor Construction Company, a large concern operating many branches throughout the United States and in foreign countries. They were assigned to a gang operating in Texas, building a railroad bridge near the Rio Grande. This construction camp was under the general management of Mr. Ralph Obray, assisted by a number of others, including a middle-aged man named Frank Andrews, who had speedily become a warm friend of the young civil engineers.

The work had proved absorbing from the start to Dave, and it must be said that the senator’s son was almost equally interested. Both kept up their studies every day and kept their eyes and ears wide open, and consequently made rapid progress. On more than one occasion Mr. Obray had given them encouraging words and shown his satisfaction, and Frank Andrews was enthusiastic.

“You fellows keep on the way you have started, and some day you’ll be at the top of the ladder,” was the way Andrews expressed himself.

The two young civil engineers had remained at work on the Catalco Bridge for nearly a year. Then the task had been turned over to another gang, and the Obray outfit, as it was commonly called, had been sent up from Texas into Montana, to take up the work of roadbed and bridge construction for the M. C. & D. Railroad.

This railroad was simply a feeder of one of the main lines, yet it was thought that in time it would become a highly important branch. The work to be undertaken was unusually difficult, and it was an open secret that several construction companies had refused even to give figures on it.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us up here,” had been Frank Andrews’ remark to Mr. Obray, after the pair had gone over the situation carefully.

“Right you are, Andrews,” the manager of the construction gang had answered. “It looks all right on paper, but we are going to have a good many difficulties which can’t be put down in black and white.”

“What we’ve got to guard against, to my way of thinking, is landslides,” the assistant had answered.

Since beginning work for the Mentor Construction Company, Dave and Roger had had two opportunities for returning to the East. They had come by the way of Washington, where Senator Morr and his wife were now residing, and had also stopped off at Philadelphia to visit Phil Lawrence. Then they had made their way to Crumville, there to put in a most delightful time with Dave’s folks and the Wadsworths. As my old readers are aware, to Dave there was no girl in the world quite so sweet and lovable as Jessie Wadsworth, while it was noticed that Roger and Dave’s sister Laura were together whenever occasion permitted.

The two young civil engineers had been in Montana now for about three weeks, and during that time they had gone on numerous errands to places ten and even twenty miles away. On arrival they had hoped to visit Star Ranch, but had learned that this place was nearly a hundred miles off. They had looked at some of the local mines with much interest, and had likewise visited several ranches.

“We’ll get to know this whole district like a book before we get through with it,” had been Roger’s comment.

“Maybe,” Dave had answered. “Just the same, if I were you I wouldn’t go too far away from the regular trails without a pocket compass. Getting lost among these mountains might prove very serious.”

The two young civil engineers had started off on their errand that morning in high spirits, due not alone to the fact that both were feeling in the best of health and were doing well in their chosen profession, but also to the fact that the day before they had received a number of letters from home, including a warm epistle to Dave from Jessie and an equally tender missive from Laura to Roger.

At their end the two girls had written each in the confidence of the other, so that the two chums did not hesitate to talk over the contents of both letters between them.

“Oh, we’ve got the brightest prospects in the world before us!” Dave had cried when they had set out, and in the exuberance of his spirits he had thrown his cap high up in the air.

But the prospect at this particular minute did not seem to be so bright. The rain was coming down steadily, accompanied by sharp crashes of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning, and the two youths had all they could do to keep their feet as they sped along in the direction the runaway horses had taken.

“This is the worst ever!” groaned Roger, as both presently came to a halt with the rocks on one side of them and the forest on the other. “I can’t see anything of those horses, can you?”

Dave did not for the moment reply. He was waiting for the next flash of lightning, and when it came he strained his eyes in an effort to locate the vanished steeds. The effort, however, was a vain one.

“They’re gone, that’s sure,” he announced gloomily. “If the storm didn’t make so much noise we might be able to hear them clattering over the rocks; but between the wind and the thunder that’s impossible.”

“They had to come this way, for it’s the only way. Let us go on a little farther.”

As there was nothing else to do, Dave followed his chum along the edge of the forest and at last the pair reached the spot where they had left the road. Here the pool of water had become much larger and deeper.

“We don’t seem to be getting anywhere,” grumbled the senator’s son, as they came again to a halt. “Just look at this! It’s a miniature lake!”

“We’ll have to get around it somehow, Roger,” was the reply. “Let us try the other side this time.”

“But what about the horses?”

“If they came up here on the roadway I’ve an idea they started straight for camp. They wouldn’t know where else to go.”

Not caring to stand still in such a downpour, the two started to skirt the pond, going in the opposite direction to that which they had before taken. They had to clamber over a number of rough rocks and through some brushwood heavily laden with water, so that by the time they reached the other side they were as wet as if they had taken an involuntary bath.

“Well, there’s one consolation,” announced Roger grimly. “We couldn’t get any wetter if we tried.”

“Come on. Let us leg it for camp as fast as we can,” returned Dave. “It’s pretty cold out here, drenched like this.”

“Wait a minute! I think I saw something!” cried the senator’s son suddenly. “Look!”

He pointed off to one side of the roadway, and both waited until another flash of lightning lit up the scene.

“The horses!”

They were right. There, not over a hundred yards away, stood the two runaway steeds, partly sheltered by several big trees. Their heads had been down, but now they suddenly came up as if in fresh alarm.

“Do you think we can catch them, Dave?” gasped the senator’s son.

“We’ve got to do it, Roger,” was the reply. “But be careful, or they’ll get away as sure as fate. Here, you approach them from the right and I’ll go around to the left. And don’t let them get past you, no matter what happens.”

CHAPTER III
A SURPRISE OF THE ROAD

Fortunately for the two chums, the flash of lightning which had revealed the two horses to them was followed by something of a lull in the storm and this served to keep the steeds from stampeding again.

“Be careful, Roger,” cautioned Dave, as they separated to do as our hero had advised.

“Do you want me to take my own horse or the one which happens to be nearest to me?” questioned the senator’s son.

“Take the nearest, by all means—and be sure to hold on tight!”

In the darkness, and with the rain still coming down steadily, the two approached closer and closer to the horses. One animal gave a low snort, but whether of fear or recognition of his master could not be ascertained.

“I guess we’ve got them, all right enough,” sang out Roger, as he made a dash to cover the dozen feet that separated him from the nearest steed.

Dave was a few steps farther away from the other horse. At that instant came another clap of thunder, followed almost instantly by the lightning. Then came a crash in the forest, showing that a tree close by had been struck.

The nervous horses wheeled around and reared up. Then one started in one direction and the other in another.

“Grab him, Roger! Don’t let him get away!” yelled Dave, and made a wild leap for the animal nearest him. He caught the loose rein, and an instant later had a firm hold on the steed. The horse did considerable prancing, but the youth, who some seasons before had tamed a bronco at Star Ranch, was not daunted. He brought the animal to a standstill, and then, seeing that it was his own mount, leaped lightly into the saddle.

“Now behave yourself, old boy,” he said soothingly, patting the animal on the neck. “You’re all right. Take it easy.”

In the meanwhile, Roger was having an exciting experience with his own horse. The animal had tried to back away from him, and had gotten a hind leg fast between two trees. Now he began to kick out wildly, hitting one of the trees several resounding blows.

“Whoa there! Whoa!” cried the senator’s son; but his horse continued to kick out until, with a wrench, he got the other foot free. Then he began to prance around once more, showing every evidence of wanting to run away.

“Wait! I’ll hold him while you get into the saddle!” cried Dave, riding up. And then he placed himself directly in front of Roger’s mount.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, the senator’s son made a leap and got safely into the saddle; and then the two runaway horses settled down to behaving themselves decently.

“This was luck, all right,” remarked Dave, when the brief excitement was over.

“Right you are,” was the ready reply. “I didn’t fancy walking back to the camp.”

“Nor losing two such valuable horses,” added our hero. “If they had failed to return perhaps Mr. Obray would have made us pay for them, and that would make a big hole in our salaries.”

Making sure that the horses should not get away from them again, the two young civil engineers rode back to the road, and then with caution picked their way along on the right-hand side of some ever-increasing ponds of water. This was slow and dangerous work, the horses slipping and sliding among the wet rocks and loose stones, and more than once getting into mud and water up to their knees. But at last that peril was left behind, and once again the youths found themselves on comparatively solid ground and headed in the direction of the construction camp.

“We’ll sure have a story to tell when we get back,” remarked Roger, as they rode along side by side.

“Yes. But we’ll want to change our togs before we start to tell it,” returned Dave grimly. “I feel as if I had jumped overboard with all my clothing on.”

“It looks to me as if the storm was passing away,” continued the senator’s son, gazing up at the sky.

“Oh, more than likely it will stop raining as soon as we get back, Roger. It would be just our luck.”

It was true that the storm was passing, and they were still some distance from the construction camp when the rain practically ceased. A portion of the clouds rolled away, making the sky much clearer.

“I’ll bet the sun comes out as brightly as ever before it sets,” ventured Roger. “Hang it all! why couldn’t we have found some shelter during this awful downpour? Then we wouldn’t have got wet to the skin.”

“Never mind, Roger. There is no use in crying over spilt milk. Don’t forget how thankful we are that we got our horses back.”

The chums were still out of sight of the construction camp when they heard a clatter of hoofs on the stony roadway ahead of them. In a minute more a figure, clad in a semi-cowboy outfit, came galloping toward them.

“Hello! who can that be?” cried Roger.

“Maybe it’s one of our men coming out to look for us,” answered Dave. “Perhaps Mr. Obray or Frank Andrews got worried when it began to blow so and lighten so hard.”

The two young civil engineers slackened their pace, expecting that the newcomer would halt as soon as he saw them. They drew up to one side of the road, and were somewhat surprised to see the person on horseback go by without paying any attention to them. He was a fellow about their own age and had his head bent down over his horse’s neck as if he was in deep thought.

Both of the young civil engineers stared at the rider as if he were a ghost. Neither of them said a word, but they both looked after the passer-by as if they could not believe the evidence of their senses.

“Dave, did you see him?” came at last in an excited tone from Roger.

“I certainly did, Roger!”

“It was Nick Jasniff!”

“So it was!”

“But how in the world did he get here?”

“I don’t know. I thought he was in prison!”

“So he was—we saw him sentenced ourselves, after we caught him on Cave Island.”

“And his sentence can’t be up yet. The time is too short.”

“Maybe he broke jail or got out sooner on account of good behavior. You know they give prisoners some time off if they behave themselves well.”

“You don’t think we could be mistaken?”

“I don’t think so. If that fellow was not Nick Jasniff, it was his double.”

“Oh, don’t say anything about doubles!” cried Dave quickly. “I had all I want of that sort of thing with Ward Porton. I’m quite sure that fellow was Nick Jasniff himself. He had that same hang-dog, slouching way about him he had when he went to Oak Hall.”

“But what can he be doing out here in Montana?”

“I don’t know,—unless he may have thought that some of the Merwells were still out here. He, of course, must know about Mr. Merwell disposing of the Three X Ranch.”

“You don’t suppose he came out here to see us, do you?”

“To see us? Not on your life! Why should he want to see us? He knows well enough that we have no use for him.”

“But maybe he wants to get square with us. You know he threatened us in all sorts of ways after we had him arrested. And you know what an awful wicked fellow he is, Dave. Didn’t he try once in the Oak Hall gym to brain you with an Indian club?”

“Yes; I remember that only too well, Roger. Just the same, I don’t think a fellow like Jasniff would come away out here to square accounts with us. It’s more likely he came out here to get away from the people who know him. Maybe he thought he could start life over again in a place like this, where nobody knew him.”

“Humph! possibly you’re right. But if that’s the case, I don’t want him to come around where I am. I have no use for a jailbird,” grumbled the senator’s son.

The youths had resumed their journey, and a few minutes later they came into sight of the construction camp. This consisted of a rudely-built office, backed up by a score or more of smaller buildings used as bunk-houses. At the end of a row was a large, low building in which was located the kitchen and also the mess hall, or “Palace of Eats,” as some of the engineers had christened it. Still further away was a small shed for horses, with a corral attached.

“Hello! I was wondering what had become of you two chaps,” cried Frank Andrews, as they rode up to the building wherein they and the assistant and some others had their quarters. “Some let-down you got caught in.”

“I should say so!” cried Roger. “We came within an ace of being drowned.”

“Be thankful that you weren’t struck by lightning,” returned the older engineer, with a twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose you’ll want to get some dry duds on before you make any report about those marks.”

“The marks are all there, just as Mr. Obray expected they would be,” answered Dave. “I’ve got a list of them here in my notebook.”

“By the way, Mr. Andrews, was there a stranger here a little while ago—a fellow about our age?” questioned Roger.

“There was somebody here. I don’t know who it was,” answered the assistant. “He was over at the main office, talking to Mr. Obray.”

“And you don’t know who he was?”

“No.” Frank Andrews gazed at the two chums questioningly. “Anything wrong about him?”

“That is what we want to find out,” answered the senator’s son. “We thought we knew him; and if so he isn’t the kind of fellow that any one would want around here.”

“Why, how is that?” questioned Frank Andrews. And thereupon, in a few brief words, Roger and Dave told about Nick Jasniff and his doings.

“You’re right! We don’t want any jailbirds around this camp!” cried the assistant. “When you go up to the office you had better tell Mr. Obray about this.”

Dave and Roger were glad enough to get under shelter. They lost no time in taking a good rub-down and in changing their apparel. Then they hurried over to the office of the construction camp, where they found the manager and several of his assistants going over various papers and blue-prints.

“Got back, eh?” said Mr. Obray, with a smile. “You certainly didn’t have a very nice day for the trip.”

“Oh, well, it’s all in the day’s work, Mr. Obray,” answered Dave lightly.

“And we had one advantage coming back,” put in Roger. “We didn’t suffer the least bit from dust;” and at this sally a smile lit up the features of all present. They liked Dave and Roger very much, and the fact that Dave’s chum was the son of a United States Senator added something to the importance of both of the young men.

Getting out his notebook, Dave lost no time in turning in his report, which was supplemented by what Roger had to say. Then the two young civil engineers were asked a number of questions, to which they replied as clearly as possible.

“I guess that’s about all,” said Mr. Obray finally. “I think that makes it pretty clear. Don’t you, Mr. Chase?” he continued, turning to one of the other men present.

“I think so,” answered Mr. Chase. “But we’ll still have to make an investigation up there at Number Six. I’m not satisfied about the formation of that rock. I think we’re due for a lot of trouble.”

“Well, we’ll meet it as it comes—there is no use in anticipating it,” answered Ralph Obray briefly.

He was a man who was never daunted, no matter how great the obstacles that confronted him. It was his clear-headedness that had won more than one engineering victory for the Mentor Construction Company when all the other engineers had given up a task as impossible.

“Mr. Obray, we would like to ask you a few questions in private if you don’t mind,” said Dave in a low voice, when he saw the other civil engineers turn away to consult a map that hung on one of the office walls.

“All right, Porter. Come right in here,” answered the manager, and led the way to a corner, where he had a small private office.

“I wish to ask you about a fellow we met on the road just before we got back to camp about half an hour ago,” explained our hero. “He was a fellow about our own age. He was on horseback, and I thought he might have been here.”

“There was a fellow here, and he left less than an hour ago,” answered the manager. “I should think he was about your age, or maybe a year or two older.”

“Was he a tall, lanky sort of fellow with a rather slouchy air about him?” questioned Roger.

“Yes, that description would fit him pretty well.”

“And did he have a squint in one eye?” questioned Dave suddenly, remembering a peculiarity about Nick Jasniff which he had almost forgotten.

“Yes, there certainly was something the matter with one of his eyes. The upper lid seemed to droop considerably.”

“Might I ask what that fellow was doing here?”

“He came here looking for a job. He said he was working on one of the ranches in this vicinity but that he preferred to work for us and learn civil engineering if we would give him a chance. I told him we were pretty well filled up as far as our engineering corps was concerned, but said he might call some other time. You see, Barry and Lundstrom are thinking of leaving, and if they do we might have a chance for one or two outsiders, provided they were of the right sort.”

“Well, if this fellow is the person we think he is, he isn’t any one you would care to have around here, Mr. Obray,” cried Roger.

“And why not?” demanded the manager of the construction camp.

“Because if he is the fellow we think he is, he is a thief and a jailbird!”

CHAPTER IV
WHAT PHIL’S LETTER TOLD

Mr. Ralph Obray was much surprised at the statement made by Roger, and his face showed it.

“That is a pretty strong statement to make against anybody,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you had better explain.”

“I can do that easily enough,” returned the senator’s son. “And Dave here can tell you even more than I can.”

“By the way,” broke in Dave, “may I ask if the fellow left any name?”

“Oh, yes.” The manager of the construction camp glanced at a slip of paper lying on his desk. “Jasper Nicholas.”

“Jasper Nicholas!” cried Roger. “What do you know about that?”

“It sounds a good deal like Nicholas Jasniff turned around,” answered our hero. He looked at the manager. “The fellow we have in mind was named Nicholas Jasniff,” he explained.

“Tell me what you know about the fellow,” returned Mr. Obray shortly.

Thereupon the two chums related how they had been schoolmates with Nick Jasniff and Link Merwell at Oak Hall and how Jasniff had one day attacked Dave in the gymnasium with an Indian club and how the fellow had run away. Then they told of the robbery of the Wadsworth jewelry works, and of how Jasniff and Merwell had been followed to Cave Island and captured.

“At the last minute Merwell got away,” continued Dave, “but the authorities hung on to Jasniff and he was tried and sent to prison for a long term of years. How he got out I don’t know.”

“That is certainly an interesting story,” said Mr. Obray. “But if that fellow Jasniff is in prison he can’t be the fellow that called here.”

“But look at the similarity in names!” broke in Roger. “Oh, I am sure he is the same fellow.”

“If he is, we won’t want him around here even if he has a right to his liberty,” declared the manager. “Our men are all honest—or at least we think they are—and we can not take chances with a man who has been convicted of a crime. Of course, such a fellow has a right to do his best to get along in the world; but he had better go to some place where nobody knows him.”

“Don’t you think we had better try to find out whether Jasniff has really served his full term and been properly discharged from prison?” remarked Dave. “If he is a fugitive we ought to capture him and send him back to the authorities.”

“You are right there, Porter. It might be a good idea for you to send a message to the East to find out about this.”

“Where do you think I ought to send for information?”

“Do you know where he was placed in prison?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then I would send directly to the prison authorities.”

“Let us send a telegram!” cried Roger. “A letter would be too slow. I’ll stand half the expense.”

“All right, I’ll go you!” responded our hero quickly. “If Nick Jasniff got out of prison on the sly, he ought to be returned to the place.”

“Maybe if he did get out, and we captured him, we might get a reward, Dave.”

“That is true, too—provided a reward has been offered.”

“You seem to be pretty sure that this fellow who called here is the man you are after,” remarked Mr. Obray. “Don’t you think you may be mistaken? In that storm, and with the fellow galloping past you on horseback all hunched up to keep from getting wet, you may have made a mistake.”

At this remark the face of the senator’s son became clouded.

“It might be so, Dave. To tell the truth, we didn’t get a very good look at him. And yet I think it was Nick Jasniff.”

“I’m almost certain of it, Roger. I’ll never forget that face of his. I studied it pretty well when he was up for trial and we testified against him.”

“You might wait until he comes here again,” suggested the manager.

“Yes. But then we wouldn’t have the information we want,” declared Dave. “I’d rather pay out my money on that telegram and learn the truth. Then, if Jasniff was wanted by the authorities, we could make a prisoner of him right then and there.”

“That is true.”

The matter was discussed for several minutes longer, and then the two chums walked back to their quarters. Here they talked the matter over between themselves.

“We can’t send a telegram to-night; the office closes at six o’clock,” declared Dave. “We can write it out, however, and send it the first chance we get in the morning. I think Mr. Obray will let you or me ride down to the telegraph office with it.” The nearest station from which a telegram could be sent was quite a distance away, and a telephone line between the two points, while it was being erected, was not yet in operation.

Of course Frank Andrews wished to know what had taken place, and the youths told him. He shook his head sadly.

“It’s too bad! Especially with a young fellow,” he declared. “That term in prison will hang over him like a cloud all the rest of his life. Kind-hearted people may talk all they please and do all they possibly can—the fact remains that if a man has once been in prison, unless he can prove that he was innocent, very few people will care to have anything to do with him.”

“If Jasniff were a different kind of fellow I’d have a different feeling for him,” said Dave; and his face showed his earnestness. “If he had been led into crime by others it would be a different story. But so far as I can remember, he was always hot-tempered, vicious, and bound to have his own way. He was the leader in that robbery—not Merwell. And when he was captured he acted in anything but a penitent mood. On that account I can’t get up much sympathy for him.”

“He doesn’t deserve any sympathy!” cried Roger. “Why, every time I think of how he grabbed up that Indian club in the Oak Hall gymnasium and did his best to brain you with it, it makes my blood run cold!”

“He certainly must have been a pretty wicked boy to attempt anything like that,” was Frank Andrews’ comment. “It’s bad enough for schoolboys to fight with their fists; but that at least is a fair way to do.”

The two chums were tired out from their strenuous adventures of the day, and were glad to retire early. During the night the storm cleared away entirely, and in the morning the sun shown as brightly as ever.

“If you don’t mind, Dave, I’ll take that telegram down to the office,” said Roger, while the pair were dressing. “I’m expecting a box that father said he was sending, and I can ask for that at the same time.”

“All right, Roger. But you had better wait until the mail gets in. There may be some other message we’ll want to send.”

The mail was brought in while the youths were at breakfast, and was distributed immediately after that repast was over.

“Hello, here’s a letter from Phil!” cried our hero, as he noticed the postmark “Philadelphia.”

“I’ve got the box from dad,” returned the senator’s son, “so I won’t have to ask about that at the express office.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Dave, who had ripped the letter open and was scanning its contents. “Phil is coming out here to pay a visit to Star Ranch; and he says he may bring Shadow Hamilton with him. Isn’t that the best ever?”

“So it is, Dave! But it’s no more than I expected—at least so far as Phil is concerned. I knew he couldn’t remain away from Belle Endicott very long,” and the senator’s son winked suggestively.

“Here’s a lot of news about the other fellows, Luke Watson, Polly Vane, and Jim Murphy. Polly has gone into business with an uncle of his, and Jim Murphy has a well-paying position up at Yale.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Polly Vane was one of the finest fellows that ever lived, even if he was somewhat girlish. And as for Jim Murphy—there was never a better monitor around Oak Hall.”

Dave had turned over to the last sheet of the six-page communication Phil Lawrence had sent. Here the letter proper came to an end, but there was a postscript added in lead pencil. This ran as follows:

“You will be interested to know that some time ago Nick Jasniff’s case was brought up before the Board of Pardons by a Committee on Prison Reform. The men and women composing the committee made a strong plea for Jasniff because of his age, and I understand they made a very favorable impression on the Pardon Board. If Jasniff is pardoned, he will be getting out without having served even half of his sentence. I wish I had been there to tell the Board what sort of a fellow he is.”

“Here’s the milk in the cocoanut, Roger!” cried Dave, and read aloud what Phil had written.

“Humph, so that’s the truth of it,” murmured the senator’s son. “More than likely that committee worked on the feelings of the Pardoning Board so that they gave Jasniff his liberty. Well, if that’s the case, there won’t be any need for sending that telegram.”

“You’re right. If he was pardoned, that ends it, and he has as much right to his liberty as we have to ours. Just the same, I think they made a mistake. When he was tried, I am sure the judge, on account of his age, gave him as short a sentence as he deemed best.”

“I’m sure of that too, Dave! Why, one of the lawyers told me that if Jasniff had been ten years older he would have gotten twice as long a sentence.”

“I think I had better go to Mr. Obray with this news,” said Dave. “You can tell Andrews if you want to.”

Our hero found the manager of the construction camp just preparing to go out with several of his assistant engineers. Explaining the situation, Dave allowed Mr. Obray to read the postscript of Phil’s letter.

“Looks as if you were right after all, and the fellow who was here had been pardoned,” was Ralph Obray’s comment. “In that case, you can’t do anything about having him held. Just the same, if he is that sort I won’t want him around.”

“If he comes again, may we see him to make sure that he is really this Nick Jasniff?”

“Certainly, Porter. If you are anywhere near, I’ll hold the man at the office, or wherever we happen to be, and send for you and Morr.”

Dave and Roger were now working under the directions of Frank Andrews. In the gang were two others—a young man named Larry Bond, and an elderly engineer named Hixon. All had become well acquainted and were good friends. Hixon was from the West and had spent many years of his life on the cattle ranges and in the gold fields.

“I was a prospector for six years,” he once declared. “But, believe me, it didn’t pay. Sometimes I struck it pretty rich; but then would come long dry spells when I wouldn’t get a thing. All told, I didn’t do as well, year in and year out, as I am now doing at regular wages.”

Andrews’ gang, as it was termed, had some work to do at Section Five of the proposed line, the work, of course, being preliminary to that which was to be made on the erection of the bridges to be built. This was in a decidedly rocky part of the territory, and the young civil engineers and the others had no easy time of it making their survey.

“Some different from sitting in your room at Oak Hall working out a problem in geometry, eh?” remarked Dave to Roger, after a particularly hard climb over the rocks.

“I should say so,” panted the senator’s son.

“You look out that that chain doesn’t get away from you,” cried Dave, pointing to the long coiled-up steel measure which the other was carrying at his belt. The real civil engineer’s, or surveyor’s, chain is largely a thing of the past, the steel measure having taken its place.

Frank Andrews and the others were at a distance and young Bond was wigwagging his signals across a deep cut in the hills. Now Dave prepared to signal in return, at the same time holding up his leveling-rod as required. Roger attempted to climb around on the rough rocks, and then suddenly uttered a cry of dismay.

“What’s the matter?” asked Dave.

“That measure! I just started to fasten it tighter to my belt when it slipped out of my hands. There it goes—sliding down the rocks out there,” and the senator’s son pointed to a spot at least fifty feet below them.

While Dave was still signaling and moving his leveling-rod farther along as desired, Roger began to scramble down the rocks in the direction where the steel measure had fallen. He was gone for fully ten minutes when suddenly Dave heard a yell.

“What’s the matter, Roger?” he called, dropping the leveling-rod and the signal flag he held.

“It’s a snake—and a big one, too!” screamed the senator’s son. “Oh, Dave, come here and help me! My leg is caught between the rocks, and it’s a rattlesnake!”

CHAPTER V
NICK JASNIFF’S VISIT

The announcement that Roger had his leg caught between the rocks and that a rattlesnake was about to attack him filled Dave with alarm.

“Oh, Roger, are you sure it’s a rattlesnake?”

“Yes! Yes! Come down and help me! Quick!”

“I will. Can’t you hit him with a rock or something?”

“I will if I can. But hurry up—and bring that axe or something with you!”

When leveling parties, as they are officially called, go out, one man often carries an axe with which to clear away any obstructions which may prevent a clear sight. On this occasion Roger had been carrying the axe, as well as the chain, and the implement now lay close to where our hero stood.

Grabbing up the axe, Dave lost no time in scrambling down the rocks. As he did this he heard a stone strike on some rocks below and knew that Roger was throwing at the snake.

“Oh, Dave! Help!” yelled the senator’s son, “He’s getting ready to strike!”

With one wild leap Dave came down to within a few feet of where his chum stood between two rocks which reached up to his waist. One leg was fast between the rocks, and while the unfortunate youth was endeavoring wildly to extricate himself from his predicament, he was shying one loose stone after another at a snake that was coiled up in something of a hollow less than a dozen feet away. The hollow was so situated that exit from it could only be had in the direction occupied by the young civil engineer.

As Dave approached he saw that it was indeed a rattlesnake that his chum had disturbed. The reptile was at least five feet in length and of corresponding thickness, and was now coiled up as if ready to strike.

It was a moment which called for immediate action, and without stopping to think Dave raised the axe and sent it whirling forward toward the snake. His aim fell short, but this shortness proved to be thoroughly effective. The handle of the axe came down with a thud on the rocks, sending the blade flashing in a semicircle. The sharpened bit of steel caught the snake in the very center of its folds, inflicting several deep cuts.

Instantly the reptile’s attention was taken from Roger. It whirled around swiftly in search of the enemy that had struck it and whipped angrily at the axe.

“Oh, Dave! can’t you shoot him?” gasped Roger. “I dropped my pistol when I came down over the rocks.”

In that wild territory it was the custom of every one of the engineering gang to carry firearms. Dave had a small automatic pistol in his hip pocket, and this he now brought into play.

Crack! Crack! Crack! went the weapon three times in rapid succession. The first shot did not take effect, but the second and third hit the mark, and the rattlesnake twisted and turned in its death agony. Then, placing the pistol back in his pocket, our hero raised up a stone almost as large as his head and with it put the reptile out of its misery.

“Oh, Dave, is he—is he dead?” panted Roger. His face had gone white, and his whole attitude showed how unstrung he was.

“He’s as dead as a door-nail, Roger,” was the answer, after Dave had made a brief inspection of the remains. “He’ll never bother you or anybody else again.”

“I felt sure he was going to bite me!” went on the senator’s son with a shudder.

“You certainly had a close shave, and I don’t wonder that it scared you, Roger. Think of facing a snake like that and not being able to run away!”

“He was down in this very hollow where my leg is first. Then he glided over to the other hollow and began to rattle and coil up to strike. If you hadn’t come down as you did, he would have struck me sure;” and the senator’s son shivered again.

“I think we had better wipe off that axe-handle, and the blade, too,” remarked Dave. “He may have gotten some of his poison on it.”

“Yes, wipe it off very carefully,” answered Roger. “But first of all I’ve got to get my foot loose. It does beat all how I got stuck.”

“You didn’t hurt your leg or your foot, did you?”

“I scraped my shin a little, but that doesn’t count.”

An inspection was made, and finally Dave had to bend down and unlace Roger’s shoe before the limb could be gotten out of the space between the two rocks. Then the footwear was recovered, and the senator’s son put it on once more. In the meanwhile, Dave took up the axe rather gingerly and also tied a bit of string to the tail of the lifeless rattlesnake.

“We’ll take it back to the camp to show the others,” announced our hero. “They wouldn’t believe our story unless we were able to show the snake. Besides that, we can keep the rattles if we want to. Some people prize them quite highly as trophies.”

The axe was wiped off with care, and then, after Roger had recovered his pistol and also the steel measure he had dropped, the pair scrambled up the rocks to where Dave had left his flag and the leveling-rod. He waved the flag in the air as a signal, and presently an answering signal came back from the other members of the leveling gang, who had been wondering what had become of the two assistants.

“Say, you fellows have got to attend to business during working hours!” cried Frank Andrews, when they met. “If you want to——Great catfish! where did you get that snake?” and he broke off short to gaze in wonder at the rattlesnake tied to the string that Roger exhibited.

“You have to break off business when you get an unexpected caller like that,” replied Dave dryly.

“Do you mean to say that rattler attacked you?” questioned Larry Bond quickly.

“He started to attack Roger.”

“And Dave threw the axe at him and then shot him,” explained the senator’s son.

“Some rattler! that’s what he is!” was the comment of John Hixon. “If he struck for you he certainly meant business;” and he examined the remains of the rattlesnake with much interest.

“We thought we heard several shots, but we were not sure,” remarked Frank Andrews.

“I guess you didn’t hear them very well because we were in something of a hollow,” answered Dave; and then he and Roger gave the particulars of what had occurred.

“You can be mighty lucky that you weren’t struck,” declared Hixon emphatically. “When I was out in the gold mines in the northern part of this state I knew a man who was struck twice by a rattler, and he came about as close to dying as any man I ever saw.”

The adventure had so unnerved Roger that Frank Andrews excused him for the rest of the day, and he went back to the construction camp, taking the remains of the rattlesnake with him. Here the story about the reptile soon spread; and that evening all the men connected with the camp came in to view the rattlesnake.

“I’m very thankful that you got out of this as luckily as you did,” remarked Mr. Obray to Roger. Then he told all of his men that they must be very careful when they went among the rocks and through the bushes. “Because, you know,” he explained, “where there is one rattlesnake there may be more. I was told by those who made the first survey for the railroad that they saw no snakes of any kind in this vicinity. Evidently, however, there was one snake that they missed.”

“And I hope he’s the only one,” put in Frank Andrews.

The snake scare was the main topic of conversation for several days, and it is safe to say that no one went anywhere without having his eyes wide open for a possible appearance of some reptile. But no more snakes—rattlers or otherwise—put in an appearance.

Phil had written that he would come out to Montana in about a week and would stop at the construction camp before going to the Endicott place. Dave and Roger, of course, looked forward to the visit with much pleasure.

“We’ll have to ask for a day off just to show Phil around,” said Dave.

“That’s so. And among other points of interest we can show him the spot where you killed the rattler,” answered his chum, with a grim smile.

“Yes, we can do that.”

“I hope Shadow Hamilton comes with him. I could even stand it to hear some of Shadow’s oldest chestnuts of stories,” went on Roger. “It would seem like old times at Oak Hall.”

“Let us trust that Shadow has a new batch of stories to tell,” responded Dave. “We haven’t seen him in such a while he has had plenty of time to gather in a new crop.”

Several days went by, and the young civil engineers were kept so busy that they had little time to think about the coming of Phil Lawrence and Shadow Hamilton. Once or twice they thought of Nick Jasniff and asked Mr. Obray if that individual had shown himself.

“Not yet,” was the manager’s reply. “Maybe he got wind that you were here and that is keeping him away.”

On the afternoon of the fourth day following the killing of the rattlesnake, Dave and Roger were hard at work in Section Five when one of the general utility men around the camp came riding up on horseback and leading another steed by the halter.

“Mr. Obray sent me for you,” he announced to the chums. “You are to take these two horses and ride down to the office as fast as you can. Some young man is there that you wanted to see—the fellow who came here some days ago looking for a job.”

“It must be Nick Jasniff!” exclaimed Dave, and lost no time in leaping into the saddle. He was followed by Roger; and both hurried off along the trail leading to the construction camp.

“Let us sneak up to the office by the back way and listen to what Nick Jasniff has to say,” suggested Dave while they were on the way.

This suited Roger, and coming into view of the camp they left the horses at the shed and hurried along past the bunk-houses to the rear of the office. Here a window was wide open, and, looking through this, they saw Mr. Obray at a desk, and sitting near him was his visitor, hat in hand.

“There is no mistake about him. It’s Nick Jasniff,” whispered the senator’s son.

He was right, it was indeed the former bully of Oak Hall, the rascal who had been sent to prison for the robbery of Mr. Wadsworth’s jewelry works. Jasniff was talking very earnestly to the manager of the construction camp.

“Yes, I am working over at the Double Eight Ranch,” Jasniff was saying. “I’ve been there now for quite a while, but I don’t like it very much. You see, I’ve been used to office life, and working around the construction of skyscrapers, and things like that. I had a pretty good job out in San Francisco and another one in Seattle. I would much rather work for a concern like yours than to stick to cow-punching.”

“How long have you been at Double Eight Ranch?” questioned Mr. Obray. He was doing what he could to put in time until Dave and Roger might arrive.

“Been there nearly three months.”

“And did you come directly from San Francisco or Seattle?”

“Oh—I—er—came from Seattle,” responded Nick Jasniff hesitatingly. “I was—er—out of work for about six weeks.”

“And how long did you work in Seattle?”

“A little over a year. I would have stayed there longer, only the firm that employed me went out of business,” continued the fellow who had been in prison glibly.

“Ever been in the East—in New York or Philadelphia?”

“No, sir. I never got any farther East than Chicago.”

At this reply from Jasniff Dave poked Roger in the side and both looked at each other knowingly.

“He’s the same Jasniff,” whispered the senator’s son. “He always did have a smooth tongue.”

“Yes. And that smooth tongue of his got him into more than one difficulty,” responded our hero.

The pair remained silent for a minute or two longer listening to the questions put by Ralph Obray and the answers made by Nick Jasniff. Finally the questions became so personal that the fellow who had been in prison commenced to grow suspicious.

“Well, will you have an opening for me or not?” he demanded at last, arising to his feet.

At that moment Dave and Roger glided around the side of the office and tiptoed in through the doorway. They came up directly behind Nick Jasniff before he was aware of their presence.

“Here is the fellow if you want to talk to him,” said Mr. Obray quickly; and thereupon the visitor turned around, to stare in amazement at Dave and Roger.

“W—w—what——” stammered Nick Jasniff, and was unable to go on.

“You didn’t expect to see us, did you, Jasniff?” declared Dave coolly.

“You were lucky to get out of prison so quickly,” put in Roger.

“I—I—don’t know you,” faltered Nick Jasniff, and now his face grew purple while the heavy beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

“You don’t know us, eh?” cried Dave. “Well, we know you well enough!”

“Even if you are traveling under the assumed name of Jasper Nicholas,” added Roger slyly.

“See here! I don’t know what you fellows are talking about!” cried Nick Jasniff, straightening up. “Is this some game or not?”

“It is a game—on your part,” answered Dave, quickly.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come, Jasniff, what’s the use of talking like this? We know your game thoroughly!” burst out Roger. “We have found out all about you, and Mr. Obray here knows about you, too. He just sent for us to identify you.”

At this announcement Nick Jasniff wheeled around to confront the manager.

“Is that true? Did you send for these fellows to come to identify me?”

“I did.” Mr. Obray’s face took on a stern look. “They had told me all about you.”

“They didn’t have any right to do that!” blustered the fellow who had been in prison.

“Yes, they did. In fact, it was their duty to do so. We are all honest men in this camp, and we have no use for fellows like you. I wanted to make sure that there was no mistake. Now I am sure, and you can get out—and stay out.”

“I think that Board of Pardons was very foolish to pardon you,” Roger could not help remarking. “They should have let you stay in prison to the end of your term.”

At this remark Nick Jasniff looked for a moment blankly at the senator’s son.

“Now, see here, you——”

“Oh, we know all about how you were pardoned,” went on Roger. “It was a big mistake. But now that they have let you go, I suppose you have as much right to earn your living as anybody.”

“But we don’t want you around where we are,” added Dave.

“Huh, I’m not taking orders from you,” blustered Nick Jasniff.

“No, but you are taking orders from me,” interposed Mr. Obray sternly. “As I said before, I want you to leave this place. I don’t want you to come here again—understand that;” and he arose to his feet to signify that the interview was at an end.

“All right—I’ll go. But I won’t forget that you had me come over here on a fool’s errand,” grumbled Nick Jasniff. And then, as he reached the doorway and passed outside, he turned around and shook his fist at Dave and Roger. “Just you wait! Some day I’ll get square with you for this!” he cried angrily.

Then he ran swiftly toward the horse he had been riding, leaped into the saddle and rode away.

CHAPTER VI
NEWS FROM HOME

“He’s mad clean through, that’s certain,” remarked Roger, as he and Dave hurried out of the office to watch Nick Jasniff gallop away down the road leading from the construction camp.

“Yes. And I’ve no doubt but he’ll do his best to make trouble for us,” replied Dave seriously. “It’s too bad! I thought we were done with that fellow forever.”

“Do you suppose he really has a job at the Double Eight Ranch?” queried the senator’s son, after a pause, during which they noted Jasniff’s disappearance around a bend of the trail.

“He must be working somewhere. Or else somebody has supplied him with funds. He can’t live on nothing.”

“Perhaps he got his funds as he got those stolen jewels, Dave.”

“That might be true too. They say very few men reform after they have once been in prison.”

“Let us ask some of the others about this Double Eight Ranch.”

This suggestion was considered a good one, and during the next few days they made a number of inquiries concerning the ranch in question, and learned that it was a large place located in a fertile valley about twenty miles away. It was owned by a syndicate of Western capitalists and was under the management of a man named James Dackley. The ranch employed about a dozen experienced cowboys and an equal number of assistants.

“If Nick Jasniff works there it must be simply as an assistant, since he knows little about a cowboy’s duties,” was Dave’s comment.

“Yes. And if he is only an assistant he can’t be paid very much money. No wonder he wanted to join our crowd. I suppose he thought he could earn two or three times as much.”

“Well, Roger, you can’t blame him for wanting to earn money,” returned Dave briefly. “Now that he has paid the penalty of his crime, as the laws puts it, he has as much right to go where he pleases, and work at what he pleases, as anybody.”

“Oh, I’m not begrudging him a chance to earn his living,” cried the senator’s son quickly. “I hope he reforms and gets along well in life. I only want him to keep away from where I am. I think I’ve got a right to pick my company, and I don’t propose to pick such fellows as Jasniff.”

Sunday passed, and then Dave received another letter from Phil Lawrence stating that the ship-owner’s son had been delayed, but that he would surely come West in the near future, and that not only Shadow Hamilton but also Ben Basswood had promised to make the trip with him. Concerning Ben, Phil wrote as follows:

“You must know how grateful the Basswoods are to you and Roger for recovering those thousands of dollars’ worth of miniatures down there on the Border. I think they feel pretty wealthy now, having been offered a fine price for some of the little paintings. So it was an easy matter for Ben to get permission to join Shadow and me when the trip was proposed. Ben is wild, thinking what a good time he is going to have, for, as you know, he has never had the chance of getting around that we have had.”

“This is better than ever!” cried Roger, when he read the communication. “Talk about old times at Oak Hall! We will tear things wide open when they arrive.”

“We’ll have to attend to our work, Roger. You know we are here to learn all about surveying and civil engineering. Our play days are very largely at an end.”

“Oh, I think Mr. Obray and Frank Andrews will let us cut loose a little—after they understand matters,” pleaded the senator’s son.

The same mail had brought the young men letters from Jessie and Laura and also an interesting communication from Dave’s Uncle Dunston. The two girls had been on a trip to New York with Mrs. Wadsworth, and had much to tell about their sightseeing in and around the metropolis. Both said they wished Dave and Roger had been with them.

“Too bad! But we are a long way from old New York,” sighed Roger. “My, what a grand old time we could have had, visiting Bronx Park, Coney Island, and a lot of other places!”

“Yes. And we might have taken an auto trip or two,” added Dave, his face brightening.

“And think of being with the girls, Dave!” broke in Roger wistfully. “It seems a terribly long time since we saw them, doesn’t it?”

“It sure does,” answered Dave. He gave something of a sigh. “Well, it can’t be helped. If we want to make something of ourselves in this world, we’ve got to buckle down and take the bitter with the sweet. I guess it’s just as hard on the girls. They won’t want to go out in company with any of the other fellows.”

“And we know what we are working for—and that is one comfort,” added the senator’s son.

In his communication to his nephew Dunston Porter spoke about having bought some stock in the Mentor Construction Company, and having gotten Mr. Wadsworth to make the same kind of investment. Between them the two had put up twenty thousand dollars.

“That sure is something worth while!” cried Roger. “It ought to help your chance with the concern.”

“Well, if it helps my chance, it’s got to help your chance, too, Roger.”

“I never thought of the company as an investment,” went on the senator’s son. “I think when I write to my father I’ll speak to him about it, and tell him of what your uncle and Mr. Wadsworth have done. Maybe my father will buy a like share.”

“That would be fine, Roger. Then both of us could feel as if we had a real personal interest in the concern we were working for. Of course, it’s only a small amount in comparison with what the construction company really has invested in this business. But every little helps.”

“Yes. And it will prove to those higher up that we have some interest beyond just earning our salaries.”

Another part of Dunston Porter’s letter referred to the clearing up of a tract of land on the outskirts of Crumville which belonged jointly to the Porters, Mr. Wadsworth and an estate which was represented by Mr. Basswood. The real estate dealer had said that now would be a good time in which to lay out streets through the tract and sell off the plots for building. There were several new factories being erected down along the railroad tracks, and the workingmen employed in these concerns would want homes.

“The tract has not been used for a number of years,” wrote Dunston Porter; “and during the past six summers a band of gypsies has been making its encampment there. We had quite some trouble getting the gypsies to evacuate, and a couple of them became so ugly that we had to threaten them with arrest. But they have gone at last, and we have told them that they cannot come back. We expect to lay out the streets and the plots of ground immediately, and then Mr. Basswood is going to get ready and hold a big auction sale of the various parcels. All of us hope to make quite some money by the transaction.”

“Hurrah for the auction sale of building lots!” cried Dave. “I hope they make a barrel of money. Wouldn’t it be fun to be there and see the various plots sold off?”

“I went to a sale like that in our home town years ago,” returned Roger. “They had a big tent put up and furnished refreshments, and a small brass band played selections. The auctioneer was a very gifted talker, and he made a wonderful address to the assemblage, telling them of all the advantages to be had by buying the lots. Then the agents got busy and the lots sold off like hot cakes, some for cash and some on the instalment plan. At that time there wasn’t a building of any kind on the land; but less than a year later there were half a dozen rows of houses and half that number of barns and garages, and now that end of the town is quite thriving.”

“I’m sure Crumville is bound to grow,” returned Dave. “Just look at what it was when I was a small boy and what it is to-day! We have three or four times as many people and stores, and we have a new railroad station with a good many more trains, and two moving picture theaters, two new schools, another church, and several new factories. And not only that, the business men have become so wideawake that they are gathering in the trade for miles around—trade that used to go to other towns.”

“Well, I hope it does grow, Dave. That will make it so much better for your folks and the Wadsworths, and also the Basswoods.”

On the morning following this conversation Dave was preparing to go out with the others when one of the clerks from the office came to him with the information that Mr. Obray wanted to see him at once. He found the manager of the construction camp deep in some papers strewn over his desk.

“Porter, would you like to go on a special errand for me over to Orella?” the manager asked abruptly. “I’ve got some important papers that I wish delivered, and I want to see to it that they are placed in the hands of just the right party.”

“Why, yes, Mr. Obray, I’ll be glad to do whatever you want me to,” answered Dave quickly. “It’s quite a trip though, so I’ve heard,” he added with a smile.

“I know that, Porter. But the trail is a good one all the way; and if you follow the signboards you can’t go astray. You can take a good horse, and you had better take something to eat along, too. If you start inside of the next hour, you ought to be able to get back before dark. Of course, if you have any difficulty in finding the right party, you can stay in Orella all night and come back to-morrow.”

“Oh, I think I can make the trip in one day, provided I don’t have to lose too much time in the mining camp. I’ll be ready inside of fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Then go ahead, and when you’re ready I’ll give you the papers and also tell you who they are to be delivered to.”

When Dave rejoined his chum he told Roger about the proposed trip.

“You’re in luck, Dave!” cried the senator’s son. “That will make a dandy outing. I wish I was going along.”

“I thought at first of asking Mr. Obray to let you go,” answered Dave. “But then I got to thinking about the time we would want off when Phil and the others came, and I didn’t want to crowd things too much.”

“Oh, no, I’m glad you didn’t,” was the hasty response. “I don’t want to have the manager thinking we are loafing on the job.”

Dave ran over to the kitchen and there had Jeff, the cook, put him up a substantial lunch. Then he dressed himself for the long, hard ride through the mountains, and a little later presented himself again at the office.

“Here are the papers,” said Ralph Obray, handing over a large and fat legal-looking envelope. “I want you to deliver them to Mr. Raymond Carson or, if Mr. Carson is not there, to either his wife or his brother-in-law, Mr. Fred Jamison. If you deliver this to the wife or the brother-in-law, tell them that the papers are very valuable and that they must not be given to anyone but Mr. Carson.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the young civil engineer. And to make sure of the names he put them down in the notebook he carried. “I suppose I had better get a receipt for them,” he added.

“Yes, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to do that, Porter, although I know I can take your word for it. I have watched you ever since you came to work for our company, and that is why I am trusting you in the present instance.”

“You can rely on me to do my best, Mr. Obray,” answered our hero. And then with pardonable pride he drew from his pocket the letter he had received from his uncle. “I guess this will prove to you how much I am interested in the Mentor Construction Company,” and thereupon he showed the manager the paragraph pertaining to the purchase of stock in the concern by the Porters and Mr. Wadsworth.

“That certainly is evidence!” cried Ralph Obray heartily. “I am glad to know your people take such a substantial interest in this company. I might as well tell you, my folks have an interest in it, too. But now you had better be on your way, because it’s a long trip to Orella and I won’t feel entirely satisfied until I know those papers are in the hands of Mr. Carson or those other people.”

“I’ll get them there just as soon as I can make it,” answered Dave.

And a few minutes later he was on his way, never dreaming of the strange adventure in store for him.

CHAPTER VII
THE FIGHT ON THE TRAIL

The road to Orella was in the opposite direction to that taken by Dave and Roger on the day they had encountered the heavy storm. As Mr. Obray had said, the trail was well marked, so that the young civil engineer had little trouble in following it.

“But you are going to have some rough riding, Dave,” remarked Roger, when he came forward to see his chum depart. “They tell me there is one spot on the trail where riding is as dangerous as it is on any trail in Montana.”

“Well, Sport is a good horse, and I intend to be careful,” answered our hero; and then, with a wave of his hand, he galloped away and was soon out of sight of the construction camp.

Our hero felt in the best of humor, for the day promised to be a fine one and a ride on horseback through the mountains was just to his liking. He could not help but whistle gayly to himself as he sped forward; and thus the first three miles of his journey were covered in a comparatively short space of time.

Beyond these three miles the trail roughened for another mile or two, and here the young civil engineer had to pick his way among the rocks and loose stones with care. In some places where the trail was of dirt, the brushwood grew thickly, so that it often brushed his legs and the sides of his steed as they passed. This, of course, was merely the foot trail to Orella, a sort of short cut. The main trail for teams wound along farther down in the valley and was fully fifteen miles longer.

As Dave pursued his journey, many thoughts came to his mind, both about his work and concerning those left at home in Crumville. The beautiful face of Jessie, with her bewitching eyes, was continually before him; and once or twice he took from his pocket the last letter he had received from her, to read over some of the lines she had penned.

“She wants me to make good as a civil engineer, and I’m going to do it,” he murmured to himself.

Shortly after leaving the construction camp he had passed several miners who were prospecting in that vicinity, but now he seemed to be alone on the trail, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the occasional cry of a wild bird and the hoofbeats of his horse as the sturdy animal moved ahead.

Having mounted to the top of an unusually hard rise, Dave brought Sport to a halt to rest, and also to take a look at his surroundings. On one side of him were the jagged rocks leading still further upward, while on the other was the broad valley, clothed in green and with a shimmering river flowing through its center. Far away he could see some animals grazing, and took them to be mountain goats, although at such a distance it was hard to make sure.

“A fellow certainly could have some great times out here hunting in the proper season,” he told himself. “I’d like to go out myself for a few days, especially if I could get some old hunter for a guide.”

Having rested for about five minutes, Dave moved forward again, and soon found himself on the dangerous part of the trail mentioned by Roger. The youth had heard this spoken of before, and he reined in his steed and moved forward with caution.

“You be careful, old boy,” he said, patting his horse on the neck. “Neither of us wants to take a tumble down yonder rocks. If we did, it might be good-bye to both of us.”

Evidently Sport understood the situation quite as well as did the young civil engineer, for he kept as close to the inner side of the path as possible, and picked every step carefully, and thus they moved onward until the very worst of the trail had been left behind. There was, however, still some bad places, the trail widening out in some spots only to narrow worse than ever in others.

“Hi there! Don’t you ride me down!” cried an unexpected voice, as Dave came around one of the narrow bends of the trail. And the next instant the youth found himself face to face with Nick Jasniff.

The fellow who had been in prison was on foot, and carried a bundle strapped over one shoulder. He was so close that he had to leap to one side for fear of being trampled under foot, and this filled him with anger even before he recognized who was on horseback.

“Nick Jasniff!” exclaimed Dave, and for the instant knew not what more to say.

“So it’s you, Porter, is it?” snarled the former bully of Oak Hall. “What are you doing on this trail?”

“That is none of your business, Jasniff,” answered Dave coldly.

“See here! You needn’t put on any lordly airs with me!” growled the fellow who in the past had caused our hero so much trouble. “Thought you were playing a fine game on me, didn’t you—having that construction camp manager make a fool of me?” And now Jasniff came closer and caught Dave’s horse by the bridle.

“You keep your hands off my horse, Jasniff,” ordered Dave. “You let go of him this instant!”

“I’ll let go when I please.”

“No, you won’t! You’ll let go now!” And so speaking, Dave leaned over in the saddle to push the fellow away.

It was not a very wise thing to do, and Dave should have known better. The instant he made the movement, Jasniff, who was tall and powerful, caught him by the arm, and the next instant had hauled him from the saddle. The scuffle which resulted from this alarmed the horse, and the steed trotted away some distance up the trail.

“I guess I’ve got you now where I want you, Porter!” cried Jasniff, the squinting eye squinting worse than ever as he scowled at our hero. “I’ve got a big account to settle with you.”

Dave realized that he was in for it and that Nick Jasniff would hesitate at nothing to accomplish his purpose. Our hero remembered well the dastardly attack made on him by the rascal at the Oak Hall gymnasium with an Indian club.

Jasniff struck out with his left fist, and at the same time put his right hand back as if to draw some weapon. Dave dodged the blow intended for his face, and then struck out swiftly, hitting Jasniff in the cheek. Then several blows were exchanged in quick succession, Dave being hit in the chest and shoulder and Jasniff receiving several in the chest and one on the nose which sent him staggering several feet. Then the bully rushed forward and clinched, and both circled around and around on the narrow trail, each trying to get the advantage of the other.

“I’ll fix you! Just wait and see!” panted Jasniff, as he did his best to get a strangle hold on our hero.

Dave did not answer, for he realized that in an encounter with such a tall and powerful fellow as Jasniff he must make the best use of his breath as well as his muscles.

He slipped from the clutch Jasniff was trying to get on him, and caught the fellow by the waist. Then Jasniff went down with Dave on top of him, and both rolled over and over among the rocks and into some bushes which chanced to have sprung up in that vicinity.

“You le—le—let up!” gasped Jasniff presently, when he found Dave had him by the throat.

“I’ll let up when I’m through with you—not before,” answered Dave pantingly.

The struggle continued, and Jasniff arose partly to a sitting position only to have his head banged backward on the rocks. Then, however, he managed to get one leg doubled up and he sent his foot into Dave’s stomach in such a way that our hero was for the moment deprived of his breath. Both clinched again and rolled over until they were close to the edge of the rocks.

“Now I’ve got you!” cried the bully; and just as Dave managed to hit him another blow in the nose, one which made the blood spurt, Jasniff tore himself free and an instant later pushed Dave down over the rocks.

Even then our hero might have saved himself, as he had his left foot planted in what he thought a safe place, and he might have caught Jasniff by the leg. But the foot gave way most unexpectedly, and in a trice Dave found himself rolling over and over down a rocky slope. He clutched out wildly, and managed to catch hold of several bushes. But these came out by the roots, and then he slid downward once more, at last reaching a little cliff over which he plunged sideways, to land with a crash in some bushes and stunted trees some distance below.

The rolling and the drop over the cliff had all but stunned the young civil engineer, and for fully five minutes he lay among the bushes hardly realizing where he was or what had happened. Then, when he finally arose to his feet, he found that his left shoulder hurt him not a little, and that his left ankle felt equally painful and was quite lame.

“That certainly was some tumble,” he groaned to himself. “I suppose I can be thankful I wasn’t killed.”

Dave found himself rolling over and over down a rocky slope.—Page 74.

He had rolled a distance of fifty yards, and the top of the little cliff was six or eight feet above his head. From where he stood he could not see that portion of the trail where the encounter had occurred, and consequently he knew not what had become of Nick Jasniff.

“I hope he rolled down, too,” murmured Dave to himself. But after he had taken a good look around he concluded that Jasniff had remained up on the trail.

The only thing to do was to climb up to the trail and try to find out what had become of Jasniff and the horse.

“It would be just like Jasniff to take Sport and ride off with him,” thought Dave dismally. “What a fool I was not to give him a knock-out blow when I had him down on the rocks! If I had given him that I could have made him a prisoner before he had a chance to regain his senses. Now he’s got the best of it, and there is no telling what he’s up to.”

More anxious to know what had become of his horse than over Jasniff’s welfare, Dave moved around to one end of the cliff and then began to scramble up the rocks. This was by no means easy, and more than once he had to stop to catch his breath and nurse his hurt shoulder and his lame ankle. Up above him he could now see the trail, but neither Jasniff nor the horse was in sight.

At last Dave had the satisfaction of drawing himself up over the rocks bordering the edge of the trail, and here, feeling rather weak, he sat down to regain his strength. He listened intently, but scarcely a sound broke the silence of the mountains. Evidently Nick Jasniff had taken time by the forelock and made good his departure.

“If he took that horse, what am I to do?” mused Dave bitterly. “To foot it all the way to Orella, and especially with this lame ankle, is almost out of the question.”

Thinking of Orella put Dave in mind of his mission, and he quickly thrust his hand into his pocket to see if the envelope Mr. Obray had given him to deliver was safe.

The next instant his heart almost stopped beating. The envelope was gone!

Frantically he searched one pocket after another; and then he made another discovery equally dismaying. Not only was the envelope the construction camp manager had given him missing, but likewise the letters he had received from Jessie and his Uncle Dunston, and also his pocketbook which had contained upward of forty dollars.

CHAPTER VIII
WHAT WAS MISSING

“Gone!”

This was the one word which burst from Dave’s lips as he searched one pocket after another in rapid succession. Then he arose to his feet, to hurry up and down the trail in the vicinity where the encounter with Jasniff had occurred. But though he looked everywhere, not a trace of the documents, the letters, or his pocketbook could be found.

An examination showed that his coat was torn in several places and that the side of one of the pockets had likewise been rent. But whether this damage had been caused by the fight or when he had rolled down over the rocks, he could not determine.

“I guess I got pretty well mussed up in the fight, and the fall down the rocks finished the job,” he muttered to himself.

He was much disheartened, and felt bitter against Nick Jasniff. Whether the rascal had picked up the articles lost and made off with them was, however, a question.

“If I lost them up here on the trail he probably took them,” Dave reasoned. “But if they fell out of my pockets when I rolled down the rocks and over the cliff, they must be scattered somewhere between here and the place where I landed in the bushes.”

Dave felt much perplexed, not knowing whether it would be better to try to find Jasniff or to make a search in the vicinity where he had had the fall.

“I suppose it would be sheer nonsense to try to follow Jasniff on foot if he went off on my horse,” the young civil engineer reasoned. “I might as well take a look down below and make sure that I didn’t drop those things when I fell.”

With his hurt shoulder and lame ankle, it was almost as much of a task to get down the rocks as it had been to climb up. As well as he was able, he took the same course he had followed in the fall, and he kept his eyes wide open for the things he had lost. But five minutes of slipping and sliding brought him to the top of the little cliff without seeing anything but dirt, rocks, and bushes. Then he had to make a wide detour to get to the bottom of the cliff.

“I suppose it’s a wild-goose chase, and I’ll have my work for my pains,” he grumbled. “Oh, rats! Why did I have to fall in with Jasniff on this trip? I wish that fellow was at the North Pole or down among the Hottentots, or somewhere where he couldn’t bother me!”

Dave began to search around in the vicinity of the spot where he had fallen. He was almost ready to give up in despair when his eye caught sight of a white-looking object some distance below. Eagerly he climbed down to the place where the object lay, and the next moment set up a cry of joy.

“Hurrah! Here are Mr. Obray’s documents!” he exclaimed. “I hope they are all right.”

A hasty inspection convinced him that the legal-looking envelope and its contents were intact. Having inspected them carefully, he placed the packet inside of his shirt.

“I won’t take any more chances with it,” he told himself. “Somebody will have to rip my clothing off to get that envelope away.”

With the envelope safe in his possession once more, Dave felt exceedingly light-hearted. But the letter from Jessie, as well as the communication from Uncle Dunston, and the pocketbook with the forty odd dollars in it, were still missing, and he spent some time looking for those things.

“It doesn’t matter so much about the letters, even though I hate to part with the one from Jessie,” he reasoned. “But I’d like to set my eyes on that pocketbook with the forty-two or forty-three dollars it held.”

But our hero’s success had come to an end with the finding of the envelope to be delivered at Orella; and although he searched around for a quarter of an hour longer, nothing of any value came to sight. Then, with a deep sigh, he pulled himself up once more to the trail, and set off on a hunt for his horse.

“Jasniff was headed in the opposite direction, and maybe he didn’t go after Sport,” Dave argued to himself. “Anyhow, I’ve got to go that way, even if I have to journey on foot.”

Painfully our hero limped along, for the climbing up and down on the rocks had done the lame ankle no good. He had had to loosen his shoe, for the ankle had swollen not a little.

“If I could only bathe it it wouldn’t be so bad,” he thought.

But there was no water at hand, and the small quantity he carried in a flask for drinking purposes was too precious to be used on the injured limb.

He had covered several yards when his lame ankle gave him such a twinge that he had to sit down to give it a rest.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t find that horse,” he thought bitterly.

He was sitting and nursing the hurt ankle and looking over the landscape in the valley below him, when something on one of the bushes less than fifty feet away caught his eye.

“I wonder what that can be,” he mused. “It doesn’t look like a bird’s nest. It looks more like an old shoe. I wonder——Can it be my pocketbook?”

The last thought was so electrifying that Dave leaped to his feet, and, regardless of the painful ankle, walked over to the edge of the trail. Here he could see the object quite plainly, and he lost no time in crawling down to the bushes and obtaining it.

It was indeed his pocketbook, but wide open and empty. Even the few cards and slips of paper it had contained were missing.

“This proves one thing,” he reasoned bitterly. “Jasniff picked that pocketbook up where we had the fight, and he came this way while he was emptying it, then he threw it away.”

Dave was also sure of another thing. The pocketbook and the two letters had been in the same pocket, and he felt certain that Nick Jasniff had also confiscated the two communications.

“Now the question is, if he came this way, did he get Sport?” Dave mused. “If he did, then it’s good-bye to the letters, the money and the horse.”

Placing the empty wallet in his pocket, Dave sat down and rested his lame ankle. He counted the loose change in his trousers’ pocket and found he had eighty-five cents. Then he limped on once more around another bend in the trail.

Here a sight filled him with satisfaction. At this point the rocks came to an end and there was a fairly good bit of pasture-land, and here stood Sport, feeding away as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Good old Sport!” cried Dave, going up to the animal and patting him affectionately. “I’m mighty glad you didn’t run any farther, and doubly glad Nick Jasniff didn’t get you. Now, old boy, we’ll be on our way and try to make up for lost time;” and in a moment more our hero was in the saddle and galloping off in the direction of Orella.

Dave surmised that Nick Jasniff had come in that direction looking for the horse, but without finding Sport. At the same time, the rascal had rifled the pocketbook and then thrown it in the bushes. Then, thinking the horse had gone a much greater distance, Jasniff had retraced his steps and continued on his way in the direction of the construction camp.

“But he can’t be bound for the camp, for Mr. Obray warned him to keep away,” thought our hero. “It must be that he is headed either for some of the mining camps or ranches, or the railroad station.”

Our hero felt that it would be next to useless for him to go to the Double Eight Ranch, where Nick Jasniff was employed, and accuse him of the theft. The fellow would probably deny everything—even the meeting on the road. And as there had been no witnesses to the transaction, there the case would have to rest.

“Just the same, when I get the chance, I’ll let the manager of the Double Eight Ranch know what sort of fellow Jasniff is,” Dave said to himself. “Maybe that crowd over there won’t want a prison bird around any more than we wanted him at the construction camp.”

Our hero had been right in regard to finding the pocketbook and letters. After Dave had disappeared over the edge of the cliff below the trail, Nick Jasniff had looked around to find his hat, which had fallen off in the struggle. As he picked this up he had noticed the pocketbook and the two letters.

“Maybe there’s something in that pocketbook worth keeping,” he had muttered to himself, as he tried to stop the flow of blood from his bruised nose. “And I guess I’m entitled to anything I can get from Dave Porter. I hope he broke every bone in his body by that fall.”

He waited for a minute to see if Dave would reappear, and then hurried along the trail, thinking he could find and mount our hero’s horse. He quickly transferred the forty-three dollars he found in the wallet to his own pocket, and then threw the pocketbook away in the spot where Dave picked it up.

“I guess it’s no use to look any farther,” Jasniff had muttered to himself on failing to locate the horse. “Gee! I’m glad I struck this forty-three dollars! That amount with the thirty I had before will see me a long distance on my way.”

And thereupon he had hurried back past the spot where the encounter had taken place, and then along the trail to where there was a fork—one branch leading down to the construction camp, and the other off in the direction of some mines and the nearest railroad station.

Although our hero did not know it, Jasniff had had another quarrel earlier in the day. A miner operating near the Double Eight Ranch had the night before fallen in with several of the men employed by the Mentor Construction Company, and from them had learned the particulars concerning the fellow who had gotten out of prison.

This news had been carried to James Dackley, the manager of the Double Eight, and Dackley, who was naturally a hot-headed man, had become furious over the thought of being so deceived by Jasniff.

“I only took him on because I thought he was a tenderfoot and was hard up for a job,” Dackley had growled. “He told such a straight story that I swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker. I don’t want such a fellow around here any more than they want him over to the railroad camp. Just have Nolan send him to me, and I’ll soon send him about his business.”

Thereupon Nick Jasniff had been summoned from the bunk-house to the main building on the Double Eight Ranch and been closely questioned by James Dackley. He had denied everything, but the ranch manager had refused almost to listen to him.

“I’m going to investigate this,” said Dackley, “and if the story is true, the sooner you get out the better I’ll be pleased.”

Nick Jasniff had well understood that the truth would come out in the near future; and knowing how passionate James Dackley could become on occasion, he had lost no time in packing his few belongings and asking for his pay. This had been given to him, and he had thereupon set out on his journey toward the railroad station on foot—Dackley refusing to give him the loan of a horse.

Nick Jasniff had come to the conclusion that it would be best for him to quit the neighborhood. He had thirty dollars in his pocket, and this added to the forty-three taken from Dave’s pocketbook made quite a sum.

“There’s no use of my staying here in the West,” he reasoned. “There are far more chances in the East for a fellow like me. Maybe I’ll find some of the fellows I used to know out there, and we can pull off some stunts worth while.”

With several miles placed between him and the place where he had had the encounter with Dave, Nick Jasniff sat down to rest and at the same time look over the letters he had picked up. There was a cynical sneer on his face as he read the communication from Jessie to Dave.

“It’s enough to make a fellow sick to think such a rich girl as that should take to a fellow like Dave Porter,” he murmured to himself. “Wouldn’t I like to put a spoke in that fellow’s wheel! I wonder if I couldn’t do something to come between Porter and the Wadsworths? I owe old man Wadsworth something for sending me to prison.”

Then Nick Jasniff turned to the letter written by Dunston Porter. The beginning of this did not interest him greatly, but he read with interest what Dave’s uncle had written concerning the gypsies who had camped out on the outskirts of Crumville.

“Got into a row with a couple of gypsies, eh?” he mused. “I reckon that’s something worth remembering. Maybe those fellows wouldn’t mind joining me in some kind of a game against the Wadsworths. Maybe we could put one over and make a lot of money out of it. Anyway, it’s something worth thinking about;” and thereupon Nick Jasniff grew very thoughtful as he proceeded on his way to the railroad station.

CHAPTER IX
DAVE AT ORELLA

It was two o’clock in the afternoon when Dave rode into Orella. This was a typical mining town of Montana, containing but a single street with stores, the majority of which were but one story in height. Back of this street were probably half a hundred cabins standing at all sorts of angles toward the landscape; and beyond these were the mines.

Just previous to entering the town Dave had stopped at a wayside spring and there washed up. Before that he had brushed himself off as well as he was able, so that when he entered the place the only evidences he carried of the encounter with Nick Jasniff were some scratches on the back of his hand and a small swelling on his left cheek.

The first person he met directed him to the offices of the Orella Mining Company, of which Mr. Raymond Carson was the general manager.

“Is Mr. Carson in?” he questioned of the clerk who came forward to interview him.

“He is,” was the answer. “Who shall I say wants to see him?”

“My name is Porter, and I was sent here to see him by Mr. Obray of the Mentor Construction Company.”

“Oh, then I guess you can go right in,” returned the clerk, and showed the way to a private office in the rear of the building.

Here Mr. Raymond Carson sat at his desk writing out some telegrams. Dave quickly introduced himself and brought forth the legal-looking envelope which had been intrusted to him. The manager of the mining company tore it open and looked over the contents with care.

“Very good—just what I was waiting for,” he announced. “You can tell Mr. Obray I am much obliged for his promptness.”

“Would you mind giving me a receipt for the papers?” questioned the young civil engineer.

“Not at all.” The mining company manager called in one of the clerks. “Here, take down a receipt,” and he dictated what he wished to say.

Dave at first thought he might tell of how close he had come to losing the documents, but then considered that it might not be wise to mention the occurrence. The receipt was written out and signed and passed over.

“How are matters coming along over at your camp?” questioned Mr. Raymond Carson with a smile.

“Oh, we are doing very well, everything considered,” was Dave’s reply. “We are having a little trouble on account of some of the rocks in Section Six. They are afraid of a landslide. We’ve got to build two bridges there, and our engineers are going to have their own troubles getting the proper foundations.”

“Yes, that’s a great section for landslides. I was out there mining once, and we had some of the worst cave-ins I ever heard about.”

“There is practically no mining around there now,” ventured Dave.

“No. The returns were not sufficient to warrant operations. Some time, however, I think somebody will open up a vein there that will be worth while.”

A few words more passed concerning the work of the construction company, and then Dave prepared to leave. Just as he was about to step out of the office, however, he turned.

“By the way, Mr. Carson, may I ask if there was a young fellow about my own age here during the past week or two looking for a job—a fellow who said his name was Jasper Nicholas?”

“A young fellow about your age named Nicholas?” mused the mine manager. “Let me see. Did he have a cast in one eye?”

“The fellow I mean squints a good deal with one of his eyes. He is rather tall and lanky.”

“Yes, he was here. He wanted a job in the mines. Said he didn’t think he was cut out for office work. But somehow or other I didn’t like his looks. Is he a friend of yours?”

“He is not!” declared Dave quickly. “In fact, he is just the opposite. And what is more, he is a thief and has served a term in prison.”

“You don’t say!” exclaimed the mine manager. “Are you sure of this?”

“Positive, sir. His real name is Nicholas Jasniff. Some years ago he and another fellow stole some valuable jewels from a jewelry works. I aided in capturing him and sending him to prison.”

“Humph! If that’s the case I am glad I didn’t hire him. As I said before, I didn’t like his looks at all, and out here we go about as much on looks as we do on anything.”

“He came to our camp, but Mr. Obray soon sent him about his business,” said Dave.

After talking the matter over for a few minutes longer, but without mentioning the attack on the trail, Dave rode away. At the end of the street he stopped at a general store, which contained a drug department, and while giving his horse a chance to feed, there obtained some liniment with which he rubbed his lame shoulder and his hurt ankle. Then, having obtained a bottle of lemon-soda with which to quench his thirst, and help along his supper when he should stop to eat it, our hero set off on the return to the construction camp.

By the time Dave reached the spot where the encounter with Jasniff had occurred, it was growing somewhat dark on the trail. Over to the westward the mountains were much taller than those where the trail ran, and the deep shadows were creeping upward from the valley below. Soon the orb of day sank out of sight, and then the darkness increased.

So far on the return Dave had met but two men—old prospectors who had paid scant attention to him as he passed. He had stopped at a convenient point to eat what remained of the lunch he had brought along, washing it down with the lemon-soda. Presently he came to a fork in the trail, and by a signboard placed there knew that he was now less than four miles from the construction camp.

The hard ride had tired the young civil engineer greatly, and he was glad enough to let Sport move forward on a walk. The horse, too, had found the journey a hard one, and was well content to progress at a reduced rate of speed.

The narrow portion of the footway having been left behind, horse and rider came out into something of a hollow on the mountainside. Here and there were a number of loose rocks and also quite a growth of scrub timber. Dave was just passing through the densest of the timber when an overhanging branch caught his hat and sent it to the ground.

“Whoa there, Sport!” he cried, and bringing his horse to a halt, he leaped down to recover the hat.

Dave had just picked up the head covering when he heard a low sound coming from some bushes close at hand. It was not unlike the cry of a cat, and the youth was instantly on the alert. He remembered only too well how, when he had been at Star Ranch, a wildcat, commonly called in that section a bobcat, had gotten among the horses belonging to himself and his chums and caused no end of trouble.

The cry was followed by several seconds of intense silence, and then came the unmistakable snarl of a bobcat, followed instantly by a leap on the part of Sport.

“Whoa there!” cried Dave, and was just in time to catch the horse by the bridle. Then Sport veered around and kicked out viciously at the brushwood.

The bobcat was there, and evidently had no chance to retreat farther, the bushes being backed up by a number of high rocks. With a snarl, it leaped out into the open directly beside the horse and Dave. Then, as the horse switched around again and let fly with his hind hoofs, the bobcat made a flying leap past Dave, landing in the branches of a nearby tree.

“Whoa there, Sport!” cried the youth, and now lost no time in leaping into the saddle. In the meanwhile the bobcat sprang from one limb of the tree to another and disappeared behind some dense foliage.

Had our hero had a rifle or a shotgun, he might have gone on a hunt for the beast. But he carried only his small automatic, and he did not consider this a particularly good weapon with which to stir up the bobcat. He went on his way, and now Sport set off on a gallop, evidently glad to leave such a dangerous vicinity behind. Although horses are much larger, bobcats are such vicious animals that no horses care to confront them.

“I sure am having my fill of adventures to-day,” mused Dave grimly. “First Nick Jasniff, and now that bobcat! I’ll have to tell the others about the cat, and maybe we can organize a hunt and lay the beast low. The men won’t want to face a bobcat while at work any more than they would care to face that rattlesnake I shot.”

It was not long after this when the lights of the construction camp came into view, and soon Dave was riding down among the buildings. Roger was on the watch, and came forward to greet him.

“Had a safe trip, I see!” called out the senator’s son. “Good enough!”

“I had a safe trip in one way if not in another,” announced Dave. “Two things didn’t suit me at all. I met Nick Jasniff, and then I also met a bobcat.”

“You don’t say!” ejaculated Roger. “Tell me about it.”

“I want to report to Mr. Obray first, Roger. If you want to go along you can.”

Dave found the construction camp manager at the doorway of the cabin he occupied, reading a newspaper which was several days old. He, as well as Roger, listened with keen interest to what our hero had to relate.

“And so that rascal took your forty-odd dollars, did he?” exclaimed Ralph Obray, when Dave was telling the story. “He certainly is a bad egg.”

“I’m mighty glad he didn’t get away with your papers, Mr. Obray,” answered our hero soberly. “Of course, I don’t know how valuable they were, but I presume they were worth a good deal more than the contents of my pocketbook.”

“You are right there, Porter. The documents would be hard to duplicate. And I’m mighty glad they are safe in Mr. Carson’s hands and that we have the receipt for them. Now, in regard to your losing your money: If we can’t get it back from this fellow Jasniff, I’ll see what the company can do toward reimbursing you.”

“Oh, I sha’n’t expect that, Mr. Obray!” cried the youth. “It was no concern of yours that I was robbed.”

“I don’t know about that. If you hadn’t taken that trip for us, this Jasniff might not have gotten the chance to take your money. In one way, I think it is up to the company to make the loss good; and I’ll put it up to the home office in my next report.”

“You certainly ought to let the people at Double Eight Ranch know what sort Jasniff is!” cried Roger.

“Of course, I can’t prove that he took the money,” returned Dave. “There were no witnesses to what occurred, and I suppose he would claim that his word was as good as mine.”

“But we know it isn’t!” burst out the senator’s son indignantly. “He’s a rascal, and I intend that everybody around here shall know it!”

“You certainly had your share of happenings,” was Mr. Obray’s comment. “It was bad enough to have the fight with Jasniff without running afoul of that wildcat. You ought to have brought him down with your pistol, as you did that rattlesnake,” and he smiled broadly.

“I didn’t get a chance for a shot,” explained Dave. “I had to grab the horse for fear he would run away and leave me to walk to the camp. And besides, the wildcat moved about as quickly as I can tell about it.”

“Maybe we can form a party and round the wildcat up,” put in Roger eagerly.

“I was thinking of that, Roger.”

Of course Dave had to tell Frank Andrews about the encounter with Jasniff and also about meeting the wildcat. Several others were present when the story was retold, and soon nearly everybody in the camp was aware of what had taken place.

“I certainly hope you get your money back,” remarked Larry Bond. “Gracious! I wouldn’t like to lose forty-odd dollars out of my pay! I couldn’t afford it.”

“We’ll have to round up that bobcat some day,” said old John Hixon. “If we manage to kill him off, it will discourage others from coming to this neighborhood.”

“Well, any time you say so, I’ll go out with you to try to lay the bobcat low,” answered Dave.

CHAPTER X
WHAT THE GIRLS HAD TO TELL

Two days later Dave was hard at work with the others on the mountainside when a gang of six cowboys rode up. They were curious to know some particulars concerning the new railroad spur which was to be put through in that vicinity, and stopped to watch proceedings and to ask a number of questions.

“What ranch do you hail from, boys?” questioned Frank Andrews of the leader of the crowd, a tall, leathery-looking man of about forty.

“We’re from the Double Eight outfit,” was the answer, as the fellow pulled a sheet from a book of papers he carried, filled it with some loose tobacco from a pouch, and proceeded to roll himself a cigarette.

“The Double Eight, eh?” exclaimed the civil engineer. “That is interesting. I think one of my young men here would like to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“All right, pard, shoot away,” answered the cowboy calmly, as he began to puff at his cigarette.

Frank Andrews lost no time in summoning Dave, who was some distance up the trail, and told our hero where the cowboy hailed from.

“I believe you have a fellow staying with you who calls himself Jasper Nicholas,” began Dave.

“We did have a feller with that handle down to our outfit,” responded the cowboy. “But he got fired some days ago.”

“Fired!” cried Dave and Roger simultaneously.

“That’s the size on it, son. He got kind o’ fresh with the boss, and Jim wouldn’t stand for it nohow. I don’t know exactly wot the rumpus was about, but that feller didn’t lose no time vamoosin’.”

“I wish you would tell me some of the particulars about him,” went on Dave. “Then I’ll tell you something that may interest you.”

“I ain’t got much to tell, ’cause I didn’t like the feller, and consequently didn’t have much to do with him. Fact is, he wasn’t in cahoots with nobody around the ranch. He had a hang-dog way about him none of us cottoned to.”

“But I wish you would tell me what you do know,” insisted our hero.

Thereupon the cowboy, who said his name was Pete Sine, told how Nick Jasniff had come to the Double Eight Ranch some weeks before with a hard-luck story and had been given a job as an all-around handy man.

“But he wasn’t handy at all,” announced Pete Sine. “Fact is, he was the most unhandy critter I ’most ever met up with. But he told such a pitiful story, the boss and some of the fellers felt sorry for him, so they all done the best they knowed how for him—that is at the start. But he soon showed the yellow streak that was in him, and then, as I said before, the boss got wise to him and fired him. Now what do you know about him?”

Dave, aided by Roger, gave many of the particulars concerning Nick Jasniff’s past doings, and our hero related the details of the fight on the road, and how he had lost the contents of his pocketbook.

“Snortin’ buffaloes!” ejaculated Pete Sine, giving his thigh a resounding slap with his hand. “I knew it! I sized that feller up from the very start. I warned Jim Dackley about him, but Jim was too tender-hearted to see it—that is at first. Now when did this happen?” went on the cowboy. And after Dave had mentioned the day, he continued: “That was the very day the boss fired him!”

“And have you any idea where he went to?” questioned our hero quickly.

“Not exactly, son. But Fred Gurney, one of our gang who ain’t here just now, got it from the agent over to the railroad depot that the feller took the seven-thirty train that night for Chicago.”

“He must have left Montana for good!” cried Roger. “Dave, I’m afraid you can whistle your forty-odd dollars good-bye.”

“So it would seem, Roger. It’s too bad! But I’m mighty glad Nick Jasniff has cleared out. I’d hate to think he was around here. He would be sure to try to do us some harm.”

“You might send on to Chicago and have him arrested on his arrival there,” suggested Frank Andrews. “That is, if he hasn’t gotten there already.”

“I don’t think it would be worth bothering about,” answered Dave. “It would make a lot of trouble all around; and maybe I would have to go on to Chicago to identify him, and then stay around and push the charge against him. I’d rather let him go and pocket my loss.”

“Maybe you’ll meet up with him some day,” suggested Pete Sine. “And if you do——Well, I know what I’d do to him,” and he tapped his pistol suggestively.

The other cowboys had listened with interest to the talk, and every one of them intimated that he had distrusted Nick Jasniff from the start. Evidently the fellow who had been in prison had not created a favorable impression, even though his hard-luck story had brought him some sympathy.

After this occurrence matters moved along quietly for a few days. On Sunday, there being no work to do, old John Hixon and several of the other men went out to look for the bobcat Dave had met on the trail. But though they spent several hours in beating around through the brushwood and the scrub timber, they failed to find the animal.

“Guess he got strayed away from his regular haunts, and then went back,” was Hixon’s comment. “Wild animals do that once in a while. I remember years ago an old hunter told me about a she bear he had met here in Montana. Some time later another hunter, a friend of his’n, told about meetin’ the same bear over in Wyoming. Then, less than a month later, this old hunter I first mentioned met the same bear and killed her. He always wondered how it was that bear got so far away from home and then got back again.”

On Monday morning came more letters from home, and also communications from Phil Lawrence, Ben Basswood and Shadow Hamilton. The letters from Crumville were, as usual, two communications from Laura and Jessie; and in each of these the girls mentioned the fact that Dave’s Uncle Dunston, as well as Mr. Wadsworth and Mr. Basswood, had had more trouble with the gypsies who had formerly occupied the vacant land on the outskirts of the town.

“Uncle Dunston says the gypsies were very forward,” wrote Laura. “They said all kinds of mean things and made several threats. One of the old women, who is called Mother Domoza, came here to the house and frightened Jessie and me very much. The folks were away at the time, and I don’t know what we would have done had it not been for dear old Mr. Potts. He was in the library, where, as you know, he spends most of his time, and when he heard the old gypsy denouncing us he came out with his cane in his hand and actually drove her away.”

“Good for Professor Potts!” cried Dave, when Roger read this portion of the letter to him. “I’m glad he sent the old hag about her business.”

The letter from Jessie also contained some references to the gypsies, but had evidently been mailed previous to the trouble with Mother Domoza. Jessie said she was glad that the vacant ground was to be cut up into town lots and built upon, and she sincerely trusted that none of the gypsies would ever come to camp near Crumville again.

“Some of them used to come around and tell fortunes,” wrote Jessie. “But I don’t need to have my fortune told, Dave. I know exactly what it is going to be, and I would not have it changed for the world!”

And this part of the letter Dave did not show to Roger; but he read it over many times with great satisfaction.

But all thoughts of the gypsies and of what they might do were forgotten by our hero and Roger when they came to peruse the letters sent by Phil, Ben and Shadow.

“Hurrah! They are on their way at last!” cried Dave, his face beaming with satisfaction. “Ben writes that they were to start within forty-eight hours after this letter was sent.”

“And that is just what Shadow and Phil say, too,” announced the senator’s son. “That being so, they ought to arrive here within the next two days.”

“Right you are, Roger! Oh, say! when they come, won’t we have the best time ever?” exclaimed Dave.

And then, in the exuberance of their spirits, both youths caught hold of each other and did an impromptu war-dance.

“Hello! hello! What’s going on here?” cried Frank Andrews, coming up at that moment. “Have you fellows joined the Hopi Indians?”

“Our three chums are on the way—we expect them here inside of the next two days!” announced Dave.

“Is that so? I don’t wonder you’re so happy. As I understand it, you fellows were all very close chums.”

“The closest ever!” answered Roger. And then suddenly his face clouded a little. “But oh, Mr. Andrews, what are we going to do with them when they get here? We’ll have to make some sort of arrangements for them.”

“I reckon we can make room one way or another,” answered the older civil engineer. “You know Barry and Lundstrom have left and that gives us two vacant bunks, and we can easily fix up an extra cot here if we want to.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, if you won’t mind,” announced Dave.

He and Roger had already spoken about the matter to Ralph Obray, and the general manager had given them permission to entertain their chums at the camp for several days if the visitors wished to stay that long. It was, of course, understood that their meals should be paid for, since a report of all expenditures had to be made to the head office.

“I think you fellows have earned a little vacation,” said the manager to the chums. “You have both worked very hard. And I have not forgotten, Porter, how you carried those documents to Orella for me and what a fight you had to get them there in safety.”

“But understand, Mr. Obray, we don’t expect to be paid for the time we take off,” interposed Roger. “At least I don’t expect to be paid for it.”

“And that is just the way I feel about it,” added Dave.

“You young fellows leave that to me,” answered the construction company manager smilingly. “I’ll take care of that. I can remember when I was a young fellow and had my friends come to see me. You go on and show your chums all the sights, and have the best time possible, and then, when they are gone, I’ll expect you to work so much the harder to make up for it. I think you see what I mean.”

“And we’ll do it—take my word on it!” answered Dave heartily.

“Indeed we will!” echoed Roger.

During the next two days the chums were so anxious awaiting the coming of the others that they could hardly attend to their work. They saw to it that quarters were made in readiness for the three who were expected and that Jeff, the cook, would have room for them at one of the dining-tables.

Then, on the morning of the third day, when a telegram came in from the railroad station stating that Phil and the others would arrive by noon, Dave and Roger, taking a lunch along, set off on horseback, leading three other horses behind them, to meet the expected visitors.

The ride to the railroad station occurred without mishap, though it was no easy matter to make the three riderless horses follow them at certain points where the trail was rough. But the two chums reached the station with almost an hour to spare.

“And it wasn’t no use for you fellers to hurry,” announced the station master, when he found out what had brought them. “That train is generally from one hour to three hours late.”

“Great Scott! have we got to wait around here three hours?” groaned the senator’s son.

“We might have known the train would be late,” observed Dave. “They usually are on this line.”

Presently the station master went in to receive a telegram. When he came out he announced that the train would be there in less than two hours unless something occurred in the meanwhile to cause a further delay.

The chums put in the time as best they could; but it was slow work, and they consulted their watches every few minutes. At last, however, the time came to a close, and soon they heard a long, low whistle.

“Here she comes!” cried Dave, his heart giving a leap.

“Let’s give them a cheer as soon as we see them,” suggested the senator’s son.

And then the long train rolled into sight around a bend of the mountains and soon came to a standstill at the little station.

CHAPTER XI
THE OAK HALL CHUMS

“There they are!”

“This way, boys! Oak Hall to the front!”

A vestibule door to one of the cars had been opened and a porter had come down the steps carrying three suit-cases. He was followed by three young men, who waved their hands gayly at Dave and Roger.

“Here at last!” sang out Phil Lawrence, as he rushed forward to catch our hero with one hand and the senator’s son with the other.

“Some city you fellows have here,” criticized Ben Basswood, with a broad grin, as he waited for his turn to “pump handle” his friends.

“Say!” burst out the third new arrival, as he too came forward. “Calling a little, dinky station like this a city puts me in mind of a story. Once some travelers journeyed to the interior of Africa, and——”

“Hello! What do you know about that?” sang out Dave gayly. “Shadow has started to tell a story before he even says ‘how-do-you-do’!”

“Why, Shadow!” remonstrated Roger in an apparently injured tone of voice. “We heard that you had given up telling stories entirely.”

“Smoked herring! Who told you such a yarn as that?” burst out Phil.

“I don’t intend to give up telling stories,” announced Shadow Hamilton calmly. “I’ve got a brand new lot; haven’t I, fellows? I bet Dave and Roger never heard that one about the coal.”

“What about the coal, Shadow?” demanded Roger, shaking hands.

“Don’t ask him,” groaned Ben. “He’s told that story twenty-six times since we left home.”

“You’re a base prevaricator, Ben Basswood!” roared the former story-teller of Oak Hall. “I told that story just twice—once to you and once to that drummer from Chicago. And he said he had never heard it before, and that proves it’s a new story, because drummers hear everything.”

“Well, that story has one advantage,” was Phil’s comment. “It’s short.”

“All right then, Shadow; let’s hear it. And then tell us all about yourself,” said Dave quickly.

“It isn’t quite as much of a story as it’s a conundrum,” began Shadow Hamilton. “Once a small boy who was very inquisitive went to his aunt in the country and helped her hunt for eggs. Then he said he would like to go down into the cellar. ‘Why do you want to go in the cellar, Freddy?’ asked the aunt. ‘I want to go down to look at the egg coal,’ announced the little boy. ‘And then I want to see what kind of chickens lay it.’” And at this little joke both Dave and Roger had to smile.

No other passengers had left the cars at this station, and now the long train rumbled once more on its way. The station master had gone off to look after some messages, so the former chums of Oak Hall were left entirely to themselves.

“It’s a touch of old times to get together again, isn’t it?” cried Dave gayly, as he placed one arm over Phil’s shoulder and the other arm around Ben. “You can’t imagine how glad I am to see all of you.”

“I am sure the feeling is mutual, Dave,” answered Phil. “I’ve missed you fellows dreadfully since we separated.”

“I sometimes wish we were all back at Oak Hall again,” sighed Ben. “My, what good times we did have!”

“I guess you’ll be glad enough to reach Star Ranch, Phil,” went on Dave, giving the ship-owner’s son a nudge in the ribs. “Probably Belle Endicott will be waiting for you with open arms.”

“Sour grapes, Dave. I know where you’d like to be,” retorted Phil, his face reddening. “You’d like to be in Crumville with Jessie Wadsworth—and Roger would like to be in the same place, with your sister.”

“Have you fellows had your lunch?” questioned Roger, to change the subject.

“Yes. When we found out that the train was going to be late, we went into the dining-car as soon as it opened,” answered Ben. “How about you?”

“We brought something along and ate it while we were waiting for you,” said the senator’s son. “Come on, it’s quite a trip to the construction camp. We came over on horseback, and we brought three horses for you fellows.”

“Good enough!” cried Shadow. “But what are we going to do with our suit-cases?”

“You’ll have to tie those on somehow,” announced Dave. “We brought plenty of straps along.”

As the five chums got ready for the trip to the construction camp, Dave and Roger were told of many things that had happened to the others during the past few weeks. In return they told about themselves and the encounter with Nick Jasniff.

“A mighty bad egg, that Jasniff,” was Phil’s comment.

“The worst ever,” added Shadow.

“Mr. Dunston Porter and the girls didn’t tell you half of the story about those gypsies,” said Ben. “Those fellows tried to make all sorts of trouble for us. They tried to prove that they had a right to camp on that land, and my father and your uncle had to threaten them with the law before they went away. Since that time several of the gypsies have been in town, and they have made a number of threats to get square. That old hag, Mother Domoza, is particularly wrathful. She insists that she got the right to camp there as long as she pleased from some party who used to own a part of the land.”

“Where are the gypsies hanging out now?” questioned Dave.

“Somebody told me they were camping on the edge of Coburntown.”

“You don’t say! That’s the place where I had so much trouble with the storekeepers on account of Ward Porton’s buying so many things in my name.”

“If I were living in Coburntown, I’d keep my eyes open for those gypsies,” declared Ben. “I wouldn’t trust any of them any farther than I could see them. Ever since they camped on the outskirts of Crumville folks have suspected them of raiding hencoops and of other petty thieving. They never caught them at it, so they couldn’t prove it. But my father was sure in his own mind that they were guilty.”

“Yes, and I remember a year or so ago some of the gypsy women came around our place to tell fortunes,” added Dave. “They went into the kitchen to tell the fortunes of the cook and the up-stairs girl, and two days later the folks found that two silver spoons and a gold butter-knife were missing. We made some inquiries, but we never got any satisfaction.”

“Looking for stuff like that is like looking for a needle in a haystack,” was Phil’s comment.

“Oh, say! Speaking of a needle in a haystack puts me in mind of a story,” burst out Shadow.

“What! another?” groaned Roger in mock dismay; and all of the others present held up their hands as if in horror.

“This is just a little one,” pleaded the former story-teller of Oak Hall. “A man once heard a lady speak about trying to find the needle in the haystack. ‘Say, madam,’ said the man, very earnestly, ‘a needle in a haystack wouldn’t be no good to nobody. If one of the animals got it in his throat, it would ’most kill ’im.’”

“Wow!”

“Does anybody see the point?” questioned Roger.

“What do you mean—the point of the needle?” demanded Dave.

“If you had the eye you could see better,” suggested Ben.

“I don’t care, it’s a pretty good joke,” protested the story-teller.

“Hurrah! Shadow is stuck on the needle joke!” announced Dave. “Anyhow, it would seem so.”

“Jumping tadpoles!” ejaculated Roger. “Boys, did you catch that?”

“Catch what?” asked Phil innocently.

“Phil wasn’t born a tailor, so maybe he never knew what it was to seam sew anything.”

“Whoop! I’ll pummel you for that!” roared the ship-owner’s son, and made a sweep at Dave with his suit-case.

But the latter dodged, and the suit-case landed with a bang on Shadow’s shoulder, sending the story-teller to the ground.

“Say, Phil Lawrence, you be careful!” cried the prostrate youth, as he scrambled up. “What do you think I am—a punching-bag?”

“Ten thousand pardons, Shadow, and then some!” cried the ship-owner’s son contritely. “I was aiming to put Dave in the hospital, that’s all.”

“Come on and get busy and let us be off to the camp,” broke in Roger. “We’ll have plenty of time for horse-play later. We want to show you fellows a whole lot of things.”

Dave insisted upon carrying one of the suit-cases, while Roger took another. Soon all of the hand-baggage was securely fastened to the saddles of the horses, and then the boys started on the journey to the construction camp. They took their time, and numerous were the questions asked and answered on the way.

“Yes, I’m doing first class in business with dad,” announced Phil. “We are going to buy an interest in another line of ships, and dad says that in another year he will put me at the head of our New York offices. Then I’ll be a little nearer to Crumville than I was before.”

“I’m glad to hear of your success, Phil,” said Dave. “I don’t know of any fellow who deserves it more than you do.”

“Sometimes I wish I had taken up civil engineering, just to be near you and Roger,” went on the ship-owner’s son wistfully. “But then, I reckon I wasn’t cut out for that sort of thing. I love the work I am at very much.”

“I suppose some day, Phil, you’ll be settling down with Belle Endicott,” went on our hero in a low tone of voice, so that the others could not hear.

“I don’t know about that, Dave,” was the thoughtful answer. “Belle is a splendid girl, and I know she thinks a good deal of me. But her father is a very rich man, and she has a host of young fellows tagging after her. There is one man out in Denver, who is almost old enough to be her father, who has asked Mr. Endicott for her hand in marriage.”

“But Belle doesn’t want him, does she?”

“I don’t think so. But she teases me about him a good deal, and I must confess I don’t like it. That’s one reason why I am going out to Star Ranch.”

“Well, you fix it up, Phil—I know you can do it,” answered Dave emphatically. “You know Jessie and Laura are writing to Belle continually; and I know for a fact that Belle thinks more of you than she does of anybody else.”

“I hope what you say is true, Dave,” answered the ship-owner’s son wistfully.

Naturally a bright and energetic youth with no hesitation when it came to business matters, Phil was woefully shy now that matters between himself and the girl at Star Ranch had reached a crisis.

In their letters Dave and Roger had told their chums much about the Mentor Construction Company and what it proposed to do in that section of Montana. They had also written some details concerning the camp and the persons to be met there, so that when the party came in sight of the place the visitors felt fairly well at home. They were met by Frank Andrews, who was speedily introduced to them, and were then taken to the offices.

“I’m very glad to meet all of you,” said Mr. Obray, shaking hands at the introduction. “Porter and Morr have told me all about you; and I’ve told them to do what they can to make you feel at home during your stay. There is only one thing I would like to caution you about,” went on the manager, who occasionally liked to have his little joke. “Don’t under any circumstances carry away any of our important engineering secrets and give them to our rivals.”

“You can trust us on that point,” answered Phil readily. “All we expect to carry away from here is the recollection of a grand good time.”

“Oh, say! That puts me in mind of a story,” burst out Shadow enthusiastically. “Once a man——”

“Oh, Shadow!” remonstrated Roger.

“I hardly think Mr. Obray has time to listen to a story,” reminded Dave.

“Sure, I’ve got time to listen if the story isn’t a long one,” broke in the manager.

“Well—er—it—er—isn’t so very much of a story,” answered Shadow lamely. “It’s about a fellow who told his friends how he had been hunting ostriches in Mexico.”

“Ostriches in Mexico!” repeated Mr. Obray doubtfully.

“Yes. A man told his friends that he had been hunting ostriches in Mexico with great success. His friends swallowed the story for several days, and then began to make an investigation. Then they went to the man and said: ‘See here. You said you had been hunting ostriches in Mexico. There are no ostriches there.’ ‘I know it,’ said the man calmly. ‘I killed them all.’” And at this story the manager laughed heartily. Then he dismissed the crowd, for he had much work ahead.

“A nice man to work for,” was Ben’s comment, when the visitors were being shown to their quarters in the bunk-houses.

“As nice a man as ever lived, Ben,” answered Dave. “Roger and I couldn’t have struck it better.”

“I know I’m going to enjoy myself here,” announced Shadow. “All of your gang seem so pleasant.”

“And I want to learn something about civil engineering,” announced Ben. “Maybe some day I’ll take it up myself.”

CHAPTER XII
ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP

The next morning all of the former Oak Hall chums were up by sunrise. As Dave had said, they wanted to make the most of their time.

“It’s a beautiful location,” was Phil’s comment, as he stood out on the edge of the camp and surveyed the surroundings.

On one side were the tall mountains and on the other the broad valley, with the little winding river shimmering like a thread of silver in the sunlight.

“Nice place to erect a bungalow,” added Ben.

“What are you thinking of, Ben—erecting bungalows and selling off town lots?” queried Roger slyly.

“Oh, I didn’t get as far as that,” laughed the son of the Crumville real estate dealer. “Just the same, after your railroad gets into operation somebody might start a summer colony here.”

The visitors were shown around the camp, and at the ringing of the breakfast bell were led by Roger and Dave into the building where the meals were served. And there all did full justice to the cooking of Jeff and his assistant.

The youths had talked the matter over the evening before, and it had been decided to take an all-day trip on horseback along the line of the proposed railroad.

“We’ll show you just what we are trying to do,” Roger had said. “Then you’ll get some idea of what laying out a new railroad in a country like this means.”

“I wish I could have gone down to the Rio Grande when Ben went down,” remarked Phil. “I would like to have seen that new Catalco Bridge your company put up there.”

“It certainly was a fine bit of engineering work!” cried Ben. He turned to Dave. “You don’t expect to put up any bridge like that here, do you?”

“Not just like that, Ben. Here we are going to put up fifteen or twenty bridges. None of them, however, will be nearly as long as the Catalco Bridge. But some of them will be considerably higher. In one place we expect to erect a bridge three hundred feet long which, at one point, will be over four hundred feet high.”

A substantial lunch had been packed up for them by the cook, and with this stowed safely away in some saddlebags, the five youths set out from the construction camp, Dave, with Phil at his side, leading the way, and the others following closely.

Every one felt in tiptop spirits, and consequently the talk was of the liveliest kind, with many a joke and hearty laugh. Shadow Hamilton was allowed full sway, and told a story whenever the least opportunity presented itself.

“Some mountains around here, and no mistake,” observed Phil, after they had climbed to the top of one stretch of the winding trail and there come to a halt to rest the horses.

“That climb would be a pretty hard one for an auto,” observed Ben. “It’s worse than some of the climbs we had to take when we were making that tour through the Adirondacks to Bear Camp.”

“Oh, say! Speaking of climbing a hill in an auto puts me in mind of a story!” burst out Shadow eagerly. “A man got a new automobile of which he was very proud, and took out one of his friends, a rather nervous individual, to show him what the auto could do. They rode quite a distance, and then the man started to go up a steep hill. He had a terrible time reaching the top, the auto almost refusing to make it. But at last, when he did get up, he turned to his friend and said: ‘Some hill, eh? But we took it just the same.’ To this the nervous man answered: ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t make it. If I hadn’t put on the hand-brake good and hard, you would have slipped back sure.’” And at this little joke the others smiled.

Having rested, the party proceeded on the way once more, and Dave and Roger pointed out what had been done toward surveying the new line and where the bridges and culverts were to be constructed; and they even drew little diagrams on a pad Dave carried, to show how some of the bridges were going to be erected.

“It certainly is a great business,” was Phil’s comment. “I should think it would be pretty hard to learn.”

“It is hard, Phil. But we are bound to do it,” answered Dave. “We are going to learn all about surveying and draughtsmanship, and in the meantime we are brushing up on geometry and trigonometry, and half a dozen other things that pertain to civil engineering. We’ve got a great many things to learn yet, before we’ll be able to tackle a job on our own hook,” he added, with a little smile.

From time to time the youths talked about the days spent at Oak Hall and of what had become of numerous schoolfellows. The visitors discussed the doings of Nick Jasniff in that vicinity, and they wondered what that rascal would do next.

“Like the proverbial bad penny, he’ll be sure to turn up again sooner or later,” was Phil’s comment.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” sighed Dave.

Thinking that they might possibly spot a bobcat or some other wild animal, Dave had brought a double-barreled shotgun along, and Roger carried old Hixon’s rifle. The others were armed with small automatic pistols, purchased especially to be carried on the trip to Star Ranch.

“But I don’t suppose we’ll sight anything worth shooting now we’re armed,” remarked our hero. “That’s the way it usually is.”

Noon found the chums in the very heart of the mountains. They had been told by Hixon where they could find a fine camping-spot close to a spring of pure, cold water; and there they tethered their horses and proceeded to make themselves at home. They had brought along some coffee and a pot to make it in, and presently they started a small fire for that purpose.

“A fellow could certainly camp out here and have a dandy time,” remarked Ben, when the odor of the coffee permeated the camp. “There must be plenty of game somewhere in these mountains and plenty of fish in the streams.”

“Yes, the streams are full of fish,” answered Roger. “But about the game, I am not so sure. There are plenty of birds and other small things, but big game, like deer, bear, and mountain lions are growing scarcer and scarcer every year, so Hixon says. He thinks that every time a gun is fired it drives the big game farther and farther back from the trails.”

The youths brought out their lunch from the saddlebags, and when the coffee was ready they sat down to enjoy their midday repast. The long horseback ride of the morning had whetted their appetites, and with little to do, they took their time over the meal.

“Let’s take a walk around this neighborhood before we continue the ride,” said Roger, when they were repacking their things. “I’m a bit tired of sitting in the saddle, and had just as lief do some walking.”

Seeing to it that their horses could not get away, the five youths started to climb up the rocks to where the summit of the mountain along which they had been traveling would afford a better view of their surroundings. It was hard work, and they frequently had to help each other along.

“Be careful, Shadow, or you may get a nasty tumble,” cautioned Dave, just before the summit was gained.

“Don’t worry about me, Dave,” panted the former story-teller of Oak Hall. “I know enough to hang on when I’m climbing in a place like this. I’m not like the fellow in the story who let go to spit on his hands.”

From the summit of the mountain they could see for many miles in every direction, and here Ben, who had brought along a pocket camera, insisted upon taking a number of views—two with the others seated on several of the nearby rocks. Then Dave made Ben pose and took two more pictures.

“It’s too bad we can’t take a picture of Ben shooting a bear or a wildcat,” remarked Roger. “That would be a great one to take home and show the folks.”

“I’d rather have a picture of you and Dave building one of those big bridges you spoke about,” answered the other youth. “Then we could have a couple of copies framed and shipped to Jessie and Laura;” and at this dig Ben had to dodge, for both Dave and Roger picked up bits of rock to shy at him.

“Let’s walk across the summit of this mountain and see what it looks like on the other side,” suggested Shadow. “I suppose we’ve got time enough, haven’t we?”

“We’ve got all the time there is, Shadow,” answered Dave. “It won’t make any difference how late it is when we get back to camp.”

One after another they trudged along through the underbrush and among the loose stones on the mountain summit, which was a hundred yards or more in diameter. In some places they had to pick their way with care, for there were numerous cracks and hollows.

“A fellow doesn’t want to go down into one of those cracks,” remarked Phil, after leaping over an opening which was several feet wide and probably fifteen or twenty feet in depth.

“He’d get a nasty tumble if he did,” answered Roger.

“And he’d have a fine time of it getting out if he chanced to be alone!” broke in our hero.

With the sun shining brightly and not a cloud obscuring the sky, the five chums presently reached the other side of the mountain. Looking down, they saw a heavy wilderness of trees sloping gently down to the hollow below them and then up on the side of the mountain beyond.

“Isn’t that perfectly grand!” murmured Ben. “Just think of the thousands upon thousands of feet of timber in that patch!”

“Yes. And think of all the masts for ships!” added Phil, with a little laugh.

“And flagpoles!” exclaimed Dave. “I guess there would be enough flagpoles in that patch to plant a pole in front of every schoolhouse in the United States.”

“Well, every schoolhouse ought to have a flagpole, and ought to have Old Glory on it, too!” cried Roger. “My father says that people generally don’t make half enough display of our flag.”

The youths walked along the edge of the summit for quite a distance, looking off to the northward and southward. Then, after Ben had taken a few more pictures, they started back for where they had left the horses.

“Come on, let’s have a race!” cried Ben suddenly. “First fellow to reach the horses wins the prize!”

“And what’s the prize?” queried Phil.

“Won’t tell it to you till you win it!” broke in Dave.

With merry shouts, all of the chums started on a run for where they supposed the horses had been left. They soon found themselves in the midst of the underbrush and many loose rocks, around which they had to make their way. Some thought the horses were in one direction and some another, and as a consequence they soon became separated, although still within calling distance.

“Hi! Be careful that you don’t go down in some hole and break a leg,” cautioned Dave.

“That’s right!” sang out Roger, who was some distance off. “Some of these rocks are mighty treacherous.”

Forward went the crowd, and in about ten minutes Dave and Roger found themselves in sight of the former camping spot. Phil and Ben were also coming on from around some rocks on the left, and each of the crowd put on an extra burst of speed to reach the horses first.

“I win!” cried Roger, as he caught hold of one of the saddles.

At the same moment, Phil touched another of the animals, and a few seconds later Dave and Ben did the same.

“Pretty close race for all of us!” cried Ben; and then, of a sudden, he looked around. “Where is Shadow?”

The four who had reached the horses looked back toward the brushwood and the rocks around which they had made their way. They waited for several seconds, expecting each instant that the former story-teller of Oak Hall would show himself. But Shadow failed to appear.

“Hello, Shadow! Hello! Where are you?” sang out Dave, at the top of his lungs.

No answer came to this call, and one after another the others also summoned their missing chum. They listened intently, but not a sound of any kind broke the quietness of the mountain top.

“Something has happened to him, that’s sure,” remarked Roger, his face growing grave.

“I guess we had better go back and look for him,” announced Dave.

CHAPTER XIII
TO THE RESCUE OF SHADOW

“Who saw Shadow last? Does anybody know?” questioned Dave, as the whole crowd looked at each other in perplexity.

“He was close to me when we started the race,” answered Phil. “But I soon got ahead of him and turned to one side of some big rocks while he went to the other side.”

“And didn’t you see him after that?”

“No. But I heard him call to some of the others.”

“I think he was close behind me during the first half of the race,” broke in Roger. “But after that I drew away from him.”

“We’ll go back to where we started from and keep calling his name,” said our hero. “He’ll be bound to hear us if he is anywhere around.”

“Perhaps he went down into one of those openings between some of the rocks and was knocked unconscious,” suggested Ben. “Such a thing could easily happen.”

“Oh, I hope he isn’t seriously hurt!” cried the senator’s son.

Very soberly the four youths climbed back to the summit of the mountain, and then began to retrace their steps toward the other side. They kept calling Shadow’s name continually, but no answer came back.

“Over yonder is the worst opening I had to jump over,” remarked Roger, when they were near the center of the summit.

“Let us look at it, right away,” returned our hero quickly.

All hurried to the place Roger had mentioned. It was an opening between some rough rocks, and was all of a hundred feet long and two to eight feet in width. How deep it was they could not surmise, for the walls curved from one side to the other, so that the bottom of the opening was out of sight.

“Looks to me as if it might be the entrance to some cave,” announced Ben, as all came to a halt on the brink of the opening. “Listen!”

The crowd did so, and at the bottom of the opening they heard a faint splashing of water as it poured over the rocks.

“Must be an underground stream down there,” remarked Phil.

“Perhaps it’s the same stream that furnishes water to the spring at our camp,” suggested Dave. He sent up a shout. “Hello, Shadow! Are you down there?”

“Help! Help!” came in a low voice from below.

“He’s down there, as sure as fate!” exclaimed Roger.

“Are you hurt?” shouted Phil.

“I’m pretty well scraped up, that’s all. But the rocks down here are all smooth and wet, and I can’t climb up—try my best.”

“You are in no danger just at present, are you?” questioned Dave quickly.

“I don’t think so—unless you fellows roll down some stones on me.”

“We’ll be careful about that,” answered Ben; and lost no time in pushing back a number of stones which lay close to the brink of the opening.

“We’ll have to get a rope or something with which to haul him up,” said Phil. “Dave, did we bring anything of that sort along?”

“Yes, I’ve got a good strong lariat tied to my saddle,” answered our hero. “Frank Andrews advised taking it along; for when you are traveling among the mountains you can never tell when you’ll need such a rope. I’ll go back and get it.”

“Maybe you’d better bring a few straps along, too, Dave,” put in Roger. “Then, if Shadow can’t haul himself up, he can tie himself fast and we can pull him up.”

“Good idea, Roger. I’ll do it.”

Dave was soon on his way, and in less than twenty minutes he was back to the spot, carrying the lariat he had mentioned and also a number of straps taken from the outfit. The lariat was of rawhide, and more than once had been tested by the civil engineers for its strength. It had been purchased by Andrews from a cowboy in Texas, after the latter had given a very fine exhibition of lassoing steers with it.

“We’re sending down the end of a lariat with some straps,” called down Dave. “Let us know as soon as it is low enough.”

“All right,” answered Shadow, but somewhat feebly, for the tumble had evidently knocked the breath out of him.

Tying the loose straps to the end of the rope, and weighting the whole down with a stone, Dave lowered the lariat carefully over the edge of the opening. It slipped through his hands readily, and soon the end disappeared from sight over a bulge of the wall below. All of the others watched the rope as it disappeared into the opening. They waited for some cry from Shadow, stating that he had hold of the other end, but none came.

“Maybe it caught somewhere on the way down,” suggested Ben.

“Well, here’s the end of it anyway,” announced Dave. “And the other end must be free for I can still feel the weight of the straps and the stone.”

“Hello, down there!” shouted Roger. “Can you see the rope?”

“Yes,” answered Shadow. “Please let it down about two feet farther.”

“I can’t do that just now. I’m at the end of the rope,” answered Dave. “Just wait a few minutes, and we’ll fix you up.”

“We’ll have to tie something to it,” said Roger. “Too bad we didn’t keep one or two of those straps up here.”

“Let’s get a stout sapling and tie that to the lariat,” said Phil. “That will be even stronger than the straps.”

On the edge of the summit they had noticed a number of saplings growing, and in a few minutes they had one of these uprooted. It was ten or twelve feet in height, and plenty strong enough for the purpose intended. It was tied fast by the roots, and then they lowered it into the opening, all taking hold of the other end, so that it might not slip from them.

“All right, I’ve got the rope now,” announced Shadow, a few seconds later. “Just hold it as it is.”

“Do you think you can haul yourself up, Shadow?” asked Dave. “Or do you want us to do the hauling?”

“I guess you had better do it if you can,” answered the youth below. “That tumble made me kind of weak and shaky.”

“Then strap yourself good and tight,” answered Roger. “See to it that the lariat won’t slip from the straps, either.”

It was almost dark at the bottom of the hollow into which Shadow had tumbled. He was in water up to his ankles. But this the unfortunate youth did not mind, for the stream had enabled him to bathe his hurts and obtain a refreshing drink. Now he lost no time in fastening one of the large straps around his waist, and to this he attached the lariat by a firm knot. Then, to make assurance doubly sure, he tied another of the straps to the rope and around his left wrist.

“Now I’m ready!” he shouted to those above. “But do be careful and don’t send any rocks or dirt down on my head!” His hat had fallen off and into the stream, but he had recovered it, and was now using it as a protection for his head.

“We’ll be as careful as we can,” announced Dave. “If anything goes wrong, shout out at once.”

It had been decided that Dave and Roger should haul up on the sapling and the lariat; and while they were doing this, Ben and Phil were to hold fast to them in order to prevent any of the party from going over the brink.

Soon the sapling came out of the opening, and then the lariat came up inch by inch.

“Are you all right, Shadow?” demanded our hero, when about half of the rope had been pulled up.

“All right, so far,” was the gasped-out answer. “For gracious’ sake, don’t let me drop!”

“Don’t worry,” answered Roger. And then he added to Ben: “Just carry the sapling back and stick it between those rocks, then we’ll be sure that the rope can’t slip.”

As Shadow even though thin, was tall and weighed all of one hundred and thirty pounds, it was no easy matter to haul him up out of the opening, especially as the lariat had to slip over several bends of the rocks. Once there came a hitch, and it looked as if the lariat with its burden would come no farther. But Shadow managed to brace himself and climb up a few feet and loosen the rope, and then the remainder of the haul was easy. Soon he came into sight, and in a few seconds more those above helped him over the brink of the opening and to a place of safety.

“Thank heaven, I’m out of that!” he panted, as he sat down on a nearby rock to rest. “I owe you fellows a good deal for hauling me out of that hole.”

“Don’t mention it, Shadow,” answered Dave readily.

“We’d do a good deal more for you than that,” added Roger.

“Indeed we would!” came simultaneously from the others.

“After this I’m going to be careful of how I run and jump,” answered Shadow.

“How did you come to go down?” questioned Phil.

“That was the funniest thing you ever heard about,” was the quick reply. “Just as I came into sight of this opening, I felt one of my shoes getting loose. I bent down to feel of it, and the next instant I stumbled over something and rolled right down into the hole. Of course, I tried to save myself, but it was of no use, and down I went quicker than you can think. I struck the rocks on one side of the opening, and then on the other side, and hit some bushes and dirt. Then, the next thing I knew, I went ker-splash! into a big pool of water.”

“And that pool of water saved you from breaking your neck,” broke in Ben.

“More than likely. I got up out of the pool in a hurry, and then I walked several yards to where the stream of water wasn’t nearly so deep. Then I set up a yell, and kept at it for nearly a quarter of an hour. I had just about given up thinking you would ever find me, when I heard you yelling.”

“As soon as you’ve rested, we’ll help you back to our camping place,” announced Dave. “Then we can start up the fire again and you can dry yourself;” for he saw that Shadow was soaking wet from his back down.

“I’m thankful this adventure has ended so well,” was Phil’s comment. “What would we have done if anything had happened to you?”

“As it was, enough did happen,” answered Shadow ruefully. Then, of a sudden, his face broke into a smile. “Say, when I was down there I thought of a dandy story! One day two men went to clean a well——”

This was as far as the former story-teller of Oak Hall got with his narrative. The others gazed at him for a moment in wonder, and then all broke out into a uproarious fit of laughter.

“Can you beat it!” gasped Phil.

“I guess Shadow would tell stories if he was going to his own funeral!” came from Roger.

“You’ve certainly got your nerve with you, Shadow,” announced Dave.

“I suppose you thought of the story while you were tumbling down into the opening,” suggested Ben.

“No, I didn’t think of it just then,” answered the story-teller innocently. “It came to me while I was waiting for you fellows to get the rope.”

“Never mind the story now,” said Dave. “If you are rested, let us get back to the camp and start up that fire. We don’t want you to catch cold.” For on the summit of the mountain there was a keen, cool breeze.

They were soon on the way, Dave on one side of Shadow to support him and Roger on the other. Phil and Ben ran ahead, and by the time the youth who had taken the tumble arrived, more wood had been placed on the campfire, and it was blazing up merrily, sending out considerable warmth.

“That’s an adventure we didn’t count on,” remarked Phil, while Shadow was drying out his clothing in front of the blaze.

“Well, something is bound to happen when we get together,” answered Roger. “It always does.”

“After this we had better keep our eyes peeled for all sorts of danger,” said Dave. “We don’t want anything bad to happen to our visitors during their stay.”

Half an hour was spent in the camp, and by that time Shadow’s wet clothing had dried out sufficiently to be worn again. The former story-teller of Oak Hall had been allowed to tell several of his best yarns, and now seemed to be in as good a humor as ever. His hands and his shins had been scraped by his fall, but to these little hurts he gave scant attention.

“I came out on this trip with Phil just to see what rough life was like,” he announced. “If something hadn’t happened to me I surely would have been disappointed.”

“You’ll see enough of rough life before you get home again, Shadow,” said Phil. “Just you wait till you get to Star Ranch. I’ll have some of the cowboys there put you through a regular course of sprouts.”

Just before the party got ready to break camp, Ben wandered off to get several more pictures. He went farther than he had originally intended, the various scenes before his eyes proving decidedly fascinating. He took a view of some rocks, and then gazed for a long time across to a hill some distance away. Then he returned quickly to where he had left the others.

“Say, fellows, I’ve discovered some game!” he cried.

“Game?” queried Dave. “What kind?”

“I don’t know exactly what they were,” answered the youth from Crumville. “They looked though to be a good deal like a couple of bears. They are off in that direction,” and he pointed with his hand.

“Say, let’s go after them, no matter what they are!” exclaimed Phil. “I’d like to get a shot at something before we return to the construction camp.”

“I’m willing,” announced Dave.

“Shall we go on horseback or on foot?” questioned Shadow. “For myself, I’d rather ride than walk.”

“Oh, we’ll go on horseback,” answered Roger. “There is no use of our coming back to this place. Come on—let us get after that game right now! Ben, you show the way.”

CHAPTER XIV
SOMETHING ABOUT BEARS

The campfire was stamped out with care, so that there would be no danger of a conflagration in the forest so close at hand, and then the five lively chums leaped into the saddle once more and started off in the direction in which Ben had said he had seen the game.

“What made you think they were a couple of bears?” questioned Dave, as they rode along as rapidly as the roughness of the trail permitted.

“They looked as much like bears as they looked like anything,” answered his chum. “Of course, they were quite a distance away, and I may have been mistaken. But anyway, they were some sort of animals, and quite large.”

“Were they standing still?”

“No. They appeared and disappeared among the rocks and bushes. That’s the reason I couldn’t make out exactly what they were.”

“Perhaps they were deer,” suggested Phil.

“I think they were too chunky for deer—and even for goats. Besides that, they didn’t leap from one rock to another as deer and goats do.”

“Could they have been bobcats?”

“No. They were larger than that.”

The chums soon had to leave the regular trail, and then found themselves in a section of the mountainside sparingly covered with bushes and an occasional tree. The rocks were exceedingly rough, and in many places they had to come to a halt to figure out how best to proceed.

“Say, we don’t want to get lost!” remarked Phil.

“I don’t think we’ll do that, Phil,” answered Dave. “Roger and I know the lay of the mountains pretty well around here. And besides, I brought my pocket compass along. Just at present we are northeast of the construction camp.”

They could not go in a direct line to where Ben had noticed the game, and it therefore took them the best part of an hour to reach the vicinity.

“Now I guess we had better be on the watch,” announced Dave, and unslung the shotgun he carried, while Roger did the same with the rifle. Seeing this, the others looked to their automatic pistols, to make certain that the weapons were ready for instant use.

For fully half an hour the five chums rode up and down along the side of the hill and had Ben point out to them just where he had seen the two animals.

“It looks to me as if they had cleared out,” said Phil in a disgusted tone of voice. “And if they have, we have had a pretty nasty ride for our pains.”

“Oh, don’t let’s give up yet!” pleaded Shadow. “I want to get a shot at something—even if it’s nothing more than a squirrel.”

“If you don’t watch out, you may have an elephant crashing down on you,” laughed Phil.

“Humph, I suppose you don’t care whether we bring down any game or not!” retorted Shadow. “You put me in mind of a fellow who went hunting. He came back at night, and his friends asked him if the hunting was good. ‘Sure, it was good!’ he declared. ‘I hunted all day long, and not a bit of game came anywhere near me to disturb my fun!’”

“One thing is certain,” broke in Dave. “You’ve got to be quieter if you expect to find any game at all. You don’t suppose a bear is going to come out on the rocks just to listen to stories.”

“That’s right! He couldn’t bear to do it!” cried Roger gayly.

“My, my, but that’s a bare-faced joke!” cried Phil; and then there was a general laugh over the little puns.

After that the youths became silent, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the clatter of the horses as they passed over the rocks between the brushwood. Thus another half hour passed, and still nothing in the way of game was brought to view.

“I guess we’ll have to give it up and continue our trip,” said Roger at last.

To this the others agreed, and then all started off in another direction to hit the regular trail where it wound off towards the railroad station.

“I think we can make a sort of semicircle,” said Dave. “And if we don’t lose too much time we’ll be able to get back to the construction camp by seven or eight o’clock.”

All were disappointed that they had not seen any game, and the others began to poke fun at Ben, stating that his eyesight must have deceived him.

“It didn’t deceive me at all,” insisted the son of the Crumville real estate dealer. “I know I saw them as plain as day. But what the animals were, I can’t say.”

“Oh, well, never mind!” cried Phil gayly. “If we can’t bring down any game, we can have a good time anyway. Let’s have a song.”

“All right, boys. Everybody go to it!” cried Dave. “Oak Hall forever!” And then all present began to sing, to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, a song they had sung ever since they had first gone to Oak Hall.

“Oak Hall we never shall forget,

No matter where we roam;

It is the very best of schools,

To us it’s just like home.

Then give three cheers, and let them ring

Throughout this world so wide,

To let the people know that we

Elect to here abide!”

They sang it exceeding well, Dave and Roger in their tenor voices, Phil and Ben filling in with their baritone, and the long and lanky Shadow adding his bass voice, which every day seemed to be growing deeper. Then, after the verse was finished, at a signal from Roger, all let up the old school cry:

“Baseball!

Football!

Oak Hall

Has the call!

Biff! Boom! Bang! Whoop!”

“Oh, my! wouldn’t it be grand if we were all going back to school to-morrow?” burst out Phil.

“Oh, those good old baseball days!” cried Ben.

“And the skating and snowballing!” burst out Shadow.

“And the football!” added Dave. “Don’t you remember how we used to make Rockville Academy bite the dust?”

“And all those funny initiations in the Gee Eyes!” came from Roger.

“I think if I could do it, I’d like to go back to my first days there, even if I had to stand Gus Plum’s insolence,” said Dave, his eyes glistening.

“Yes. But we wouldn’t stand for such fellows as Merwell and Jasniff,” added Roger quickly.

“Oh, let’s forget all those bullies!” broke out Phil. “If we should——”

Phil did not finish, for Dave had suddenly put up his hand as a warning to be silent. Now our hero motioned his chums behind some of the rocks and brushwood beside the trail. Then he pointed to a large, flat rock a distance farther on.

“A bear!” gasped Shadow.

“Two of them!” burst out Ben, in a low tone. And then he added quickly: “I’ll bet they are the two animals I saw when I was taking those pictures!”

“Perhaps so, Ben,” answered Dave in a whisper; “although we are a pretty good distance from where you spotted them. However, that doesn’t matter just now. The question is—what are we going to do?”

“Shoot ’em!” came promptly from all of the others in a breath.

Evidently the horses had either scented or sighted the bears, for they showed great uneasiness. The bears, however, did not seem to be aware of the presence of their enemies. Both were bending down on the rocks, as if examining something intently.

“They are eating something,” said Roger, a moment later. “See how eagerly they are lapping it up.”

“Maybe it’s some wild honey,” suggested Phil. “I understand bears are all crazy about anything that is sweet.”

The shipowner’s son was right. The bears had come upon the remains of a “bee tree” which had been blown down by the recent high winds. A section of the tree containing a large portion of the honey had struck the rocks, and the honey had spread in every direction. Now the two animals were frantically lapping up the sweet stuff, each trying to get his fill before the other got it away from him.

“I guess Roger and I had better fire first,” said Dave. “I’ll take the bear on the left, and you, Roger, take the one on the right. Then, as soon as we have fired, you other fellows can let drive for all you are worth with your automatics while we are reloading. Then, if the bears are not dead by that time, we’ll try our best to give them another dose of lead.”

So it was arranged, and a moment later the crowd of five dismounted and tied their horses to some trees. Then they crept forward, keeping as much as possible behind the rocks, so that the feeding bears might not see them.

Ordinarily the bears would have been on the alert, and their quick sense of smell would have made it impossible for the youths to get within shooting distance. But now both animals were so absorbed in lapping up the honey spread around on the rocks, that they paid absolutely no attention to anything else. It is also possible that the smell of the honey was so strong that it helped to hide every other odor.

“Now then, fellows, are you ready?” whispered Dave, when they had gained a point behind the rocks which was not over a hundred and fifty feet from the bears.

“All ready!” was the whispered return.

It must be confessed that some of the youths were nervous. Shadow’s hand shook as he started to level his automatic pistol. Had he been called on to face a bear all alone, it is quite likely that he would have been struck with what is known among hunters as “buck fever,” and would have been totally unable to do anything.

Bang! crack! went the shotgun and the rifle. And almost immediately came the crack! crack! crack! of the three automatic pistols.

Then, as the bears whirled around and started to run, Dave fired again, and so did Roger, and the others continued to discharge their small firearms as rapidly as possible.

Dave’s first shot had been a most effective one, taking one of the bears directly in an ear and an eye. This had been followed up by the second shot, and also several shots from the pistols, and presently the animal raised up on his hind legs and then came down with a crash, to roll over and over among the rocks and brushwood.

“He’s done for, I think!” cried our hero with much satisfaction.

“Don’t be too sure,” remonstrated Ben, who was close behind. “He may be playing ’possum.”

In the meantime, the other bear had leaped out of sight behind some of the rocks. Now, as Dave stopped to reload the double-barreled shotgun, the others went on, intent, if possible, on bringing the second beast low. That he had been hit, there was no doubt, for he had squealed with pain and flapped one forepaw madly in the air.

The youths with the pistols were the first to again catch sight of the second bear. He stood at bay between a number of large rocks, and snarled viciously as soon as he caught sight of them. He arose on his hind legs and made a movement as if to leap directly toward them.

“Shoot! Shoot!” yelled Roger, and discharged his rifle once more. But the shot whistled harmlessly over the bear’s head. Then the other youths took aim with their pistols, hitting bruin on the shoulder and in the thigh.

These wounds were not dangerous, but they maddened the beast very much; and, with a roar of rage, the bear suddenly leaped from between the rocks and made directly for the crowd of young hunters.

CHAPTER XV
THE TRAIL TO NOWHERE

“Look out there!”

“He’s coming this way!”

“Run for your lives!”

These shouts were mingled with shots from several of the pistols, none of which, however, took effect, for the sudden advance of the wounded bear had disconcerted the aim of the young hunters.

The youths scattered to the right and the left behind the rocks and brushwood, and as the bear came lumbering forward, it looked as if for the time being he would have the place entirely to himself. Then, however, he caught sight of Roger and made a savage leap for the senator’s son.

Fortunately for the youth, the rifle he carried was a repeating weapon, and now he let drive once more, sending a ball along bruin’s flank. But this attack only served to increase the rage of the animal, and with a ferocious snarl he sprang forward and made a pass at Roger with one of his heavy paws.

Had this blow landed as intended, it is more than likely the senator’s son would have been felled and perhaps seriously hurt. But by a quick backward spring, the young civil engineer dodged the attack. Then he fired again, and this was followed almost simultaneously by discharges from the pistols of Phil and Ben. But all the bullets flew harmlessly over the beast’s head.

“Run, Roger! Run!” yelled the shipowner’s son. “Run, or he’ll knock you down sure and kill you!”

Roger needed no such advice, because he already realized his peril. He turned to retreat, but in his haste tripped over the uneven rocks and went pitching headlong into some nearby brushwood.

It was at this time, when the matter looked exceedingly serious, that Dave came once more to the front. He had succeeded in reloading the shotgun, and now, advancing rapidly, he took careful aim at the bear and fired twice.

The first discharge from the shotgun took the huge beast directly in the neck, and as he made a leap forward, as if to cover the distance that separated him from our hero, the second dose of shot landed in his stomach. He let out a frightful roar of pain and rage, and then pitched forward with a crash on a rock and rolled over and over down into a nearby hollow.

“Reload as fast as you can, fellows!” ordered Dave. “Don’t take any chances. Neither of those beasts may be dead;” and he started at once to look after his own weapon.

Years before his Uncle Dunston, who, as my old readers know, was a famous hunter, had impressed upon the youth the truth that an unloaded weapon is a very useless affair.

It must be admitted that Roger’s hand shook not a little while he was looking to make sure that his rifle was in condition for further use. Poor Shadow had gone white, and now sat on a flat rock, too weak in the knees to stand up.

“Maybe we had better give the bears some more shots before we go near them,” suggested the former story-teller of Oak Hall, in a voice which sounded strangely unnatural even to himself.

“It wouldn’t do any harm to give them a few shots from the pistols,” answered Dave. “Then we can all say we had a hand in laying them low.” And thereupon those who possessed the smaller weapons proceeded to make sure that the bears should never have a chance to fight again.

“Dave, I’ve got to hand it to you for coming to my assistance,” said Roger warmly, as soon as he had recovered from his scare. “Gracious! I thought sure that bear was going to jump right on me!”

Dave took careful aim at the bear and fired.—Page 153.

“Dave is the head hunter of this crowd,” announced Phil.

“He takes after his Uncle Dunston when it comes to shooting,” put in Ben. “Both of them can hit the bull’s-eye without half trying.”

“I—I—don’t think I want to do much hunting after this,” was Shadow’s comment. “That is, hunting for big game. I wouldn’t mind going out after rabbits and birds and things like that.”

“Oh, you’ll get used to it after a while, Shadow,” answered Dave. “I know how I felt when I faced my first big game. I had all I could do to steady my nerves.”

“Not such very big bears, when you come to look them over,” said Ben, who was making a close inspection.

“They certainly looked big enough when they stood up on their hind legs and came for us,” answered Phil. “I guess a bear must shrink after he’s dead;” and at this remark there was something of a laugh. Now that the tension had been removed, some of the youths were inclined to be a bit hysterical.

“What are we going to do with the bears?” questioned Phil.

“Can’t we save the skins and the heads?” asked Ben.

“Yes, we can do that,” answered Dave. “I don’t believe the skins are particularly good at this time of the year, but you fellows might draw lots for them and take them home as trophies of the occasion.”

On their numerous hunting trips Dave and Roger, as well as Phil, had seen large game skinned and dressed on more than one occasion, and, consequently, the task before them was not an altogether new one. In the outfit they had brought along there was a hunting-knife, and also a good sharp carving-knife, and with these tools, and the aid of the hatchet they had brought along, they set to work to skin both of the bears and cut each head from the rest of the body. It was no easy job, and took much longer than they had anticipated.

“As soon as we have finished we had better make for the construction camp,” said Dave.

“What are you going to do with the bear meat?” asked Roger. “It’s a shame to leave it here.”

“We can cut out some of the best of the steaks, Roger; and then we can hang the rest of the meat up on the limbs of a tree. Then, if we want to come back for it to-morrow, or any of the others at the camp want to come and get it, why all right.”

One of the saddle-bags was cleaned out, and in this they placed the very choicest of the bear steaks. Then the heads and pelts were rolled up and strapped into bundles. After that, by means of the lariat, they hoisted one carcass after the other into the branches of the nearest tree and there fastened them with straps.

The horses were uneasy, evidently scenting the blood of the bears. They did not seem to fancy the idea of carrying the pelts and steaks, and the youths had all they could do to make the animals behave. But all the young men were used to riding, and so, after a little prancing around, they made the steeds steady themselves, and then the journey back to the construction camp was begun.

“I think it is quite a while since a bear was brought down in this neighborhood,” said our hero, while they were riding along. “Old Hixon told me he had been on their trail a number of times, but he could never get close enough to get a shot.”

It was already growing dark, and long before the construction camp came into view, the sun sank over the tops of the mountains in the west and the long shadows began to creep across the valley.

“I hope you are sure of where you are going, Dave,” said Phil, as he rode alongside of his chum.

“I’m not so very sure of this trail, Phil,” was the slow answer. “You see, this is a new bit of territory to Roger and me.” He turned to the senator’s son. “What do you think of it?”

“I hope we are on the right way,” was the ready reply. “I think inside of another half hour we’ll strike the regular trail between the camp and the railroad station.”

Soon the shadows had reached the summit of the mountain behind them, and then the darkness of night came on rapidly. As the trail was a most uncertain one, they had to proceed slower and slower, for fear of running into some danger which might lurk ahead.

“It’s a pity one of us didn’t bring a flashlight along,” said Ben. “Then we could make sure of what sort of footing was ahead.” They were passing over some loose rocks at the time, and these occasionally made the horses slip and slide. Once Phil’s animal went to his knees, and made a great splurge and clatter regaining his footing.

“This is certainly some lonely spot,” was Roger’s comment, after they had gone forward another quarter of a mile. “There doesn’t seem to be a cabin or a camp of any sort in sight.”

“Listen! What’s that?” cried Shadow suddenly, and came close up beside Dave.

Far away in the woods they heard a peculiar sound. They listened intently for several minutes, and then the sound was repeated.

“I don’t think it’s anything more than a hoot owl or something of that sort,” said our hero.

“Just what I think,” answered Roger. “I’ve heard that cry several times since I came to Montana. It’s a bird of some sort.”

They had been going downward, but now the little trail they were following led up over more loose rocks, and then into a thicket of underbrush. Beyond this they came to the edge of the mountain forest. Here Roger called a halt.

“This doesn’t look very good to me,” declared the senator’s son. “The trail is getting worse and worse, and now it seems to lead directly into these big woods.”

“We had better go slow about getting in among trees,” announced Phil. “We might become hopelessly lost.”

“Then what do you propose to do?” demanded Ben. “Go back?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I am willing to leave it to Dave and Roger. They know a great deal more about this section of the country than we do.”

“We don’t know much about this particular piece of ground we are on right now,” answered the senator’s son. “I can’t remember that I was ever in this vicinity before.”

“Nor I,” added Dave. “Ever since we left the place where we had our lunch this noon, the trail has been a strange one to me. Just the same, I think we have been heading in the general direction of the construction camp. For all we know, it may be right on the other side of these big woods.”

Dave brought out his pocket compass, and he and Roger inspected it carefully by the light from a match. Then the two talked the matter over for several minutes.

“I’ll tell you what I think about it,” declared our hero finally. “I think the best thing we can do is to skirt the woods instead of going through them.”

“I’m sure it would be safer,” added Phil.

To skirt the edge of the forest, they had to leave the trail entirely and pick their way as best they could among the rocks and brushwood. Soon the horses hesitated about going forward, and then they had to dismount and lead the animals.

“If we can’t locate the camp after we get around the edge of the woods, what are we going to do?” questioned Roger of our hero in a low voice, so that the others who were coming on behind might not hear.

“I’m sure I don’t know, Roger,” was the unsatisfactory reply.

“We’ve got to do something, Dave. We can’t stay out here all night.”

“Oh, yes, we can if we have to. If it becomes necessary to do so, we can go into camp, light a fire, and broil some of those bear steaks.”

“Yes, we could do that. And bear steaks wouldn’t be half bad, seeing how hungry I am getting,” returned the senator’s son. “But just the same, I’d rather get back to our camp to-night.”

CHAPTER XVI
WAITING FOR LETTERS

The five chums continued on their way around the edge of the forest. All were in a sober frame of mind, for each realized that, for all they knew, they might be hopelessly lost on the mountainside. Presently the sharp decline came to an end, and then all of them leaped once more into the saddle.

“Look!” exclaimed Dave presently. “Am I right? Is that a light ahead?”

All gazed in the direction he indicated, and presently made out a small light which was swinging to and fro as it seemed to draw closer.

“I believe that’s some one with a hand lantern!” cried Roger. “Maybe it’s a man on horseback with a lantern to light his way.”

The five chums noted in what direction the light was headed, and then turned the horses toward the same point. Soon they came so close that they could call to the other party, and they set up a shout.

“Hello, Porter! Hello, Morr! Is that you?” came an answering hail. And then the light seemed to come to a halt.

“It must be one of the fellows from our camp!” exclaimed Dave. “And if that is so, we can’t be very far from one of the regular trails.”

He urged his steed forward with the others following, and soon they came face to face with a man named Dan Morrison, who had charge of one of the section gangs at the camp. To this individual our friends explained the situation, and received the information that they were on a side trail which, half a mile farther on, ran into the regular trail leading to the construction camp.

“This trail is one of several that leads to the railroad station,” explained Dan Morrison. “It’s something of a short cut, but it isn’t quite as good as any of the others. But I’m used to it, so I don’t mind it, even in the darkness. I carry the lantern more for company than for anything else.”

Mr. Morrison was much surprised to hear about the shooting of the two bears, but the youths did not wait to go into details, being anxious to get back to the construction camp, where they hoped a good hot supper would be awaiting them.

“And if they haven’t got anything cooked for us, we’ll make Jeff broil some of these bear steaks,” announced Dave.

“They’ll certainly be something in the way of a novelty,” said Phil. “Although, as a matter of fact, I never yet ate a bear steak that could compare to a beefsteak. The meat is usually coarser and tougher.”

It was not long after this when they discerned the welcome lights of the construction camp in the distance. Then they set off on something of a race, and rode into camp in great style.

“Well, lads, what kind of a day did you have?” questioned Frank Andrews, as he came out to greet them.

“Fine!”

“The best ever! We shot two bears.”

“Shot two bears!” repeated Frank Andrews incredulously. “You can’t string me that way. Why don’t you say you brought down half a dozen elephants while you’re at it?”

“We certainly did bring down two bears,” announced Roger with pardonable pride. “And one of them might have killed me if it hadn’t been for Dave.”

“What’s this I hear about shooting two bears?” demanded another voice, and Mr. Obray stepped into view from the semi-darkness.

“It’s true, Mr. Obray,” answered Dave. “Just wait, and we’ll show you the skins and the heads. We cut them both off to bring along. And we’ve got some fine bear steaks in our saddle-bags too.”

“And anybody who wants to, can go back and get the rest of the carcasses,” added Roger. “We hung them up in a tree to protect them.”

“It doesn’t seem possible!” exclaimed the construction camp manager. “One bear would be something worth talking about. But two! Are you sure you’re not fooling?”

“It’s the plain truth,” answered Phil.

“But I never want to go out to shoot any more bears,” vouchsafed Shadow. “One bear hunt in a lifetime is enough for me.”

The news soon spread throughout the construction camp that two bears had been killed, and it was not long before every man in the place came up to view what the hunting party had brought in. Old John Hixon seemed to be particularly interested.

“Pretty big critters—both of ’em,” was his comment. “Of course, I’ve seen ’em bigger, but these fellows were large enough for anybody to wrassle with.”

Of course the youths had to tell their story in detail—not only about the fight with the two bears, but also how Shadow had fallen into the opening on the mountain summit and had been rescued.

“You’ve certainly had a strenuous day of it,” was Ralph Obray’s comment. “I’m glad to know that all of you got back in safety. After this I guess I had better keep my eyes on you,” and he smiled faintly.

“I hope we are in time for supper, Jeff!” cried Roger to the cook. “I’m altogether too hungry to miss that.”

“You all ain’t goin’ to miss nothin’,” answered the cook, with a good-natured showing of his ivories. “Come right down to the dinin’-room and git all you wants. If you wants me to broil some of dem dar bear steaks, I’ll do it fo’ you.”

“Well, I’m mighty glad we’re not going to miss anything in the way of supper,” remarked Ben.

“Oh, say, speaking about missing something puts me in mind of a story!” burst out Shadow eagerly, as the chums made their way toward the dining-room of the camp. “Once there was a miserly old man who was inveigled into buying a ticket for a charity concert. He found it impossible to get there on time, and so found the concert in full blast when he arrived. ‘Say, what are they playing?’ he asked of an usher as he came in. ‘Why, they just started the Twelfth Symphony,’ was the reply. ‘You don’t say!’ groaned the miserly old man. ‘It’s too bad I’ve missed so much of the concert, after paying for that ticket!’”

It might go without saying that all of the youths enjoyed the repast which Jeff and his assistant provided. At first they thought to have some of the bear steaks; but then concluded to leave those until the morning, when every man in the camp who cared to do so might have his share of the meat.

On the following morning all of the visitors, as well as Roger, were so tired that they decided to remain in camp and take it easy. Dave, however, after consulting with Mr. Obray, took two of the men with him and went back to where the carcasses of the bears had been left, and brought the meat back to camp. Here the steaks and the other portions fit to cook were enjoyed by all, and served to put Dave and his chums on better terms than ever with the others.

Phil, Ben, and Shadow remained at the construction camp two days longer, and during that time the chums went fishing, as well as riding, and enjoyed every moment of the time. Ben was particularly pleased, and in private confided to Dave and Roger that had he not promised to go on to Star Ranch with Phil he would willingly have put in the rest of his vacation with them.

“Oh, you’ll like it at Star Ranch just as well as you like it here,” announced Dave. “It’s a splendid place, and the Endicotts will be sure to give you the time of your life.”

The days passed all too quickly for all of the young men. Even Shadow complained of the shortness of the time, he stating that he had not had an opportunity to tell one half of his best stories.

“Never mind, Shadow, you’ll have to come back some day and tell us the rest of them,” said Roger consolingly.

At last came the hour when the visitors had to depart, and Dave and Roger saw them off at the railroad station.

“Give our best regards to the Endicotts!” cried Dave, when the long train rolled into the station and Phil and the others climbed on board.

“And don’t forget to remember us to Sid Todd!” added Roger, mentioning the foreman of Star Ranch, a man who had proved to be a good friend.

“Don’t go after any more bears!” sang out Ben.

“Oh, say, that puts me in mind of a story!” cried Shadow. “Once three men went out to hunt, and——” But what the story was about, Dave and Roger never heard, for the vestibule door to the car was closed, and in a moment more the long train rumbled on its way.

“A nice bunch, all right,” was Roger’s comment, as he and Dave turned their horses back in the direction of the camp.

“No better fellows anywhere, Roger. I’ll tell you, when we went to Oak Hall we made some friends that are worth while.”

“Right you are!” The senator’s son drew a deep breath. “Well, now that they have gone, I suppose we have got to pitch into work again.”

“Sure thing, Roger! It doesn’t do to be idle too long.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining, Dave. I love my work too much.”

“That’s exactly the way I feel about it. The more I see of civil engineering, the deeper it grips me. I’m hoping some day we’ll be able to get together and put over some piece of work that is really worth while,” answered Dave earnestly.

Two weeks slipped by without anything unusual happening. Their brief vacation at an end, Dave and Roger plunged into their work with vigor, just to show Mr. Obray and Frank Andrews that they appreciated all that had been done for them. During that time the weather was far from fair, and the young civil engineers were more than once drenched to the skin while at work on the mountainside. Then the numerous storms brought on a small landslide, and some of the results of what had been accomplished were swept away.

“That’s too bad!” cried Dave.

“Oh, it’s all in the day’s work, Porter,” answered Frank Andrews philosophically. “Mr. Obray is mighty thankful that none of our men was caught in that landslide.”

Two days after this the storms cleared away, and the sky became as bright as ever. As soon as things had dried out a little, the engineering gangs went forth once more, and Dave and Roger became as busy as ever. They worked their full number of hours, as did the others, and in addition spent one or two hours every evening over their textbooks. Frank Andrews continued to aid them, and often explained matters which puzzled them.

The two youths had received letters from home on the day after their former Oak Hall chums had left. But since that time no other communications had arrived.

“It’s queer we don’t get some more letters,” grumbled the senator’s son one day.

“Were you looking for a letter from your folks?” questioned Dave slyly.

“You know well enough what I was looking for,” answered Roger, his face growing a bit red. “You didn’t get any letter from Jessie, did you?”

“Not since the day you got one from Laura, and the day that one came from your mother.”

“What do you make of it, Dave? They must have gotten our letters.”

“Maybe not, Roger. Just the same, I think the girls would have written even if they didn’t get our letters.”

“Do you suppose anything has gone wrong?”

“I don’t know what to suppose.”

“Maybe we ought to send a telegram,” suggested the senator’s son, after a pause.

“Oh, there’s no use of scaring them with a telegram, Roger. Let us wait a few days longer. We may get some letters to-morrow.”

But the morrow passed, and so did several more days, including Sunday, and still no letters were received from Crumville. Roger got a letter from his folks in Washington, and Dave received a brief communication from Phil, stating that he and the others had arrived safely at Star Ranch. But all of these did not satisfy the young civil engineers.

“Something must be wrong somewhere,” announced Dave at last. “I guess after all, Roger, we had better send a telegram to Crumville and find out what it means.”

CHAPTER XVII
BAD NEWS

On the following day the two young civil engineers were sent with the rest of the gang under Frank Andrews to do some work located along the line about half way to the railroad station.

“That will give us a chance to send off a telegram,” said Dave to the senator’s son. “We can ask Andrews to let us off an hour earlier than usual and ride over to the station and get back to camp in time for supper.”

So it was arranged; and as soon as they quit work, the two young men hurried off on a gallop so that they might reach the station before the agent, who was also the telegraph operator, went away.

“We want to send a telegram to the East,” announced Dave, as they dismounted at the platform where the agent stood looking over some express packages.

“All right, I’ll be with you in a moment,” was the reply. “By the way, you are from the construction camp, aren’t you? I just got a telegram for one of the fellows over there.”

“Who is it?” questioned Roger.

“I forget the name. I’ll show it to you when we go inside. Maybe you wouldn’t mind taking it over for the fellow.”

“Certainly we’ll take it over,” declared Dave readily.

When they passed into the office, the agent brought the telegram forth from a little box on the wall, and gazed at it.

“David Porter is the name,” he announced.

“Why, that is for me!” cried our hero quickly.

“You don’t say! Well, there you are. It’s paid for.”

Hastily the young civil engineer tore open the flimsy yellow envelope and gazed at the message inside. It read as follows:

“Do you or Roger know anything about Jessie and Laura? Answer immediately.

“David B. Porter.”

“What is it?” questioned the senator’s son eagerly; and without replying our hero showed him the message. Then the two youths stared at each other blankly.

“What in the world——” began Dave.

“Something has happened!” burst out his chum. “Dave, this looks bad to me.”

“They want to know if we know anything. That must mean that Jessie and Laura are away from home, and they are without news about them.”

“It certainly looks that way.”

Each of the youths read the telegram again. But this threw no further light on the mystery.

“And to think we didn’t get any letters! That makes it look blacker than ever,” murmured Roger.

“I’m going to answer this at once and see if we can not get further information!” exclaimed our hero. He turned to the station agent. “How long do you expect to remain open?”

“I generally shut down about seven o’clock, but to-night I expect to stay open until the five-forty gets here, which will be about seven-thirty.”

“You haven’t got to go away, have you?” continued Dave. “The reason I ask is that I want to send an important telegram off, and I’d like to wait here for an answer for at least a couple of hours. Of course, I am perfectly willing to pay you for your time.”

“I haven’t anything very much to do to-night after I close up, and if you want me to stay here I’ll do it,” announced the agent, who was not averse to earning extra money.

The two young civil engineers held a consultation, and soon after wrote out a telegram, stating they had heard nothing since the receipt of the last letters from home, the dates of which were given. They asked for immediate additional information, stating they would wait at the telegraph office for the same.

“Nothing wrong, I hope?” ventured the station master, after the telegram had been paid for and sent.

“We don’t know yet. That is what we wish to find out,” answered Dave. And then, to keep the man in good humor, he passed over a dollar and told the agent to treat himself from a small case full of cigars which were on sale in the depot.

After that there was nothing for Dave and Roger to do but to wait. The agent sat down to read some newspapers which had been thrown off the last train that had passed through, and even offered some of the sheets to them. But they were in no humor for reading. They walked outside, and a short distance away, and there discussed the situation from every possible angle.

“If we don’t get any news, what shall we do?” queried the senator’s son. “I’m so upset that I know I won’t be able to sleep a wink to-night.”

“Upset doesn’t express it, Roger,” returned Dave soberly. “When I read that telegram it seemed fairly to catch me by the throat. If anything has happened to Jessie and Laura——” He could not finish.

“Dave, do you suppose those gypsies——”

“I was thinking of that, Roger. Such things have happened before. But let us hope for the best.”

Slowly the best part of two hours passed. Then the station master, having looked through all the newspapers, came out of his office, yawning and stretching himself.

“How much longer would you fellows like me to stay?” he questioned. “You know I open up here at six in the morning, and I live about a mile away and have to hoof it.”

“Oh, don’t go away yet,” pleaded Roger. “The message may come in at any minute. They’ll be sure to send an answer as soon as they get what we sent.”

“Wait at least another half-hour,” added Dave.

“All right;” and the agent went back into his office, to settle himself in his chair for a nap.

Ten minutes later the telegraph instrument began to click. The station agent jumped up to take down the message.

“Is it for me?” questioned Dave, eagerly, and the station master nodded. Then the two youths remained silent, so that there might be no error in taking down the communication that was coming in over the wire.

“Here you are,” said the agent at last, handing over the slip upon which he had been writing. “I’m afraid there is trouble of some kind.”

Like the other message, this was from Dave’s father, and contained the following:

“Laura and Jessie left on visit to Boston four days ago. Thought them safe. They did not arrive and no news received. Suspect gypsies. Everybody upset. Mrs. Wadsworth prostrate. Will send any news received.”

Dave’s heart almost stopped beating when he read this second telegram, and he could not trust himself to speak as he allowed his chum to peruse the communication.

“Oh, Dave, this is awful!” groaned the senator’s son.

“So it is,” responded our hero bitterly. He read the message again. “I wonder what we can do?”

“I don’t see that we can do anything—being away out here.”

“Then I’m not going to stay here—I’m going home,” announced Dave firmly.

“What!”

“Yes, Roger. I’m going home. Why, you don’t suppose I could stay here and work with such a thing as this on my mind! This looks to me as if Jessie and Laura had been abducted—or something of that sort.”

“Well, if you go, Dave, I’ll go too!” cried the senator’s son. “If anything has happened to Laura——” He did not finish, but his face showed his concern.

“Do you want to send any more telegrams?” questioned the station agent. “If you don’t, I’ll lock up.”

“I think I will,” answered Dave. “They’ll want to know whether this telegram was received.” And then, after he and Roger had consulted for a moment, they sent the following:

“Second telegram received. Both too worried to remain. Will come East as soon as possible.

“Dave and Roger.”

Having listened to the operator sending the message off, the two young civil engineers lost no time in leaping into the saddle and setting off for the construction camp. They rode at as rapid a gait as possible, and on that stony trail there was but little chance for conversation.

“It must be the gypsies,” said Roger, when he had an opportunity to speak. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“The gypsies certainly promised to make trouble for them,” answered Dave bitterly. “But to go so far as kidnapping——Why, Roger! that’s a terrible crime in these days!”

“I know it. But don’t you remember what they wrote about the gypsies—how that Mother Domoza and the others were so very bitter because they had to give up their camp on the outskirts of Crumville? More than likely your Uncle Dunston, and Mr. Basswood, and Mr. Wadsworth, didn’t treat them any too gently, and they resented it. Oh, it must be those gypsies who have done this!” concluded the senator’s son.

When they arrived at the construction camp, they found that most of the men had gone to bed. But there was a light burning in the cabin occupied by Ralph Obray and several of the others, and they discovered the manager studying a blue-print and putting down a mass of figures on a sheet of paper.

“What do you want?” questioned the manager, as he noted their excited appearance. “Have you struck more bears?”

“No, Mr. Obray. It’s a good deal worse than that,” returned Dave, in a tone of voice he tried to steady. “We’ve got bad news from home.”

“You don’t say, Porter! What is it? I hope none of your relatives has died.”

“My sister is missing from home, and so is the daughter of the lady and gentleman with whom my family live,” announced our hero. And then he and Roger went into a number of particulars, to which the construction camp manager listened with much interest.

“That certainly is a strange state of affairs,” he declared. “But I don’t see what you can do about it.”

“I can’t stick here at work with my sister and Jessie Wadsworth missing,” declared Dave boldly. “I’ve come to ask you to give me a leave of absence. I want to take the very first train for home.”

“But what can you do after you get there, Porter? If anything has really gone wrong, you can rest assured that your folks and the others have notified the authorities and are doing all they possibly can.”

“That may be true, Mr. Obray,—more than likely it is true. Just the same, unless I get word by to-morrow morning that they are found or that some word has come from them, I want to go home and join in the search.”

“And I want to go with him!” broke out Roger.

“I might as well explain matters to you, Mr. Obray,” said Dave. “For a number of years Jessie Wadsworth and myself have been very close friends, and now we have an understanding——”

“Oh, I see. That’s the way the wind blows, does it?” And the camp manager smiled.

“Yes, sir. And the same sort of thing holds good between Roger here and my sister Laura. That’s the reason he wants to go with me.”

“Oh!” The construction manager nodded his head knowingly. “I understand. Well, I suppose if I were situated like that, I’d feel just as you do.”

“Please understand we’re not going away to shirk work or anything like that,” declared Roger. “You ought to know me well enough by this time, Mr. Obray, to know that I am heart and soul in this thing of making a first-class civil engineer of myself.”

“And that’s just the way I feel about it, too,” affirmed Dave.

“Oh, I understand. I have been very well satisfied so far with the showing both of you have made. It has been very creditable. I know you haven’t shirked anything.”

“Of course, it’s too bad we have got to go right on top of having that vacation when our friends came to visit us,” was Dave’s comment.

“That is true, too, Porter. But some things can’t be helped. I take it that you would rather know that your sister and that other young lady were safe, and stick at work, than you would to lay off on account of such an errand as this.”

“You’re right there, Mr. Obray!”

“I’d give all I’m worth this minute to know that Dave’s sister and Jessie Wadsworth were all right!” burst out the senator’s son.

“Well then, if you think you ought to go back home, you may do so,” announced Ralph Obray. “But I sincerely hope that by the time you get there this matter will have straightened itself out. And if that proves to be true, I shall depend upon your coming back immediately.”

“We’ll do it,” answered Dave readily. “We’ll come back the very first thing after we find out that everything is all right.” And Roger promised the same.

It can easily be imagined that the two chums did not sleep much that night. They spent the best part of an hour in packing some of their belongings and in informing Frank Andrews of what had occurred. The head of their gang was even more sympathetic than Mr. Obray had been, and said he would do anything in his power to help them.

“I suppose you would like to take the eight o’clock morning train East,” he remarked.

“That’s our idea,” answered Dave.

“Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” went on Frank Andrews. “I’ll order up an early breakfast for you, and I’ll have old Hixon ride over to the station with you to bring back your horses.”

And so the matter was arranged.

CHAPTER XVIII
ON THE WAY EAST

“Well, boys, I certainly wish you luck.”

It was John Hixon who spoke, as he shook hands with Dave and Roger at the railroad station on the following morning.

As arranged, the party of three had had an early breakfast and had lost no time in riding over to the railroad station. They had found the train half an hour late, and Dave had lost no time in sending a telegram to Crumville stating that he and Roger were on the way, and asking that if there was anything of importance to communicate, to send them word either at St. Paul or Chicago.

The two youths had no accommodations on the train, which was made up of sleeping-cars, an observation-car and a diner. They had made up their minds that they would journey on the train even if they had to sit up in a smoking compartment. But the cars proved to be less than three-quarters filled, and they had but little trouble in obtaining a section. Then they settled down as best they could for the long journey to Chicago, where, of course, they would have to change for the train to the East. They paid for their passage only as far as St. Paul, so that they might leave the train at that city if a telegram was received assuring them that everything was all right.

“But I’m afraid we won’t have any such luck, Roger,” observed Dave, in speaking of this possibility.

“You can’t tell,” answered the senator’s son hopefully. “It’s just possible that Laura and Jessie may have returned home and explained their disappearance.”

“They’d never stay away so long without sending some word, I’m certain of that,” answered our hero emphatically. “They are not that kind of girls.”

“It certainly would seem so, Dave. But you must remember they may have sent some kind of word, and it may not have been received. They may have met some friends, sent a message, and gone off on an automobile tour or a motor-boat voyage.”

Dave shook his head. “It won’t do, Roger. I know Laura and Jessie too well. They would want to make sure that the folks at home knew where they were. And they would send us word too. Besides that, they wouldn’t go off on any extended trip, such as you mention, unless they had permission from my father and Mrs. Wadsworth.”

All through the morning the two young civil engineers discussed the situation from every possible angle, but without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. At noon they partook of lunch in the dining-car, making this repast last as long as possible, “just to kill time,” as Roger expressed it.

“It’s going to be a long-winded trip,” sighed the senator’s son, after they had finished their meal and had walked back to the end of the observation car.

“Well, we’ve got to make the best of it, Roger,” was Dave’s reply. “Ordinarily such a trip as this would be fine. Think of what grand scenery there is to look at!” and he pointed out with a sweep of his hand.

The long train rumbled onward hour after hour, and the two youths passed the time as best they could, talking, looking at the scenery, and reading the various papers and magazines contained in the car library. At seven o’clock they had dinner, and then sat outside once again until it grew so dark that nothing could be seen.

“Well, we might as well go to bed,” remarked Dave finally. “Which berth do you want, Roger—the upper or the lower?”

“It is immaterial to me, Dave,” was the answer. “To tell the truth, I don’t think I’m going to do much sleeping.”

“We’ll toss up for it,” was the answer. And the toss of the coin gave Dave the lower berth.

It proved to be a long, wearisome night for both of them. Dave tumbled and tossed on his pillow, trying in a hundred ways to account for the mysterious disappearance of his sister and Jessie. Were they captives of the gypsies? Or had some other dreadful fate overtaken them? Then, at a sudden thought, Dave sat up in his berth so quickly that he hit his head on the bottom of the berth above.

“I wonder if it’s possible,” he murmured to himself.

He had suddenly remembered how he had lost the two letters from home at the time he had been robbed by Nick Jasniff of the contents of his pocketbook. If Jasniff had read those letters he had learned much about the trouble in Crumville with the gypsies, and he had also learned from Jessie’s letter that she and Laura were contemplating a trip to Boston.

“Jasniff is bitter against Mr. Wadsworth for having had him sent to prison,” Dave reasoned; “and he is equally bitter against me and my family for what I did in capturing him. He took a train for the East. Can it be possible that he is mixed up in this affair?”

This thought sent Dave off on a new chain of reasoning, and he became so restless that, instead of trying to go to sleep, he pulled up the shade of one of the windows, propped his pillow close against the glass, and lay there thinking and looking out on the star-lit landscape. But at last tired nature asserted itself, and he fell into a fitful doze, from which he did not awaken until it was about time to get up.

“I’ve got a new idea,” he announced to his chum, after the two had washed and dressed and were on their way to the dining-car for breakfast. And thereupon he related his suspicions against Jasniff.

“It may be so,” mused the senator’s son. “It would be just like that rascal to go in with those gypsies and try to do your folks and the Wadsworths harm.”

On the train the two young civil engineers met several very agreeable people, but they were in no frame of mind to make friends just then. Though they did their best to be pleasant, they were glad enough when the train, after a stop at Minneapolis, finally rolled into the station at St. Paul. Here, with only a few minutes to spare, they rushed out to the telegraph office. There was a message for them, and Dave tore the envelope open eagerly. One glance at the contents, and his face fell.

“No news of importance,” he announced. “Come on. We’ll have to go on to Chicago.” And then the journey to the great City of the Lakes was renewed.

At Chicago another message awaited them. This was a little longer than the other had been, but gave them scant satisfaction, reading as follows:

“Strong suspicions against gypsies who have disappeared. Demand for fifty thousand dollars.

“Dunston Porter.”

“That settles one thing. The girls have been kidnapped,” remarked Roger.

“Yes. And the kidnappers want fifty thousand dollars,” added Dave. He drew a long breath. “Well, there’s one satisfaction about this, Roger. We know the two girls must be alive.”

“Yes, Dave. But think of them in the hands of those dirty gypsies!”

“I can hardly bear to think of it, Roger. I wish I had those rascals by the neck! I think I could willingly shake the life out of them!”

“So could I! But come on, let us see if we can’t get on the next train bound for Albany. There is no use of our going down to New York City.”

The chums were fortunate in getting two upper berths on a train to leave in less than an hour. The run to Albany would take less than twenty-four hours, and there they would be able to change to a local train running to Crumville.

On the train a surprise awaited them. They ran into two of their old school chums, Buster Beggs and Sam Day. Both of these lads were fat and full of fun, and, having been close chums at school, had gone into business together in the city.

“We’re in the book and stationery line,” announced Buster Beggs, after a cordial handshaking all around. “We’re doing fine, too. Aren’t we, Sam? But say, I thought you fellows were learning to be civil engineers and were away out West.”

“We have been out West,” answered Dave. “But we are going home on a special errand just now.” And then there was nothing to do but to acquaint Buster and Sam with what had occurred.

“You don’t mean it!” burst out Buster in excitement. “Why, that reads like a regular old-fashioned novel!”

“I thought kidnappings like that were a thing of the past,” was Sam Day’s comment. “I certainly hope you round up those gypsies and rescue the girls.”

“We’ll do it or else know the reason why,” answered Roger determinedly.

From Buster and Sam the two young civil engineers learned much concerning a number of their other school chums. In return, they told a great deal about themselves; and thus the hours passed a little more quickly than they would otherwise have done. The four former Oak Hall students dined together, and managed to make an exchange of berths with some others on the train, so that they were all together in opposite sections that night.

“We’re certainly getting some touches of old times,” remarked Dave. “First Phil, Ben, and Shadow, and now you two!”

“I’ll tell you what—we ought to organize that Oak Hall club we once talked about,” said Buster Beggs. “Then we could hold a reunion once a year.”

“It certainly would be fine,” answered Roger, his eyes lighting up with pleasure. “We’ll have to remember that, Dave.” And to this our hero nodded approval.

Buster and Sam left the train at Utica, while the two young civil engineers continued on their way to Albany. Here they had a wait of an hour and a half, and during that time they purchased a couple of newspapers.

“Hello, here’s an account of the affair now!” cried Roger, pointing to the top of one of the pages.

There was an account nearly a column long, telling of how a search was being instituted for the missing girls and how it was supposed that a demand for money had been made upon Mr. Wadsworth and Mr. Porter. It was added that neither of the gentlemen would affirm or deny the report.

“That looks to me as if they were warned to keep quiet about the demand for money,” announced Dave.

“Possibly they were told that if they did not keep quiet something would happen to the girls,” added Roger. He closed his teeth with a snap. “Oh, I just wish I had my hands on those rascals!”

“It’s maddening, isn’t it, Roger, to stand around here and not be able to do anything?” groaned Dave. In his mind’s eye he could picture the misery endured by Jessie and his sister while they were being held captives.

At last the train for Crumville came in, and they lost no time in jumping on board.

“Thank heaven, we are on the last leg of this journey!” breathed Roger, as they settled down in a seat.

“Right you are, Roger!” answered Dave.

But then their faces grew exceedingly thoughtful. What dire news might await them at their journey’s end?

CHAPTER XIX
THE DEMAND FOR MONEY

“Oh, what shall we do—what shall we do?”

It was Mrs. Wadsworth who uttered the words. She sat in the luxuriously furnished living room of the Wadsworth mansion, wringing her hands while the tears stood on her cheeks. In front of her was the rich jewelry manufacturer, pacing up and down and biting his lip in deep thought.

“Don’t take it so hard, Alice, my dear,” said the husband in a husky voice. “It’ll come out all right—I am sure it will.”

“But, Oliver, I am so frightened! Think of those poor girls in the hands of those awful gypsies—or somebody just as bad, or worse! It’s dreadful! I can’t bear to think of it!” and Mrs. Wadsworth’s tears began to flow afresh.

In a corner of the library sat old Caspar Potts, white-haired and with eyes that were no longer bright. The professor’s head was shaking from side to side.

“I wish Davy were here,” he quavered. “I’m sure that boy could do something.”

“He has telegraphed that he is on the way, along with Roger Morr,” said Mr. Wadsworth.

“Good! Good! He’ll do something—I know he will! Davy is a great boy!” and the old professor nodded his head vigorously. Ever since he had taken our hero from the poorhouse years before, Dave had been the very apple of his eye.

Oliver Wadsworth walked to a writing-table, and from one of the compartments drew a much-rumpled sheet of paper, which had come to him in a dirty envelope several days before. The envelope had been post-marked, “Halwick,” the name of a town about thirty miles away.

“What are you going to do about that demand for money?” questioned Mrs. Wadsworth, as she watched her husband peruse the note—something he had done a great number of times.

“I don’t know,” he answered helplessly. “We have been given at least ten days in which to raise it, so there is no great hurry about deciding the question.”

“Is Mr. Porter in favor of meeting the demand?”

“He is like myself, he doesn’t know what to do. He and Dunston Porter are both of the opinion that this demand for fifty thousand dollars may be just the forerunner of other demands. They may want every cent all of us are worth before they give the two girls up,” added the jewelry manufacturer.

“But, Oliver! if you don’t give them the money——”

“I know, I know, Alice. We’ll have to fix it up somehow,” answered the husband hastily. Then he sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. “Please don’t worry so. I am sure we’ll be able to fix this matter up somehow sooner or later, and that the girls will come back safely.”

“Oh, I wish I could believe you!” burst out the distressed woman. And then, unable to control herself longer, she burst into a passionate fit of weeping, and betook herself away to her bedroom.

From outside came the sound of an automobile rolling along the gravel roadway, and looking from a window the manufacturer saw Dave’s father alight, followed by Dunston Porter. Both showed signs of weariness, and the look on the face of each betokened keen disappointment.

“Any success?” demanded the jewelry manufacturer quickly, as the pair entered the house.

“Nothing worth speaking about,” answered Dunston Porter. “We hired another detective and sent him off to Halwick.”

“The authorities have no news whatever,” added Dave’s father. “They have received telegrams from all the large cities within three hundred miles of this place, and not a trace of the girls has come to light. They claim that it’s the strangest disappearance on record.”

“But this demand for money——” began Oliver Wadsworth.

“Yes, they are trying to sift that out, too. But they don’t seem to be able to get anywhere with it. They have advised that you continue to keep quiet about it, and they said they would keep quiet, too. Nevertheless, I think the news has leaked out somehow.”

“Let me see that letter again,” said Dunston Porter, and perused the communication as carefully as the jewelry manufacturer had done. It was written in heavy lead pencil in evidently a disguised hand, and was as follows:

“The to girls Jessie Wadsworth and Laura Porter are safe in our hands. We will take good care of them but you wil haf to pay the price and do it inside of ten days or two weeks at longest. We mean busines so no funy work. We want fifty thousand dollars from you Mr. Wadsworth and from them Porters. Each of you can pay as much of the amount as you plese. We want the money in cash and wil send you word just were it is to be placed and at what time. If you fale us you will be mighty sory for we mean busines. Dont make no mistak about that. If you pay the money as we want the girls will be back home safe inside of two days and not a hare of there head harmed. Now take warning for we mean busines and wont stand for no nonsence.”

“This was either written by a very illiterate person or else by somebody who tried to make out he was such,” was Dunston Porter’s comment.

“I think it is just such a letter as one of those young gypsies might write,” answered Dave’s father. “Most of them have some education, but not a great deal.”

Both Mr. Wadsworth and Dave’s father had had a great deal of business to attend to during the past few weeks, and Dunston Porter had been kept busy assisting Mr. Basswood in turning the vacant land on the outskirts of Crumville into building plots and offering them for sale. But since the unexpected and mysterious disappearance of the two girls all thoughts of business had been brushed aside.

“Dave and Roger ought to be here almost any time now,” remarked Dunston Porter. “But what good their coming on the scene is going to do, I can’t surmise.”

“You can’t blame them for wanting to come after receiving such news,” remarked Mr. Wadsworth. “Dave, I know, thinks a great deal of his sister, and you all know that he and Jessie think a great deal of each other.”

“Yes. And I know that Roger has his eye on Laura,” answered the girl’s father. “And she thinks a great deal of the young man.”

At that moment the telephone rang, and Dunston Porter went to answer it. A telegram was telephoned to him.

“Dave and Roger are now on their way from Albany,” he announced. “They will be here in about an hour. I think I’ll run down to the depot in the auto and meet them.” And so it was arranged.

There were no passengers as eager as Dave and Roger to leave the train when it rolled into the little station at Crumville. Dunston Porter was on hand, and they gazed eagerly at his face to see if it bore any signs of good news.

“No, I’ve got nothing to cheer you with,” he announced, after shaking hands and conducting them to the auto, into the tonneau of which they pitched their suit-cases. “We haven’t the least idea where they are or how they disappeared.”

“But, Uncle Dunston, you must have some news!” pleaded Dave.

“At least you can tell us how and when they left home and what was the last word you had from them,” said Roger.

“They made up their minds to go to Boston to visit Jessie’s aunt, Mrs. Brightling, just about two weeks ago,” answered Dave’s uncle. “They spent two or three days in getting ready; and then a week ago this Wednesday they started on the trip, Mrs. Wadsworth and the chauffeur taking them down to the depot. They carried one trunk, which was checked through to Boston, and Laura had a suit-case, and both of the girls had handbags. They had through tickets to Boston, and got on the train; and that was the last we saw or heard of them.

“We had expected to get a letter from Laura, and the Wadsworths expected a letter from Jessie, stating that they had arrived safely. When no letters came, Mrs. Wadsworth got nervous, and as a result she asked her husband to send a telegram to find out what was wrong.

“The telegram had just been sent when a telegram was received from Mrs. Brightling, asking how it was that the girls had not come on as expected. Then she telegraphed a little later that she had not seen them nor heard from them.

“A search was made at the depot in Boston, and the trunk was found just as it had been checked from here. The suit-case the girls had kept with them on the train.”

“But didn’t they meet anybody on the train who knew them?” questioned Dave.

“No one that we have heard from up to the present time. We have been making a number of inquiries, and, of course, expect to make more. You see, the people they met on the train were going away from Crumville, so that makes it difficult to follow them up. And besides that, so much time was lost in the first place, that I suppose a good many people would forget, even if they had seen them on the train.”

“But didn’t they have parlor-car chairs?” questioned Dave.

“No. The train had only one parlor car on it, and that was crowded. Mr. Wadsworth had telegraphed for seats, but there had been some mix-up, and as a consequence the girls had to put up with seats in one of the day coaches. Mrs. Wadsworth told them they had better wait for another train, but they laughed and said that they would rather go into one of the day coaches than lose the time.”

During this conversation Dunston Porter had started up the automobile and was on the way to the Wadsworth mansion. In a few minutes more they rolled up to the piazza, and there Dave’s father and Mr. Wadsworth came out to greet them, followed by the trembling form of Professor Potts.

It was a sorry home-coming for our hero, and Roger was equally affected. They shook hands with those who were there to greet them, and for the moment the emotions of all were so deep that nobody trusted himself to speak. All went inside, and it was old Caspar Potts who broke the silence.

“If I were only a younger man!” he said in a trembling voice. “Davy, it’s up to you to do something—you and your friend Roger.”

“I’m going to do it if I possibly can, Professor,” answered the youth, huskily.

All sat down and the Crumville folks gave to the young civil engineers all the particulars they had concerning the strange disappearance of the two girls.

“And are you quite sure it is the work of those gypsies?” queried Roger.

“I don’t see who else would play such a dirty trick,” responded Mr. Wadsworth.

“Dave has another idea,” went on the senator’s son.

“What is that?” asked Dunston Porter quickly, while the others looked up questioningly.

“I’ve been wondering if Nick Jasniff wasn’t connected with this affair,” answered Dave.

“Nick Jasniff!” exclaimed Oliver Wadsworth. “You mean the fellow I helped to put in prison?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think he could have had anything to do with it?”

“I’ll tell you,” answered our hero. And thereupon he related how he and Roger had first seen Nick Jasniff in the vicinity of the construction camp, and how, later on, he had been instrumental in having Jasniff sent away from the camp, and then how he had met the rascal on the road, had a fight, and lost the two letters and the contents of his pocketbook.

“I ought to have written about this, but I didn’t want to worry you folks too much,” he concluded.

“Dave, you may have struck the truth!” burst out Mr. Wadsworth excitedly. “It would be just like that rascal to do such a thing as this. And besides that, you must remember one thing—Jasniff was not pardoned.”

“Not pardoned!” burst out our hero and Roger simultaneously.

“No, he was not pardoned,” answered the jewelry manufacturer. “His case came up before the Board of Pardons, and after a hearing they recommended a pardon for him to the governor. But before the governor signed the order to let him go, Jasniff made his escape from the prison and ran away. Then, of course, the recommendation for a pardon was torn up and thrown in the waste-basket; so if the fellow is ever captured he can go back to prison and serve his term over again.”

CHAPTER XX
BEGINNING THE GREAT SEARCH

“Well, what do you know about that!” cried Roger.

“No wonder Nick Jasniff wanted to leave the vicinity of the construction camp,” remarked Dave. “He must have reasoned that sooner or later we would learn that he hadn’t been pardoned and was wanted at the prison.”

“That must be it,” answered the senator’s son.

“If this Nick Jasniff is interested in the affair, we want to know it,” said Mr. Wadsworth. “I shall at once give the authorities the particulars of Jasniff’s doings, so that they can go on the hunt for him. They have his picture in the Rogues’ Gallery, and that can be copied and circulated, so that the authorities in different cities, and especially in this vicinity, can be on the lookout for him.”

“But why weren’t the authorities on the lookout for him before?” questioned our hero.

“They were at first. But then they got word that Jasniff had sailed for some port in South America, so they gave it up. Evidently the report was a false one.”

“Yes, and probably circulated by Nick Jasniff himself,” added Roger.

“Of course you have been over to Coburntown, where the gypsies went after they left here,” remarked Dave.

“We have been all around that territory,” answered his Uncle Dunston. “The gypsies have disappeared entirely, one report stating that they were bound south. I had them stopped at a town about fifty miles away, and those in the camp were closely questioned. They said that Mother Domoza had been left behind on account of sickness, and that two gypsies, one named Tony Bopeppo, and the other Carlos Vazala, had remained with her to take care of her. They said the three were to go to another gypsy camp some twenty or thirty miles away. But at that camp it was said that they knew nothing about the old hag and her followers.”

“Were the two gypsies, Bopeppo and Vazala, the two with whom you had trouble about the land?” questioned Roger.

“Yes, they were the leaders in the quarrel,” answered Dunston Porter. “Bopeppo was particularly furious, and one day threatened to strike Mr. Basswood. I stopped him, and told him if he didn’t behave himself I’d have him placed under arrest. Vazala was also very vindictive, he asserting, along with Mother Domoza, that they had the right to occupy the land as long as they pleased.”

“Then it is more than likely that Bopeppo and Vazala, assisted by Mother Domoza and perhaps by Nick Jasniff, are guilty of this kidnapping,” went on our hero.

“We had figured it out that way—of course leaving out Jasniff.”

“Have you any sample of the handwriting of Bopeppo or Vazala?” asked Roger. “If you have you might compare them with the note sent to Mr. Wadsworth.”

“We have managed to get one note written by Bopeppo, and we have two samples of Vazala’s signature. But neither of them seem to be in the handwriting used in the note,” answered Dave’s father.

“Then it would seem as if the note had been written by somebody else!” cried Dave. “How about Mother Domoza?”

“We don’t believe the old hag can read or write English.”

“I’d like to see the note,” said Roger. Thereupon the communication was brought forth and the two young civil engineers scanned it very closely.

“I wish I could remember Nick Jasniff’s handwriting, but I can’t,” said Roger. “How about it, Dave?”

“If my memory serves me, he wrote rather a heavy hand,” answered our hero. “But I am not willing to say whether this is in his style or not. This looks to me as if it was a disguised hand, for it is very irregular.”

“We all thought the handwriting was disguised,” answered Mr. Wadsworth. He heaved a deep sigh. “Too bad! All this talk doesn’t seem to get us anywhere.”

“Well, one thing is certain,” said Dave. “The girls got on board that train, and the train went to Boston, making all of its usual stops. In that case, they must have gotten off at one of the stop stations,—that is, unless the train made some other stops which were not scheduled.”

“We have found out that the train did make a number of other stops,” answered his father. “Shortly after it left Hemston they discovered a hot box, and they had to stop four times on the way to fix that—twice near some water tanks, and twice at some cross-road signal towers. As a consequence of the delay, the train was also held up at two little way stations to let two express trains pass, and did not get into Boston until nearly two hours behind its regular time.”

“Have you got a list of all those stopping places?” questioned Roger.

“We have.”

“Then I know what I’m going to do,” cried Dave. “I’ll take the automobile and go along the line of the railroad and stop at every one of those places and make inquiries, and see if we can’t find out whether the girls left the train, or if they were met by the gypsies, or anybody else.”

“I’ve already been along the line, Dave,” answered his father. “Your uncle and I went over the route, not by automobile but by a way train, and we made inquiries at every station; but without the least success.”

“Yes, but the train couldn’t have stopped long enough for you to ask many questions,” put in Roger.

“That is true,” returned Dave’s parent slowly. “Probably you would have a better chance of getting some particulars if you went along the route in the automobile. Of course it would take considerable time—several days in fact—to follow the route in that manner all the way into Boston.”

“It’s the only thing I can think of to do,” answered Dave. “And it will be much better than sitting here and doing nothing.”

“Right you are!” cried Roger. “I’m willing to start this minute if you say so,” and he jumped to his feet.

“I don’t think you can do much to-day,—it is too late,” answered Mr. Wadsworth. “But you might get ready for a start early to-morrow morning,” and he looked rather hopefully at the two young civil engineers.

“We’ll do it!” answered Dave.

After that the discussion became general, and our hero and his chum got all the particulars possible concerning the stops the train upon which Jessie and Laura had taken passage had made on its trip to the Hub. They put all these names and locations down on a sort of map that they drew up, and then consulted an automobile Blue-Book, so that they might get familiar with the roads to be taken on their tour.

“This is certainly going to be some search, Dave,” remarked Roger, after the conference had come to an end and the two chums had gone up-stairs to fix up for dinner.

“I know it, Roger. It will probably take us several days, and maybe a week. But I won’t mind that, and neither will you, if only we learn something of advantage.”

It was a quiet party that sat down to the table that evening in the large dining room of the Wadsworth mansion. In a voice that trembled more than usual with emotion, old Professor Potts asked a blessing on the meal, and the repast was well on its way before anyone felt like talking. Then Roger questioned Mr. Wadsworth concerning the automobile to be taken for the trip.

“I think you had better take the four-passenger car,” announced the jewelry manufacturer. “That will leave us the large car in case we need it. The smaller car is in just as good a condition and is just as speedy.”

“We’ll look over the car as soon as we have finished eating,” said Dave. “I want everything to be in the best of order, so that we shall not be delayed by any breakdown. Of course, we’ll carry along an extra shoe or two, and three or four inner tubes.”

The two chums had already decided on what they were to wear on the trip and what to take along in the way of extra clothing. They spent the entire evening in going over the four-passenger car, and, with the aid of the Wadsworth chauffeur, put the machine in the best possible order, and then filled it up with oil and gasoline.

“Oh, boys, you’ll do your best to find them?” said Mrs. Wadsworth, when they came in rather late and were ready to retire.

“You can rest assured of that, Mrs. Wadsworth,” answered Dave.

“We won’t give up until we have found them, or found out something about them,” broke in Roger. And then the lady kissed each of them affectionately. The strain had been terrible, and she looked ten years older than usual.

Dave and Roger had expected that no one would be around when they were ready to depart in the morning, for it was but a little after sunrise. But in this they were mistaken. Both Dave’s father and his Uncle Dunston had come down to see them off.

“I want to caution you about one thing,” said Dave’s parent. “You take care of yourselves, and if you do chance to run into those gypsies, or anybody else who has any connection with this crime, do your best to keep out of trouble.”

“We’ll be on our guard, Dad, don’t fear,” answered the son.

“Of course you are armed?” questioned Dunston Porter.

“Yes, we’ve each got a pistol, and Dave’s shotgun is under the back seat,” answered Roger. “You see, we weren’t going to take any chances,” and he smiled grimly.

“If you discover anything at all, send us word at once,” went on Dave’s father. “Use the telegraph or the telephone—whichever is handiest.”

“You can depend on it we will,” said Dave.

“And don’t forget that we want to hear from you folks here in Crumville if you hear anything,” added Roger. “You can send a message to any of the railroad stations along the line. We’ll stop at each station and ask for messages.”

Dave was at the wheel of the car, with Roger alongside of him. In the back the two had their suit-cases, and also a number of wraps and a hamper filled with lunch, for there was no telling where they could stop along the road for something to eat.

With scarcely an effort, the touring-car rolled away from the Wadsworth mansion, the men left behind waving their hands to the two on board. They waved in return, and a moment later the machine left the grounds, headed for the Crumville railroad station. This was soon passed, and they took the highway leading to the next station on the line; and thus the great search was begun.

The first place they reached was a small way-station, and they soon learned that the particular train Laura and Jessie had taken had not stopped there for a month or more. The station master had, however, heard about the kidnapping, and was anxious to hear more. But Dave and Roger did not waste time on him.

In the course of the next couple of hours, they stopped at six more stations, and made various inquiries. The train had stopped at just one of these places, but the station agent was positive that only two of the local residents had gotten on board, and no one but a drummer from the city had alighted.

The way to the next station was up a long hill, and near the top Dave had to bring the car to a sudden halt. The regular road was being repaired, and a sign was up showing where a detour might be made.

“That side-road doesn’t look very inviting,” was our hero’s comment, as he surveyed it.

“Oh, it must be all right,” answered Roger. “If it were not, they wouldn’t have that sign up.”

They proceeded on their way, and soon found the side road both rough and uncertain. They had some difficulty in getting to the bottom of the hill, and here they had to make a sharp turn to the left in an endeavor to get back to the main highway.

“Look out for the puddles, Dave!” cried the senator’s son, as they splashed into one pool of water.

Dave did what he could to keep out of the next puddle, and in doing this ran pretty well off to one side of the roadway. The next instant he found himself in mud almost up to the hubs, and here the car threatened to come to a standstill. He immediately threw the gear into second, and then into low, and thus they chugged on for a distance of ten or twelve feet farther. Then the car came to a sudden standstill.

“Stuck?” remarked Roger laconically.

“So it would seem,” answered Dave.

CHAPTER XXI
STUCK ON THE ROAD

Twice Dave tried to back the car and then go ahead, but without avail. The machine settled down still farther in the mud of the road, and there it stuck.

“Now what are we going to do?” demanded the senator’s son, impatiently.

“I don’t know, Roger,” was the slow reply. “We’ve got to do something—we can’t stay in this mud-puddle all day.”

“It’s an outrage that they marked this road for a detour,” continued Roger. “Why, a team of horses would have all they could do to get through such a spot as this!”

“I guess I’ll have to get out for help,” said Dave. “Too bad! To think of getting stuck inside of three hours after leaving home!” and he made a grimace.

There was no help for it, and, reaching over into the tonneau of the car, Dave got out a pair of rubbers and put them on; and Roger did the same. Then both leaped out of the car and made their way to where the footing was fairly firm.

“The road seems to be pretty good farther on,” announced our hero, after an examination. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to get somebody with a team of horses or oxen to pull us out of that hole. The car will never do it under its own power.”

They walked on, and presently came in sight of a farm nestling in a small valley beyond the hill. They walked up to this, and found a farmer in the barnyard, cleaning the mud from one of his horses.

“Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?” hailed the man, as they walked up.

“I guess we got here just in time,” returned Dave. “There’s no use in finishing that cleaning until you’ve done a little job for us.”

“Eh? What’s that?” demanded the farmer curiously.

The chums explained the situation, and the farmer, whose name was Rawson, readily agreed to take two of his horses and the necessary tackle and assist them in getting the automobile out of the mud. In less than ten minutes the three were on their way to where the car was stalled. Mr. Rawson went to work quickly and with a precision that showed he knew exactly what he was doing.

“As soon as I give the word, you turn on your power and throw her into low gear,” he said. “I think we’ll have you out of this in a jiffy.”

And so it proved, the car coming up from the mud by the combined power of itself and the horses with hardly an effort. Then the team was unhooked, and Dave ran the car along the highway to where the farmer said farther traveling would be perfectly safe.

“By the way, we are on a rather peculiar errand around here,” said Dave, after he had settled for the farmer’s services. “May I ask if you have seen any gypsies in this vicinity during the last couple of weeks?”

“I don’t know about their being gypsies,” answered Mr. Rawson. “I had some trouble with a couple of tramps who robbed my chicken-coop about ten days or two weeks ago. I found they had been camping out in one of our sheds down in the woods. They wore bandana neckerchiefs and bright-colored vests.”

“That sounds as if they were gypsies! What became of them?”

“I can’t tell you about that. You see, one night we lost two of the chickens, and so I set a watch, and the next night I saw these two fellows sneaking up toward the house. I had my shotgun, and asked them what they wanted, and both of them dived out of sight behind some bushes and then ran for the woods. I followed them as far as the shed, and after that I lost track of them, and I’ve never seen them since. The next day I went down to the shed, thinking they might be hanging around somewhere, and there I saw they had been camping out in the shed, and saw where they had cooked the chickens and eaten them.”

“That sounds pretty interesting,” said Dave. “But I hardly think those fellows could have been the men we are looking for. The gypsies we are trying to spot must have had some money, and I don’t think they would camp out in that shed you mention. However, I’m going to remember it,” he added.

The chums questioned the farmer further, but got very little satisfaction. Then the journey in the automobile was resumed.

“What makes you think those fellows could not have been Bopeppo and Vazala?” questioned Roger, when they were once again speeding along the highway.

“I think this kidnapping was conducted in a much more high-toned fashion—if you can call it that, Roger. Those gypsies who used to camp on the outskirts of Crumville were far from poor. In fact, I have an idea that old Mother Domoza is really wealthy.”

“What! Wealthy, and live like that?”

“Exactly. I think she’s a first-class miser. A good many of the gypsies are—especially the older ones. They pretend to be very poor, but they own all sorts of jewelry, precious stones, and, very often, quantities of gold coin. They won’t trust the banks, but carry the stuff around their person, or else bury it somewhere.”

“But these fellows might have been frightened over something, and gone into hiding on that account,” suggested Roger.

“That may be—and I don’t intend to forget what Mr. Rawson said,” answered Dave. “It’s also possible that those two fellows may have been just hangers-on, who helped Bopeppo, Vazala and Mother Domoza, and maybe Nick Jasniff, to commit the crime.”

By noon the chums had stopped at one more way station, and also at one of the water tanks near where the hot box on the train had been discovered. They went up and interviewed the man in charge of the tank, but he could give them no satisfaction.

“I can’t tell you who left the train or who got on board,” he said. “I went down to look at the hot box along with the engineer, and I helped him get some water, and I didn’t pay much attention to anything else.”

“Have you seen any fellows around here who look like gypsies?” questioned Dave.

“Yes. I saw a couple of that class of men walking up the track either the day before that train came along or the day after. I’ve been trying to make up my mind which day it was since I read about this kidnapping, but I can’t say for sure.”

Leaving the vicinity of the water tank, the chums continued along the highway which ran within sight of the railroad. Reaching a convenient spot in the shade of a big tree, and where there was a spring and a watering trough, they came to a halt and there enjoyed a portion of the lunch they had brought along, washing it down with a drink of pure, cold water.

“Well, we haven’t learned anything yet that is worth while,” remarked Roger, during the course of the meal.

“I didn’t expect it was going to be any easy kind of a job,” Dave replied. “Even if we get the slightest kind of clue to this mystery, Roger, we can think ourselves lucky.”

“Oh, I know that.”

During the afternoon they stopped at five other places, putting to the people they met the questions which they had been asking all along the line. In every instance, however, no one could give them any information, although most of the men and women were very anxious to learn if anything had been heard of the missing girls.

“I hope those kidnappers are caught,” said one of the men at the last station at which they stopped. “They are not fit to be at large.”

“They ought to be hung!” declared his wife emphatically. “Why, since I heard about the disappearance of those two girls, I haven’t dared to let my little girl and boy leave the house! It’s terrible! I do so hope they catch those rascals and punish them well!”

Evening found the chums at the town of Chesleyville, and here, as there was a fairly good hotel, they resolved to remain for the night. They drove around to the hotel and left the car in the garage attached to the hostelry, and then made arrangements for a room and meals. They had supper, and then Dave suggested that they take a walk down to the railroad station and in the vicinity of the freight yard.

“I don’t know whether we’ll learn anything or not, but we can’t afford to miss any chances,” was the way he expressed himself.

“That’s the talk!” cried Roger. “We don’t want anything to get away from us.”

They had quite a talk with the station agent and a number of others, including a young fellow who had charge of a news-stand.

“I’ve seen pictures of those girls who were kidnapped,” declared the youth, “and unless I am greatly mistaken, one of them—the taller of the two—bought a magazine and a weekly from me.”

This was interesting information, and the two lost no time in questioning the youth closely. He described the taller of the two girls, telling how she had been dressed and what sort of hat she had worn. The description of the suit and the head covering tallied closely with what Mrs. Wadsworth had said Laura had worn.

“What did she buy—do you remember that?” questioned Roger. And thereupon the news vendor mentioned a popular monthly magazine and an equally popular weekly.

“And you saw the other girl?” asked Dave.

“Yes, at the car window. She didn’t get out, but the other girl went to the open window and asked her what she wanted, and then she came back and got the weekly. That was after she had bought the magazine. She dropped her hand-bag and had to turn around to pick it up, and that’s how I came to notice her.”

This was all the youth could tell, but it was something, and the chums returned to the hotel in a thoughtful mood.

“If that really was Laura, and if the girl in the car was Jessie, then that proves one thing,” remarked Dave. “They weren’t kidnapped anywhere between here and Crumville.”

“And that means that it did happen somewhere between here and Boston,” added Roger. “But, gracious, Dave! it’s a long way from here to that city!”

Neither of the young civil engineers felt in the humor for retiring early, so they passed into the reading-room of the hotel, to glance at one or two of the newspapers. Dave was perusing an article in reference to the disappearance of the girls, and Roger was deep in some news from Washington which affected his father, when both were startled by an exclamation made by some one who had stepped from the outside to a broad window which opened upon a veranda of the hotel.

“Who was that?” asked Roger, as he looked up just in time to see somebody disappearing from view.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” answered Dave.

Struck by the peculiarity of the movement which had taken place, both walked over to the window and looked outside. Here all was in semi-darkness, the only light coming from the hotel and a small street lamp some distance away. They saw the figure of a young man hurrying down the street, and as the individual passed under the street light, he pulled up the collar of his coat and pulled down the soft hat he wore.

“Whoever he was, he got out in a mighty hurry,” was Roger’s comment.

To this Dave did not answer. He was wondering who the strange individual could be.

CHAPTER XXII
THE FIRST CLUE

“Did you see his face at all, Dave?”

“No. Did you?”

“Not at all. He left the window so quickly I didn’t catch more than a glance of the side of his body.”

“He certainly left in a mighty hurry,” mused our hero.

“Dave, do you imagine it might have been Nick Jasniff?” asked the senator’s son excitedly.

“I thought of that, Roger. As the fellow passed under that lamp-post his form looked something like Jasniff’s. But that is rather a wild guess—a good many fellows might possess his general make-up.”

The two chums went back to their newspapers, and half an hour later they retired to their room. Both arose early, thinking to look over the automobile before breakfast, so that they might be ready to start off immediately after eating. When they reached the hotel garage, they found the colored man who was in charge very much excited.

“You gemmen didn’t send nobody down here to get your car, did you?” he questioned quickly.

“We certainly did not!” cried Dave.

“Has any one been here to get the car?” questioned the senator’s son.

“A young fellow was here at your machine,” answered the colored man. “I jest stepped over to the hotel to ask the clerk to order some more gasoline, we runnin’ short. When I came back the fellow was at your car. I thought at first it was one of you gemmen, but as soon as I called to him he jumped from the car and went out the back door.”

“How long ago was this?” burst out Dave.

“Not over five minutes ago, boss. I called to the fellow and ran after him, but he jumped over the back fence and got away.”

“Was he a tall young fellow with a soft hat?” queried Roger.

“He was.”

“He must have been the same chap who looked in at the hotel window!” went on the senator’s son to Dave. “Now, what do you make of that?”

“I make of it that he is trying to do us some injury,” answered Dave.

“Do you really think it could be Nick Jasniff?”

“I am sure I don’t know. If it was Jasniff, how in the world did he get up here in this town?”

“Perhaps he has been following us.”

“But how could he do that unless he had an automobile or a motorcycle, or something like that?”

“I am sure I can’t answer that question.” Roger turned to the garage man. “Did you know the fellow at all?”

“No, boss; he was a stranger to me.”

“Have you ever seen him before?” asked Dave.

“Oh, I ain’t exactly sure of that, boss—so many men comin’ and goin’ all the time.”

“Let us see if he did any injury to the car,” suggested Roger.

The automobile was run out into the yard of the hotel, and there the young men went over the machine carefully. Nothing seemed to be amiss, and the things in the tonneau had been left undisturbed.

“I guess he didn’t have time enough to do anything,” said Dave. “I think he had been watching this man,” indicating the colored individual, “and as soon as he went into the hotel, the rascal sneaked into the garage intending to get the car out. Maybe he was nothing more than an auto thief who watched us come to the hotel and thought he saw a chance to get away with our car.”

“If he’s an auto thief, I wish I had caught him,” was the comment of the colored man.

“I think I’ll buy a lock for the car,” announced Dave. “I saw an automobile place down the street. We can stop there before we leave town.”

This was done; and the chums purchased a lock which could be placed on the gear shift, so that it would be impossible to start the car without unlocking the device or smashing it.

“By the turn of affairs, we’ve got to watch out for more than one kind of enemy,” announced Roger, when the search for clues to the mysterious disappearance of the two girls had again been resumed.

“I’ve got a new idea, Roger,” answered our hero slowly. “I may be mistaken, but somehow it strikes me that it would pay us to take a look around Chesleyville before we go farther. If that fellow was connected in any way with the kidnapping of Jessie and Laura, the girls may be held somewhere in this neighborhood.”

“That idea strikes me as a good one, Dave. Let us make a number of inquiries and find out if the gypsies were in this vicinity.”

The plan was carried out, the two youths spending the best part of a couple of hours both in the town and on the outskirts. The search in that vicinity, however, proved fruitless, and once again they set off on their trip along the line of the railroad.

Before lunch time they had stopped at three more places, and at one of them gained the information that several gypsies had been seen in that vicinity about two weeks before. They had been men, and where they had gone nobody seemed to know.

Late that afternoon found the chums at a place known as Fallon’s Crossing. Here a small sideline crossed the main railroad, and here were located a switch shanty and a small freight yard. At this point it was said that the train which had carried Laura and Jessie had stopped for fully fifteen minutes, to let the hot box cool off and also to allow another train to pass. Just beyond Fallon’s Crossing was the thriving town of Crandall, at which the train was scheduled to make a regular stop.

The switchman at the shanty could tell them nothing more than that the train had stopped. He said a number of people had gotten off to pick some wildflowers that grew by the roadside, and then re-entered the train. Who the people had been, he could not remember.

There was a man hanging around the freight yard who had also been present on the day when the train had stopped, and he vouchsafed the information that when the people on the train had learned that the stop would be for some time a number had tramped up the tracks to the town, to get on again when the train arrived at the regular station.

“There were at least eight or ten people did that,” said the freight-yard man; “but who they were I do not know.”

“Did you see any gypsies around?” questioned Dave.

“No. We haven’t had a gypsy around here in years. We don’t stand for gypsies any more than we do for tramps.”

When the two chums returned to their automobile they saw nearby a middle-aged man with a motorcycle. He was bending over the machine, trying to fix something, and as they came closer he hailed them.

“Is that your car over there?” he questioned.

“It is,” answered Dave.

“Then, would you mind lending me a small wrench for a few minutes? I just broke mine.”

“Certainly,” answered Dave.

The tool was brought forth, and the man at once set to work to use it. While the two chums looked on the man spoke about the trials and tribulations he had had with the motorcycle and of a trip he had made to that vicinity some time before. Being questioned, it developed that he had been on hand when the train containing the two girls had stopped there.

“I was quite interested in that hot box they had, and I was talking to the fireman about it,” he said.

“Did you see any of the folks leave the train?” questioned Dave. “We are very anxious to find out.” And then, seeing the look of surprise on the man’s face, he gave his reasons.

“I’ve read about that kidnapping case!” cried the man. “Yes, I saw at least a dozen people leave the cars and walk off in the direction of the town. Some of them said they belonged in the town, and others asked the conductor if they couldn’t go up to the railroad station and get aboard again when the train came along.”

“Did you notice those two young ladies?” questioned Roger eagerly, and gave a description of Laura and Jessie.

“I think I did see them,” answered the man slowly. “I remember seeing the beaded hand-bag one of the young ladies carried, and I remember she wore a hat with a blue pompon.”

“It must have been Jessie and Laura!” exclaimed Dave. “Have you any idea where they went?”

“The whole crowd walked up the railroad tracks in the direction of the town. Whether they went to the station or not, I, of course, don’t know. I hung around here watching them fix that hot box, and then I jumped on my motorcycle and rode off in the opposite direction.”

This was all the man on the motorcycle could tell; and as he was in a hurry to go on they did not detain him further.

“This looks like a clue,” was Roger’s comment, as they re-entered the automobile and moved on their way. “I guess the best thing we can do, Dave, is to make some inquiries around Crandall.”

“Exactly, Roger! I think we are on the trail at last;” and Dave’s face showed his pleasure.

The road ran close to the tracks, and it took them but a few minutes to reach the town. Here they continued their inquiries in and around the station, but without gaining any additional information.

“It is too bad,” said Roger disappointedly. “I thought sure we would learn something more.”

“We’ve got to do it, Roger!” cried Dave. “I am sure we are on the right track. Those girls came here, and, so far as we can learn, nobody saw them get on the train again. If they didn’t get on the train, where did they go?”

“I’d give a good deal to have that question answered,” returned the senator’s son. He heaved a sigh. “Oh, we’ve got to do something!”

They continued their inquiries, and presently found themselves talking to a lame boy in charge of a small fruit-stand, where they made a purchase.

“Yes, I was here the day the train was held up down at the Crossing, and some of the folks walked up to the station,” said the lame boy. “There were a couple of drummers with their cases, and a man and his wife and two or three children, and then there were a couple of other men,—and three or four young ladies. Some of ’em went right over to the station, and the rest of ’em went uptown.”

“Did you notice two young ladies in particular?” questioned Dave; and then he told how Laura and Jessie had been dressed, and of the beaded handbags they carried, and added that they also had a magazine or two.

“Oh, yes, I remember them!” cried the young fruit-stand keeper. “They stopped here and got some grapes and a couple of peaches.”

“And did they get on the train again when it came along?”

“I didn’t see ’em. They walked uptown. One of them asked me where the Bliss House was.”

“The Bliss House?” queried Roger.

“Yes, sir. That’s our hotel,” explained the boy.

“And they went there?” questioned Dave.

“I think they did.”

CHAPTER XXIII
WHAT THE LITTLE GIRLS KNEW

Dave and Roger talked to the fruit-stand boy a few minutes longer, and then jumped into the automobile and rode up to the Bliss House, an old-fashioned hotel, standing on a corner and surrounded by a number of stately elm trees.

“I can’t understand this at all, Dave,” said Roger, while on the way. “What would take those girls uptown? They must have known that the train might come along at any minute, and then, if they weren’t on hand to get aboard, they’d be left.”

“It certainly is a mystery, Roger. All we can do is to follow up this clue and see where it leads to. From what that man who had the motorcycle said, and from what the lame boy told us, it is pretty certain that Jessie and Laura got off the train at the Crossing and did not get on again at this railroad station. And if they came up to the hotel here, they must have had some purpose in so doing.”

The country hotel was not a very busy place, and the chums found the clerk quite willing to give them all the information he could. He did not, however, remember the girls; nor did the proprietor of the place, who came up to see what was wanted, remember them.

“I don’t think they came here. Or, if they did, they didn’t come to the office,” said the clerk. “I was here all day, and I know.”

“Did you have any strangers around the place that day, so far as you can remember?” questioned Dave.

“None to stay. We had half a dozen drummers; but I know all of them, for they have been coming and going for a number of years.”

“Wait a minute! Come to think of it, there was something else happened that day which I thought was rather queer,” cried the hotel proprietor suddenly. He was a bald-headed man, and he began to scratch his hairless head vigorously. “Seems to me it was just about half an hour or so before that train came in, too,” he added, nodding his head emphatically.

“What was the thing that happened?” questioned Roger quickly.

“There was a big touring-car came down the Kapton road yonder. A man dressed as a chauffeur was driving the machine. He stopped his car and asked for directions, and then the car swung around and came to a stop down there near our stables. I sent the boy out to see if anything was wanted—the stable man being off on an errand—and the boy came back and said they wanted to know when that train would get in. Then the car moved over to the other side of the street and stood there for five or ten minutes. The chauffeur turned around in his seat to talk very earnestly to a couple who were in the car. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they all seemed to be rather excited. Then the car went back down the road, and that was the last I saw of it.”

“It wasn’t a car that belonged around here, so far as you knew?” asked our hero.

“No, it didn’t belong around here. It was a great big heavy enclosed affair, and looked as if it had seen pretty rough usage—one of the mud-guards being quite battered. That was one reason why I took notice of it—I thought maybe they had been in some sort of an accident, especially when the chauffeur and the people in the car got to talking so excitedly among themselves.”

“Did you notice what kind of people they were?” asked Dave.

“I think the chauffeur was a foreigner. He had heavy dark hair and a small dark mustache. He wore a regular cap and goggles, and also a dust-coat.”

“Who were the people in the car?” questioned the senator’s son.

“There were a man and a woman, and I should say they were rather elderly. The woman had a thick veil over her face, and the man wore a dust-coat buttoned up around his throat and a cap pulled far down over his forehead, and I think he had on smoked glasses. I thought the whole bunch might be foreigners, and that was another reason why I noticed them.”

“This is certainly interesting, but I don’t see how it connects up with the disappearance of the girls,” was Dave’s comment.

“Those gypsies all look like foreigners,” said Roger.

“Yes. But I don’t think any of them knows how to run an auto. They always use horses.”

“Oh, well, they might be getting up-to-date.”

Thinking that the incident of the strange touring-car might be worth following up, Dave and Roger left the hotel and ran their own automobile a distance along the Kapton road. From the hotel proprietor they had learned that this road led to the small village of Kapton two miles distant.

“This is a good deal like looking for a needle in a haystack,” was Roger’s comment.

“True, Roger. But if you took the haystack and went over it a wisp at a time, sooner or later you’d come on the needle,” answered Dave. “And that is what I propose to do in this case—I’m going to follow up every possible clue until we strike something.”

On the outskirts of Crandall they came upon a little country home where several children were enjoying themselves at a swing in the open dooryard. Here Dave stopped the car.

“I suppose you play here nearly every day,” he said to the oldest of the girls, a bright miss of nine or ten years of age.

“Oh, yes; whenever the weather is good.”

“And we have lots of fun,” broke in another of the happy group.

“We are trying to find out something about a big automobile that came along here about ten days ago,” said Roger. “It was a great big enclosed car, and one of the mud-guards was smashed.”

“Oh, I remember that car, Nellie!” cried one of the girls. “Don’t you remember? It’s the one that stopped over by Radley’s orchard.”

“Indeed I do remember!” answered Nellie, with a toss of her head. “Didn’t they come close to running over Rover?”

“What did the car stop at the orchard for?” asked Dave.

“I don’t know exactly. I think they had to fix something on it. Anyway, the man opened the tin door on the top of the front,” answered the girl. “That was broken, too, just like the tin thing over the wheels.”

“They didn’t stop for that,” said another one of the girls. “They stopped to send Billy Barton on an errand down to the hotel.”

This announcement on the part of the little girl filled our hero and Roger with increased interest.

“Where is this Billy Barton, and what did he go to the hotel for?” questioned Dave.

“The man who ran the car gave Billy a note to give to two young ladies who, he said, would either be at the hotel or would soon get there. Billy said he saw two young ladies just going into the hotel, and asked them if they were the people he was looking for, and they said ‘Yes’; and so Billy gave them the note. The man gave him ten cents for doing it. I wish I could deliver a note and get ten cents for it,” continued the little girl wistfully.

“Well, you’re going to get ten cents for telling me all about those people in the automobile,” said our hero, and produced several dimes which he distributed among those present, much to their astonishment and gratification.

“But that wasn’t all of it, mister,” said one of the girls. “Those young ladies came up here and got into the automobile and rode away.”

“Got into the automobile and rode away!” burst out Dave and Roger simultaneously.

“Yes, sir.”

“I saw them, too!” said the smallest of the girls, who had thus far spoken but little. “They didn’t get in very easy though!”

“They didn’t get in easy?” queried our hero. “What do you mean?”

“Why the driver of the automobile and the man who was inside got out and had to shove them both in. I thought they was fooling, but they was awful rough about it.”

“Did the girls scream, or anything like that?” asked Roger.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t near enough to hear.”

“And then, when the girls were in the auto, what did the others do?”

“Oh, they drove away just as fast as they could. They drove so fast that they nearly ran over old Mr. Merrick.”

“Who is he?”

“Why, don’t you know old Mr. Merrick?” asked the little girl. “He lives ’way up the road—up there where you see that little white house. He was standing out in the middle of the road when the automobile rushed past him so fast that he could hardly jump out of the way. He was awful angry. He told my papa that he thought the man ought to be arrested.”

“If only they had arrested them!” murmured Dave.

“And that was the last you saw of that automobile?” asked Roger.

“Yes, sir,” came from several of the girls at once.

“It hasn’t been this way again?”

“No, sir.”

After that the two chums questioned the little girls closer about the general appearance of the car, and learned that the turnout not only had one of the mud-guards badly bent, but that the side of the car was scratched in several places and that the wind-shield was cracked.

“That’s something to go by, but not much,” remarked our hero. “One thing is certain, we are on the right trail at last. For some reason that isn’t at all clear, Jessie and Laura left that train at the Crossing, walked up to the railroad station here in town, and then to the hotel. There they were met by the small boy with the note, and as a result of receiving that note they came out here and either got into that automobile willingly or were forced into it.”

“But where did the auto go to, Dave?”

“That remains to be found out.”

“Will you let the authorities know about this?”

“At once! The more people we get on this trail, the quicker we’ll be able to run those rascals down.”

CHAPTER XXIV
ANOTHER CLUE

Dave and Roger lost no time in getting back to the business section of Crandall, and there they inquired their way to police headquarters. They found the chief in charge, and introducing themselves asked him if he knew about the disappearance of the girls.

“Oh, yes, I know all about that,” answered the chief. “We’ve been on the watch for them, but so far nothing has come to light.”

Thereupon Dave and Roger related what they had heard from the lame boy and those at the Bliss House, and then what the little girls had told.

“This is mighty interesting,” mused the chief. “But I don’t see what I can do except to have my men on the watch for that automobile. If it turns up, do you want the party running it held?”

“I certainly do!” answered Dave. “Or better yet, if you get the chance, have the auto followed and see where it goes to—especially if it goes down the Kapton road.”

“All right, I’ll do that.”

From the police station the two young civil engineers hurried down to the telegraph office, and there sent a long message to the folks in Crumville. No message had arrived for them, so they took it for granted that no news had come in at the Wadsworth place since their departure.

“And now what’s the next move?” queried Roger, who in this affair looked to Dave as the leader.

“I think we had better travel along that Kapton road and see if we can find out anything more about that automobile and those in it,” was the reply. “There is certainly no use in our continuing the trip along the railroad.”

It was growing dark when Crandall was left behind, and they journeyed forward on the Kapton road slowly, keeping their eyes open for anything that might suggest a further solution of the mystery they were endeavoring to unravel.

“We might stop and question that Mr. Merrick the little girls mentioned,” suggested Roger.

“Yes, we can do that, although I doubt if the old man can add much to what we already know.”

They found Mr. Aaron Merrick a very fussy old individual and hard to talk to. He remembered the incident of the automobile very well, and was highly indignant, but he could not tell anything about who had been driving the car or who was inside.

“They went by me jest like a comet!” he explained. “I had to jump fer my life, or I’d been run over sure! All them pesky rascals ought to be put in prison. I don’t believe in autermobiles, anyway,” and he looked rather indignantly at the two chums.

“Well, we are after the fellow who ran that auto,” answered Roger. “And if we catch him he’ll go to prison fast enough.”

“What’s the matter? Did he steal that there car?”

“He did worse,” answered the senator’s son. “But we haven’t got time to talk about that now,” he added, and hurried away, followed by our hero. Mr. Merrick came after them, anxious to know what might be wrong, but they did not enlighten him.

Half an hour later found the machine rolling into the little village of Kapton. They had stopped twice on the way, but had learned nothing more concerning the big touring car with the battered mud-guard and the cracked wind-shield.

“Do you think we ought to stay here all night?” questioned Roger.

“That will depend on whether we can get accommodation or not,” returned Dave. “Anyhow, we want to make some inquiries before we leave this place.”

They soon learned that Kapton boasted of nothing in the way of a hotel or boarding-house.

“But you can get pretty good accommodations at the Bliss House in Crandall,” said the storekeeper, who gave them the information. “Or else you can go to the American House at Frytown.”

“Is that in the opposite direction to Crandall?” questioned Dave.

“Yes, sir; it’s on the same road that you came up on. The road runs right through Frytown to Cullomburg, and it’s a pretty fair road all the way.”

“Then I guess we’ll go on to Frytown. By the way, can you give us any information about a big touring-car that went through here about ten days ago—a touring-car that had a battered mud-guard and a cracked wind-shield and was driven by a fellow who looked like a foreigner—a chap with a small black mustache?”

“Why, yes, I saw that car!” cried the storekeeper. “The fellow who ran it came in here and bought a lot of groceries.”

“He did!” exclaimed both of the chums in surprise.

“Yes, sir.”

“When was this?”

“Let me see——” The storekeeper rubbed his chin reflectively. “I guess it was just about a week ago to-day. The fellow came in and said he was in a good deal of a hurry, so I and my clerk hustled to get the order out for him. We packed it in a big box, and put the box in the tonneau of the car. But what about this—is the man some friend of yours?”

“Hardly a friend,” answered Dave quickly! “But we are very anxious to locate him. Have you any idea where he came from or where he went?”

“All I can say is that he came into this place from Frytown way, and he turned around after he had the stuff and went back the way he came.”

“Did he give you any names, or say where he was from?” questioned Roger.

“No, he didn’t say anything excepting that he was buying the things for some folks who were sick in a camp and couldn’t get away. I asked him one or two questions, but he acted as if he didn’t want to answer them, and so I didn’t say too much. You see, he paid spot cash for what he got, so it was none of my business,” added the storekeeper.

“Do you remember the things he got?” questioned Dave. And then, as the storekeeper showed that he was becoming suspicious, our hero added: “I may be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Linton. We suspect that the man who is running that automobile is a fellow who escaped some time ago from prison. In fact, we are not sure that he owns the automobile he is running, and it is possible that he may be mixed up in the abduction of two young ladies. That is why we are so anxious to get on his trail.”

“You don’t say! Well, I’d want to get on the trail of a rascal like that myself. Yes, I think I can tell you pretty near everything the fellow bought.”

And thereupon the storekeeper enumerated a number of articles, including coffee, sugar, flour, butter, and a quantity of canned goods.

“And was that all?” asked Roger, as the storekeeper paused.

“No. After he had those goods, he asked about a good strong clothes-line, and then he bought a lock, some screws and nails, and a hammer and a screwdriver.”

“And was that all?”

“That’s all, so far as I can remember. Oh, no! he did buy some smoking tobacco and a couple of pipes and some packages of cigarettes.”

“And how did the fellow look? Can you describe him?”

“I can’t say much except that he was rather tall and thin and had, as you said, a little black mustache, and heavy black curly hair. His face was very dark, as if he had gotten well tanned. He kept on his automobile goggles, and had his cap pulled down well over his forehead, and his dust-coat was buttoned up tight around his neck.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“I think I saw the automobile going by the door late one evening a couple of nights ago, but I am not sure. You see, I am getting old, and my eyesight ain’t none too good,” concluded the storekeeper.

When Dave and Roger returned to the automobile and headed the car in the direction of Frytown, both were in a meditative mood.

“I think I can begin to figure this out, Roger,” said Dave slowly. “It looks to me as if Jessie and Laura were being held prisoners somewhere in this vicinity, and that that fellow who ran the car, whoever he is, came down here to buy supplies for the crowd.”

“Yes. And do you remember what the storekeeper said about the clothes-line and a lock and nails? More than likely they’ve got the poor girls tied fast in some room, and they have put a new lock on the door and nailed up the windows.”

“What you say would fit in very well with what the storekeeper told us. If that rascal came here to get his supplies, it would seem to indicate that the place where the girls are being kept prisoners must be somewhere in this vicinity.”

“Yes, unless they did not dare to go to any town that was closer by. For all we know, he may have come from twenty or thirty miles away—or even farther than that.”

“Well, we’re on the right trail, anyway, and that’s something,” returned Dave hopefully. Then he gave a sudden exclamation. “My gracious! Why didn’t I think of that before?”

“Think of what, Dave?”

“Don’t you remember what the storekeeper said about that fellow purchasing some cigarettes?”

“What of it?”

“Why, just this: One of the things that fastened the crime on Jasniff and Merwell at the time Mr. Wadsworth’s jewelry factory was robbed was the fact that both of those rascals were inveterate cigarette smokers, and smoked a certain brand of Turkish cigarettes—a kind that had a peculiar gold and blue band around the box. I’m going back and ask that storekeeper what kind of cigarettes that fellow got.”

And so speaking Dave made a sharp turn and brought the car around, and in a moment more was on his way back to the store.

“Back again, eh?” said the proprietor. “You weren’t gone very long.”

“I believe, Mr. Linton, you said that fellow we were talking about purchased some tobacco and cigarettes?”

“So I did.”

“Can you remember anything about the cigarettes? Please try to think exactly of what happened when he asked for them.”

“Hum! Let me see!” The storekeeper meditated for a moment. “Oh, yes, I remember now! He asked me if I had any Doradas or Mimoras, or any other Turkish cigarettes. I told him No, we had very little call for anything like that. So then he took half a dozen packages of these,” and the storekeeper pointed to some cigarettes in his showcase.

“Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know,” answered Dave. “Good night”; and he hurried away to the automobile with Roger following.

“Well, what do you make of this?” questioned the senator’s son quickly.

“I think we have found another clue, Roger. That fellow asked for Doradas cigarettes. They are a Turkish brand, and come in a box having a blue and gold band around it—the same kind of cigarettes that Jasniff smoked when he and Merwell robbed Mr. Wadsworth’s safe.”

CHAPTER XXV
WHAT HORSEHAIR HAD TO TELL

“Then you think the fellow purchased the cigarettes for Jasniff?” questioned Roger, after our hero had made the declaration concerning the Wadsworth robbery.

“Either that, Roger; or else the fellow purchased the cigarettes for himself.”

“Do you mean to insinuate that that chauffeur was Nick Jasniff?” exclaimed the senator’s son.

“Why not, Roger? It would be an easy matter for Jasniff to disguise himself. In fact, if he was in any such game as this, I think that is just what he would do. He could easily stain his skin with some walnut juice, or something like that, gotten from the gypsies, and then put on a wig and a false mustache.”

“I believe that’s just what he did!” exclaimed Roger. “I know one thing—he was a good hand at running automobiles. I have seen him do it.”

“The whole thing fits in pretty closely,” went on Dave. “First, Jasniff was angry at Mr. Wadsworth and the rest of us for placing him in prison. Next, he stole those letters and my money. The letters told him all about the gypsies and their troubles with our folks. He put two and two together, came on East, and fixed up the plan to kidnap the girls.”

“But how did they get the girls to leave the train at Crandall and then go from the hotel to where the automobile stood along the road?”

“That is something still to be explained. But that can wait. What we want to do just now is to find out where they took Jessie and Laura, and rescue them.”

“It certainly is a great search, Dave. What are you going to do next?”

“I think the best thing we can do is to work our way along to Frytown. That is quite a place, and it is barely possible that from there we can get into communication with Crumville on the long distance telephone. If we can do that, we can tell the folks at home all we have learned, and get them to send some first-class detectives out this way to assist us in the search.”

“Let’s run rather slow on the way to Frytown,” suggested the senator’s son. “We may be able to pick up more clues.”

“Yes, we’ll keep our eyes wide open.”

They presently found themselves on a lonely stretch of the country road, and here it was so dark they had to turn on all the lights of the machine.

“I’d give all I’m worth, Dave, if we could catch sight of that other car,” remarked Roger, after a spell of silence.

“I’m afraid that’s too much to hope for,” answered our hero, with a grim smile. “We ought to be thankful that we have learned as much as we have. If we hadn’t met that fellow on the motorcycle down at the Crossing, we might still be hunting for clues along the line of the railroad between Crandall and Boston.”

“Oh, yes, I think we’ve done wonderfully well.”

On the way to Frytown they stopped at six or seven farmhouses, but without learning anything that was to their advantage. Two farmers had seen the big touring car with the battered mud-guard go by a week or two before, but could give no definite information as to who had been driving it or what passengers the automobile had contained.

“So many machines comin’ and goin’ these days, a feller don’t pay much ’tention to ’em,” was the way one farmer expressed himself.

“I know it,” answered Dave. “But we are very anxious to find that car, so I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to ask.”

“Oh, no harm whatever,” said the farmer.

When the chums reached Frytown it was after nine o’clock. They made their way at once to the American House, the hotel which the Kapton storekeeper had mentioned, and there placed their machine in the garage, engaged a room, and asked if they might be served with something to eat.

“The dining room is closed,” announced the proprietor. “But we don’t let anybody starve,” he added, with a smile. “Just come this way, and I guess we can fix you up,” and he led them to a side room, where a waitress served them with a plain but substantial supper. Before this was eaten, however, Dave questioned the man about telephone connections.

“You can’t get any out-of-town connections after seven o’clock,” was the statement made by the hotel keeper. “You’ll have to wait until seven o’clock to-morrow morning.”

After the meal the two chums questioned the hotel man and several of his assistants about the big automobile they were looking for, and were informed that the touring-car had been seen in Frytown a number of times, moving up and down the main road.

“Once I saw it when it had several people inside besides the chauffeur,” said one man. “The people seemed to be cuttin’ up pretty well, but what it was all about, I don’t know. The car was goin’ too fast to give a fellow a chance to see.”

“How long ago was that?” questioned Dave quickly.

“Oh, I don’t know. Ten days or two weeks—or maybe longer.”

“Do you remember which way the car was going at that time?”

“Sure. It was headed in the direction of Cullomburg.”

“How far is that town?” questioned Roger.

“That’s up in the mountains about eight miles from here. It’s a pretty fair road, though, all the way.”

After receiving this information, Dave and Roger took a walk around the town, stopping at several of the stores and making a number of small purchases just for the sake of getting into conversation with the storekeepers. From one of these they learned that the man who had driven the car had come in for some supplies, including some cigarettes.

“Yes, he bought six packages of Turkish cigarettes—all I had,” said the storekeeper.

From this man they learned that there was a regular public garage in the place with a machine shop attached.

“Let us go over there. Possibly the fellow with the car stopped for gasoline or oil, or to get something fixed,” said our hero.

The garage was a short distance up a side street, and they found the man in charge sitting in a little office with his feet on a desk and smoking a corncob pipe. They stared at this man for a moment in amazement, and then both burst out:

“Horsehair!”

“Eh? Wot’s that?” cried the man, and swung his feet down from the desk and leaped up, taking his corncob pipe from his mouth as he did so. “Well now, ain’t this jest wonderful!” he ejaculated. “Dave Porter and Roger Morr! Who would ‘a’ thunk it!”

“And who would have thought of meeting you here, Horsehair?” cried Dave, shaking hands vigorously, quickly followed by his chum.

“Why, we thought you were still driving the stage-coach at Oak Hall,” remarked the senator’s son.

For the man they had run across so unexpectedly was indeed Jackson Lemond, the man who for years had driven the stage-coach and worked around the stables at the boarding-school. Because of the number of horsehairs which continually clung to his clothing, the pupils had never known him by any other name than Horsehair.

“Well, you see, I got a leetle bit old for that job—or else the boys got a leetle bit too frisky fer me, so I looked around fer something else that was a bit more quiet; and as my cousin owned this garage, and he was too sick to tend to business, I come out here and took hold—and here I be.”

“It’s like a touch of old times, Horsehair!” cried Dave, as he dropped on a chair, while Roger did the same. And then after a few more words about their former doings at Oak Hall our hero continued: “I am after some information, and I know you’ll give it to me if you possibly can. Have you noticed during the past couple of weeks a big touring-car around here—a car that has one of the mud-guards badly smashed, and the wind-shield cracked, and a good deal scratched up?”

“Sure, I know that car,” answered Horsehair readily. “The feller that runs it was in here to git some new batteries, and also some gas and oil.”

“Was he smoking cigarettes?” questioned Roger.

“He was—one right after another. But I told him not to smoke while I was pourin’ in the gasoline. I don’t want to go up to heaven jest yet;” and Horsehair chuckled over his little joke.

“Have you any idea where that fellow came from or where he went to?” questioned Dave. “I might as well tell you, Horsehair, it is of great importance. We suspect that fellow of some serious crimes.”

“You don’t say, Porter! What did he do—steal that machine? Oh, I know them auto thieves is all over. They told me only last week a car was stole in and around Boston ’most every day.”

“Never mind what the fellow is guilty of, Horsehair. What we want to do is to find him, and then you’ll know all about it.”

“Well, I don’t know where he come from, but after he got fixed up here he turned off in the direction of Cullomburg.”

“Do you know what make of car it was?”

“Yes, although the name-plate had been tore off. It was a Simms-Tecco, one of them old foreign cars. Must be about eight or a dozen years old. It had them old-fashioned battery connections on it, and had them old Horseshoe anti-skid tires on the rear wheels. That’s how I remember it.”

“You must have learned a lot about cars after you left Oak Hall,” was Roger’s comment.

“Oh, I’m right in the business now, I am!” answered Horsehair proudly.

“You didn’t know who the fellow was, did you?” questioned Dave.

“No, I didn’t. But do you know, he acted awful queer—that feller did. He come sailin’ in here shoutin’ out fer gasoline, and all at once, when he seen me, he stopped as if he was shot, and fer a minute or two I thought he was goin’ to back out and go ’way. Then he seemed to git over it and bought what he wanted, jest like I said.”

“It is no wonder that he was surprised, if he is the fellow we think,” answered Dave. “Do you remember a chap who went to Oak Hall, named Nick Jasniff—the fellow who once attacked me in the gymnasium with an Indian club and then ran away?”

“O’ course I remember that big overgrown bully,” answered Horsehair.

“Well, that’s the fellow we think it is,” said Roger.

“But it can’t be him! This feller was a furriner. He had real dark skin and dark hair and a little dark mustache.”

“We think he was in disguise.”

“Gee, sho! you don’t mean it?” ejaculated Jackson Lemond. “Gosh, it does beat all wot some fellers will do! And I suppose he stole that auto?”

“We don’t know about that. But even if he did, we think he is guilty of a worse crime,” answered Dave; and thereupon related some of the particulars concerning the disappearance of his sister and Jessie.

“Well, if that rascal is guilty of sech a measly piece of business as that, I hope you ketch him,” said Horsehair. “He deserves to be put behind the bars.”

The two chums talked the matter over with the former stage driver of Oak Hall for fully half an hour, and then returned to the hotel. Now that the scent of the trail seemed to grow warmer, it was hard for them to rest, and they slept but little and were glad when morning was at hand.

“I am going to call up Crumville on the telephone as soon as possible,” declared Dave, and went to a booth to see if he could get the necessary connections.

It took some little time, but finally he recognized the voice of Mr. Wadsworth.

“This is Dave—Dave Porter,” said our hero. “I’ve got some news of importance.”

“And we’ve got some news, too,” answered the jewelry manufacturer.

CHAPTER XXVI
THE MOUNTAIN ROAD

The news Mr. Oliver Wadsworth had to impart was to the effect that two more notes had been received from those who held Laura and Jessie prisoners.

The first told that it was known Dave and Roger were trying to follow up those who had committed the crime, and added a warning that it would do no good and if they persisted in the search they would certainly come to grief. The second communication had been another demand for the fifty thousand dollars, stating that the sum must be paid over in cash inside of the next three days and designating how the transfer was to be made. With that communication was sent a lock of each girl’s hair and also a card on which was written: “We are well,” and signed by both.

“I’m glad to know they are well,” answered Dave; and then he related the particulars of what he and Roger had discovered since they had sent their former messages to Crumville.

“It certainly looks as if you were on the right track!” exclaimed the jewelry manufacturer. “I hope you will notify the local authorities, so that they will watch out for that car and those who are running it.”

“We have done that,” answered our hero; “but the local authorities up here do not amount to a great deal when it comes to running down such slick criminals. I think the best thing you can do is to notify some of those city detectives to come up here and get busy.”

“You can rest assured, Dave, that I will do that—and at once,” was the reply. “Where can they get into communication with you?”

“We are now stopping at the American House in Frytown, but from here we are going to go up into the mountains to Cullomburg. We have an idea that the girls are being held somewhere between here and Cullomburg or beyond. There are not very many good roads around here, and it is reported that the battered-up touring-car was seen going back and forth on the road between here and that mountain town.”

Before the conversation over the telephone came to an end, Dunston Porter broke in on the Crumville end of the wire, and when he heard of what had been discovered stated that he would come on to Crandall immediately, bringing several men with him, and there get some kind of turnout to take him to Frytown and beyond.

“There can’t be too many of us in this search,” said Dave’s uncle.

“If we learn anything new we’ll send word to you at the American House in Frytown,” announced Dave, “and if we need any signal remember what we used to use—two shots or two whistles in quick succession”; and thereupon the telephone conversation came to an end.

“I’m glad to learn your uncle is coming up here and that he will bring two or three men with him,” said Roger, when told of what had been said over the wire. “As your uncle says, it would be impossible for us to round up those rascals alone, even if we were fortunate enough to locate them.”

“I don’t want to round them up so much as I want to rescue Jessie and Laura,” was the reply.

“I’m glad to learn that they are well, Dave.”

“But we can’t be sure of that, Roger. That card may have been signed under compulsion, or it may have been signed some days ago. There is no telling what condition the girls are in just now. They may have been dreadfully mistreated,” and the look on Dave’s face showed his great anxiety.

The chums explained the situation to the hotel proprietor, who promised to aid them in every way possible. Then they had breakfast, paid their bill, and rode away from the hotel. They stopped at the garage where Horsehair was in charge, and there purchased some gasoline and oil and had a little more air put in their tires.

“Now don’t forget, Horsehair,” said Dave. “If that fellow puts in an appearance with that battered-up car—or anybody else comes with that car—be sure to have the fellow held. I don’t care how you do it—just see to it that he doesn’t get away. If he talks about damages, or anything like that, don’t pay any attention to him. We’ll foot the bill, if there’s anything to pay.”

“All right, Porter, you leave it to me,” answered the former stage-driver of Oak Hall. “If I git my claws on ’im, you bet your boots he ain’t goin’ to git away, nohow.”

“And remember, if you see any of those people, or see any people who look like gypsies around here, either let me know, or else leave word at the hotel for my uncle, Dunston Porter.”

“Is he here?”

“Not yet. But I expect him up here before to-night.”

Dave had questioned Horsehair about the road to Cullomburg, and had been told that it was a winding highway, passing over two small hills, and then going up into the mountains beyond. There were a number of cross-roads, but none of these was in very good condition, and that to travel them in an automobile would be difficult.

“I wonder if we had better take somebody along?” remarked Roger, when they were about to leave. “We might get a constable, or somebody like that.”

“I think we had better make this search on our own hook,” answered our hero. “Outsiders might be more in the way than anything else.”

“I wish we had brought along some sort of disguises, Dave. They might come in handy.”

“We can put on our auto goggles and pull our caps down pretty well over our foreheads and button our dust-coats tight up around our necks, just as Jasniff did. That will help to disguise us.”

A little while later found them on the road to Cullomburg. The highway was a winding one, passing a number of farms, where, however, the houses sat back a considerable distance from the road. Here and there they had to pass through patches of woods, and at one point they crossed a rickety bridge that spanned a small mountain torrent.

“That bridge isn’t any too good for a heavy auto,” announced Roger, after they had rattled over it. “Some day some fellow with a heavy load will break through.”

So far they had met nobody on the road, but now they heard the rattle of a wagon, and presently a sleepy-looking farmer, drawing a load of hay, appeared. He was willing enough to stop and talk, but could give them no information concerning the battered touring-car.

“I belong on the other side of Cullomburg, an’ I don’t git down on this end o’ the road very much,” he explained.

“Do automobiles use the road on the other side of Cullomburg?” questioned Roger.

“They do when they don’t know where they’re at,” answered the farmer, with a chuckle. “A feller from Boston come through that way this spring, an’ he vowed he’d never come ag’in. He got stuck in the mud twice, an’ he cut two tires all to pieces on the rocks, an’ I guess it was too expensive fer ’im.”

“Then the good road ends at Cullomburg?” said Dave.

“That’s right, mister. An’ the last half-mile into town ain’t none too good at that.”

“And the side-roads are all poor, too?”

“Yes, sir, every blame one o’ them. We ought to have ’em fixed up, but the folks aroun’ here don’t want to pay the taxes for doin’ it.” And then the farmer with the load of hay rattled on down the road.

“Well, the trail seems to be shortening,” announced Dave, as they continued on their way up a steep grade where he had to throw the clutch into second gear. “If that car couldn’t use the road beyond Cullomburg and couldn’t use any of the side-roads, those rascals must be hanging out somewhere on this road between Frytown and Cullomburg.”

They were passing up a rocky bit of the roadway when suddenly there came a loud report from one of the back tires. Dave turned off the power and put on the hand-brake, and they came to a stop.

“A blow-out,” he announced laconically.

“I was thinking we might get something of that sort after what that farmer said,” answered the senator’s son. “Well, it’s all in the day’s work, Dave. We might as well get out and see how much damage has been done.”

The cut in the back tire was not a large one, and at first they thought to use the same tire again by putting in a patch. Then, however, Dave changed his mind, and said he would put on another shoe.

“The tube might blow out through the patch just when we wanted to use the car the worst way,” he said. “If we have to, we can fall back on this old shoe later on.”

The chums were used to putting on tires, so the task did not take them very long. There was a device attached to the engine for blowing up the inner tube, so they were saved the trouble of this exertion.

“Suppose you let me run the car for a while?” suggested the senator’s son.

“All right, Roger; go ahead,” was the ready reply. “Only don’t run too fast. I’ve got another idea. Perhaps we’ll be able to trace that other car by the marks left in the roadway. Don’t you remember Horsehair said that the back wheels of the car were equipped with the old-style Horseshoe anti-skid tires?”

“Yes, I remember his saying that.”

They proceeded along the mountain road with care, doing this not only to look for some trace of the car they wanted to locate, but also in order to avoid the rough stones which seemed to crop up most unexpectedly. A quarter of a mile farther on, they came out on a level stretch, and just beyond was a cross-road. Here the woods were thick on all sides, and the roadway was covered with dirt and decayed leaves.

“Certainly a rather lonely place,” announced Roger.

“A splendid place in which to hide,” answered Dave, and then, as they came closer to the cross-road, he added: “Let us stop here, Roger, I want to take a look around.”

The touring-car was brought to a halt, and the chums got out and began to inspect the wagon and other tracks to be seen both on the highway which they had been traveling and the narrow cross-road. A few minutes later Dave uttered a cry.

“Here are the marks of auto tires, Roger! Just look in this muddy stretch. Wouldn’t you say that those were the marks of the Horseshoe anti-skid shoes?”

“That’s just what they are, Dave!” answered the senator’s son, after a brief examination.

The marks had been discovered on the side-road to their left. The road was a winding one, leading through the thick woods, and what was beyond they could not surmise.

“It seems to me this proves their hiding-place must be up on that road,” said Roger.

“Let us go down the road on the other side and see if any of the marks are there,” returned our hero.

This was done, but no automobile marks of any kind were to be discerned in the soft soil. Then they came back to the cross-road, and after a long hunt found traces where the other touring car had come around the corner from the side-road into the main road leading down to Frytown.

“That settles it in my mind,” announced Dave. “I don’t believe they ever went through to Cullomburg or that they ever went up that side road on our right. They took this side-road to the left, and it’s my opinion that leads to where they have got Laura and Jessie prisoners.”

“What do you think we ought to do, Dave? Go back to town and get help and round them up?”

Our hero mused for a moment. “Maybe we had better go ahead, Roger, and do a little more investigating.”

“But suppose those rascals come on us all at once and surprise us? For all we know there may be half a dozen or more in this gang.”

“I’ve got another idea. I don’t believe this road is very long. As we came up I saw through the clearing below that there was quite a mountain on our left, and this road probably ends right there. Now, if you are willing, we’ll run our machine up past the cross-road a little distance, and then see if we can’t hide it behind the bushes. Then we can tramp up on the side road on foot.”

“All right, Dave. Let us do it—and at once!”

CHAPTER XXVII
TO THE RESCUE

It was an easy matter to run the car a hundred feet or so beyond the side road. Here the trees were slightly scattered, and they had little difficulty in bringing the machine to a halt in the midst of them at a place where there were a few bushes. Then Dave took out the spark plug from the dashboard and placed it in his pocket.

“I don’t believe anybody will bother that car,” he said.

“Perhaps we won’t be gone very long anyhow, Dave. This may prove to be a blind road leading to nothing.”

They pushed on side by side. As it was very warm they had discarded their dust-coats and their goggles. Each had seen to it that his pistol was ready for use, for there was no telling what might confront them.

A little farther on the road took a turn, and here became so stony that the tracks made by the wheels of the car they were following were completely lost. But as there was no place where the machine might have turned around, they felt certain it had gone on.

“We had better keep quiet from now on, Roger,” said our hero in a low voice. “And keep your ears and eyes wide open.”

Two hundred feet more were passed and then Dave came to a halt, at the same time clutching his chum by the arm. From ahead they heard footsteps coming down the rocky roadway. Both made a bound, and crouched behind some trees and brushwood. The approaching person, whoever he was, came closer; and presently the two youths saw that he was a middle-aged man dressed in the garb of a gypsy.

“I’ve seen that fellow before! He is one of the gypsies who used to hang around the outskirts of Crumville!” whispered Dave excitedly.

“Then he must be one of the chaps who ran off with Laura and Jessie!” returned the senator’s son. “What shall we do?”

“Wait a minute. We want to make sure that he is alone.”

They waited until the gypsy had passed them and gone on a distance of a hundred feet or more. He was evidently alone.

“Maybe we had better let him go,” whispered Roger. “That will make one less to tackle, if the others are ahead of us.”

“He’s not going to get away,” answered Dave decidedly. “We may not meet the others at all, and in that case we’d be very foolish to let this fellow get out of our clutches. Come on! I’m going to make him a prisoner!”

Making as little noise as possible, our hero went after the gypsy, who had now passed a turn in the road and was out of sight. The senator’s son followed, and soon both came up behind the fellow ahead.

The gypsy was taken completely by surprise. He had seated himself on a rock to fix one of his shoes, and before he could regain his feet both of the young civil engineers had him covered with their weapons.

“Throw up your hands and keep quiet,” demanded Dave sternly.

“Yes, don’t you dare to cry out,” added Roger. “If you do, you’ll get shot.”

“What is this? For why do you stop me like this?” stammered the gypsy. He was a tall, swarthy-looking fellow, with anything but a cheerful countenance.

“You know well enough why we have stopped you,” returned Dave. “What have you done with those two young ladies who belong in Crumville?”

“I know not’ing of any young ladies,” grumbled the gypsy. “You make big mistake.”

“You do know!” cried Roger. “Now tell us the truth! Have you hurt those young ladies?”

“I know not’ing,” was all the gypsy replied. And, try their best, that was about all the two chums could get out of him.

Had the man not been covered by the pistols he would undoubtedly have shown fight, but he was too cowardly to attempt anything under the existing circumstances.

Not knowing what else to do with their prisoner, the two youths marched him down the road and to where they had left the automobile. Here they brought out a strong rope, and with this bound the gypsy’s hands and feet and tied him fast to one of the trees.

“I guess he’ll stay there until we get back,” was Dave’s comment. “Now then, are you going to tell us what became of those young ladies or not?” he questioned. But to this the gypsy merely shook his head and muttered something which neither of the young civil engineers could understand.

“I don’t believe that fellow is altogether right in his mind,” said Roger.

“Either that, Roger, or else he is shamming,” answered Dave. But Roger was right, the fellow was not more than half-witted.

Leaving their prisoner, the two chums lost no time in making their way along the side-road once more. They soon passed the point where they had first caught sight of the gypsy. Here the roadway became fairly good for a distance of several hundred feet, but beyond this were a number of large rocks, and the road seemed to come to an end in a mass of brushwood.

“Let us look around for wheel-tracks, Roger,” said Dave in a low voice.

Both began an eager search, and were soon rewarded by seeing where the touring-car they were following had left the mountain road and passed in among some trees and bushes on the right. Close at hand was a spring of water, and beyond this the remains of a tumbled-down barn.

“I see the car!” whispered Dave, and pointed to the machine, which rested behind some rocks and brushwood. One glance at the automobile showed that it was deserted.

“They can’t be very far off,” said Roger in a low voice. “Dave, what do you think we had better do next?”

“Let us get behind the trees and bushes and reconnoiter,” was the answer. “Be very careful, Roger, so that you don’t expose yourself. We don’t want to tumble into a hornet’s nest.”

“Don’t you think we had better go back to town and get help, or wait until your Uncle Dunston arrives?”

“Maybe we’ll have to do that. But I want to discover where the girls are first, if I possibly can.”

With extreme caution the young men moved along behind the trees. They saw that from the dilapidated barn a trail ran over some rough rocks to where was located a large bungalow. This had evidently been unused for years, and was almost as dilapidated as the other building. One end of the front porch had fallen down, and many of the windows had the glass broken out of them.

“I’d like to wager that this is the place to which they brought the girls,” whispered Roger.

“I think you’re right,” answered Dave. “And if that is so, and those rascals are around here, we want to be more careful than ever.”

Nobody was in sight around the dilapidated bungalow, and not a sound came from within. Presently, however, Dave noticed a thin wreath of smoke curling up from the chimney.

“Somebody has got a fire in there—that’s sure,” he whispered. “I’m going to work my way around to the kitchen side of the building.”

With added caution the two youths crept along among the trees and over the rocks until they gained a point where they could look into the open kitchen of the bungalow. Here they saw an old gypsy woman moving around as if preparing a meal.

“I’ll bet that’s Mother Domoza, in fact, I’m almost certain of it,” whispered our hero. And he was right, it was indeed the gypsy woman who had caused so much trouble to the folks in Crumville.

The two chums crept closer, and were then able to see what Mother Domoza was doing. She had prepared some things to eat over a small rusty stove in the bungalow, and now she placed this food on a couple of tin plates. Then, with the plates in one hand and a tin kettle of water in the other, the old woman left the kitchen and entered the front part of the bungalow.

“Do you know what I think?” said Roger excitedly. “I think she’s been getting some food ready for the girls!”

“I’m going to follow her and find out,” answered Dave, with sudden determination.

“But, Dave, we want to be careful! If those other fellows are around——”

“I know, Roger. But I was thinking that possibly we could get into the bungalow without being seen. It is a big rambling affair, as you can see, and it must have a lot of vacant rooms.”

Our hero led the way across a little clearing, and then entered the kitchen of the house. Going to one of the doors, he listened intently and heard Mother Domoza ascending a creaking pair of stairs. Then he heard a door slam, after which, for the time being, all became silent.

Not daring to speak for fear of being overheard, our hero tiptoed his way across what had been the living room of the bungalow and then to the narrow stairs which led to the upper floor. Roger came close behind him, and soon the pair stood on an upper landing. All was bare, the entire building being devoid of everything but a few heavy pieces of furniture, evidently left there years before because the owner did not think they were worth carrying away.

“Oh! oh! please don’t do that! Please don’t!”

The unexpected cry came from a room at the end of a corridor. It was the voice of a girl, and was immediately followed by some harsh words uttered by the gypsy woman. Then the voice of another girl was heard.

“You let her alone! Don’t you dare to touch her, or touch me!”

“I’ll do as I please! I’ll make you behave yourselves!” came in the voice of Mother Domoza. And then there followed some heavy footsteps and several girlish screams.

Not waiting to hear more, Dave and Roger bounded down the corridor and flung themselves against the door to the room from which the sounds had issued. They had recognized the voices of Laura and Jessie, and were more than eager to go to the girls’ assistance.

The door had been closed, and evidently something had been placed against it. But the two young civil engineers were strong and their excitement gave them additional strength. They flung the door open readily, sending a bench before it. As they did this they found themselves confronted by Mother Domoza, her eyes blazing with commingled astonishment and anger.

“You—you!” she shrieked. “What do you want here?”

“It’s Dave!” shrieked Jessie.

“And Roger!” exclaimed Laura.

Then the two girls attempted to move toward the two youths, but their way was barred by Mother Domoza.

“You get out of here! You have no right here!” screamed the old gypsy hag, and in her sudden fury she hurled herself at the two young civil engineers, sending them out into the corridor. Then she tried to shut the door of the room behind her.

But now Dave’s blood was up, and he knew it would be useless to attempt to argue with the old hag. He made a leap forward, caught her by the arm, and swung her around. As he did this, Roger caught the old hag by the other arm, and between them they ran her down the corridor. Here they saw the open door to a vacant room, and into this they thrust the old woman, who, by this time, was screaming at the top of her lungs. The door had a hook with a staple to it, and this they locked.

“Now you behave yourself and keep still,” ordered Dave. “If you don’t, you’ll get into worse trouble than ever.”

“Oh, Dave! is it really you?” came from the room at the other end of the corridor.

“Roger! Roger!” burst out Laura, “can’t you come and release us?”

“We are chained fast to the floor,” explained Jessie.

“We’ll release you, and we’ll get you out of here in no time,” answered Dave; and then he and his chum ran back to where the girls were confined.

They had just passed into the room and were hard at work on some chains which bound the two girls to rings in the floor, when there came an unexpected interruption. They heard footsteps in the corridor, and an instant later several gypsy men appeared. Then, before they could make a move to escape or show fight, the door to the room was slammed shut and they heard the click of a heavy lock.

Dave and Roger were prisoners in company with those they had sought to rescue.

“You have no right here!” screamed the old gypsy hag. Page 275.

CHAPTER XXVIII
PRISONERS

For a moment after they were made prisoners Dave and his chum thought to try an attack upon the door, in an endeavor to batter it down. But then a command from the corridor made them pause.

“Now, you keep quiet in there and behave yourselves,” said a voice in fairly good English. “We are armed, and we mean business.”

“Who is it who is talking?” asked Dave.

“That’s none of your business, young man. You keep quiet or it will be the worse for you.”

“Say, Tony, you are wanted downstairs,” put in another voice out in the corridor. “There may be more of those spies around.”

“All right, Carlos,” was the quick reply. Then the gypsy called Tony raised his voice. “Now you fellows settle down and don’t try any funny work. Remember we are all armed and know how to shoot.”

“Look here, we want to talk this matter over,” said Dave, as he heard the gypsy prepare to go below.

“I haven’t got time now. I’ll be back later. Now, no funny work remember, or you’ll get the worst of it!” and then those in the room heard the gypsies tramp downstairs. Mother Domoza had joined them, and all seemed to be in an angry discussion among themselves.

“Oh, Dave, do be careful!” pleaded Jessie. “They are dreadful people, and I am afraid they will shoot us!”

“Yes, you must both be very careful,” put in Laura. “I heard one of them say that if our folks attempted to follow them, there would surely be some shooting;” and the girl shuddered.

“Have they done you any harm?” questioned Roger, quickly.

“They have treated us very rudely, and they have given us awful food,” answered the daughter of the jewelry manufacturer.

“They wanted us to aid them in a demand for money, but we would not do it,” explained Laura. “We have had some dreadful quarrels, and that old Mother Domoza has been exceedingly hateful to us. Just now, when she brought in some food, she said we must write a letter home for money, and when we said we wouldn’t do it, she caught Jessie by the arm and shook her.”

Each of the girls was chained to a ring in the flooring by means of a heavy steel dog-collar fastened around her ankle and to a chain which had another steel dog-collar on the other end passed through a ring in the floor.

“They keep us chained up about half the time,” explained Laura.

“But not at night, I hope?” returned Dave.

“No. At night Mother Domoza releases us so we can go into the adjoining room where there is an old mattress on the floor on which we have to sleep. Mother Domoza, or one of the other gypsies, remains on guard in the hallway outside.”

“What about the windows?” questioned Roger.

“They are all nailed up, as you can see. Once we tried to pry one of them open, but the gypsies heard it, and stopped us.”

The two youths made a hasty inspection of the two rooms in which the girls were kept prisoners. Each apartment was about twelve feet square, and each contained a window which was now nailed down and had heavy slats of wood taken from the tumbled-down piazza nailed across the outside. The inner room, which contained the mattress already mentioned, had also a small clothing closet in it, and in this the girls had placed the few belongings which had been in Laura’s suit-case at the time they had been kidnapped.

“They took our handbags with our money away from us,” explained Jessie.

Of course the girls wanted to know how it was that Dave and Roger had gotten on the trail, and they listened eagerly to the story the chums had to tell.

“Oh, I knew you would come, Dave!” cried Jessie, with tears in her eyes. “I told Laura all along that you would leave Montana and come here just as soon as you heard of it;” and she clung tightly to our hero, while the look in her bedimmed eyes bespoke volumes.

“Yes, and I said Roger would come,” added Laura, with a warm look at the senator’s son.

“There’s one thing we can’t understand at all,” said Dave. “How was it that you left that train at Crandall, went to the hotel there, and then walked out on that country road to where the automobile was?”

“Oh, that was the awfulest trick that ever was played!” burst out Laura. “They must have planned it some days ahead, or they never could have done it.”

“Tell me,” broke in Roger suddenly, “wasn’t the driver of that car Nick Jasniff?”

“I think he was,” answered Dave’s sister. “We accused him of being Jasniff, but he denied it. Nevertheless, both of us feel rather certain that it is the same fellow who robbed Mr. Wadsworth’s factory.”

“We suspected Jasniff almost from the start,” said Dave. “But go ahead—tell us how they got you to leave the train and go to where they had the automobile.”

“You see, it was this way,” explained Laura. “At the very first station where the train stopped, a messenger came through the car calling out my name. He had a telegram for me, which read something like this: ‘We are on an auto tour to Boston. If you want to ride with us, leave train at Crandall and meet us at the Bliss House. Telegraph answer from Glenwood.’ And the telegram was signed, ‘Mrs. Frank Browning.’”

“Mrs. Frank Browning?” repeated Dave. “Do you mean the girl you used to know so well—Edith Parshall?”

“Yes, Dave. You know she is married, and her husband has a fine big touring-car. They left Crumville for a trip a few days before we went away. They were at our house talking about the tour the night before they started.”

“I see,” answered Dave, nodding understandingly. “Go on.”

“Jessie and I talked it over, and as we were very much crowded in the day coach—you know we couldn’t get parlor-car chairs—we thought it would be a fine thing to accept Mrs. Browning’s invitation. So at Glenwood we sent a telegram, stating we would meet them at the Bliss House in Crandall. The train met with some kind of an accident, and we were stalled just outside Crandall; but we got out with a number of others and walked to the town.”

“Of course Mrs. Browning had nothing to do with the telegram,” put in Jessie.

“Just as we got to the hotel in Crandall, a boy came up with a note and asked if either of us knew Laura Porter. I took the note, and from the way it was written supposed that Mrs. Browning had sent it. It stated that they had had a blow-out, and her husband was fixing the car some distance down the road, and wouldn’t we walk down there and meet them?”

“So, instead of going into the hotel, we went down the road as the boy told us,” said Jessie. “He pointed out the car, and then ran away to join some girls who were in a yard not very far off. We went up to the car, and the next thing we knew we were caught up and thrown inside, and the car went down the road at breakneck speed.”

“Who was in the car?” questioned Dave.

“Mother Domoza and a tall gypsy, who we found out was Tony Bopeppo, the man you were just talking to. The fellow who drove the car was the chap we afterward suspected of being Jasniff. He wore a false mustache and a wig, and I am sure he had his face stained.”

“Didn’t you struggle or cry out?” questioned Roger.

“To be sure we did! But the old gypsy hag had something on a handkerchief which she placed to our faces, and then we went off into something like a swoon. When we recovered, we found we were bound hands and feet with pieces of clothes-line. The automobile was going along at a lively rate, and we bumped over some terrible rocks. Then we began to climb a long hill, and after a little while the automobile came to a stop among some trees. There we were met by several other gypsies, and the whole crowd made us walk to this house and marched us up to these rooms—and here we are!”

“And now they have captured you, too!” cried Jessie. “Oh, this is worse than ever!”

“Don’t you worry too much,” whispered Dave, lowering his voice so that anybody outside the door might not hear. “When we were at a town a few miles away from here, we sent word to Crumville, and Uncle Dunston is coming out to this neighborhood.”

And then in a low voice Dave and Roger related how they had been following up the trail from Frytown, and had captured one of the gypsies and tied him to a tree.

“Oh, if we could only get word to Uncle Dunston!” murmured Laura.

The girls had had no food since early morning, and so they were hungry. Nevertheless they insisted upon it that the boys share what was on the tin plates left by Mother Domoza, and each washed down the scanty meal with a draught of water from the tin kettle.

“Dave, what do you think they will do with all of us?” questioned his sister, after the situation had been discussed from several angles. The gypsies were still downstairs and in the woods surrounding the bungalow.

“Their idea is to make a lot of money out of this,” was the reply. “But they are not going to do so if I can prevent it. I’m going to get out of here somehow, and then notify the authorities, and have these rascals rounded up.”

“That’s the talk!” returned Roger. “Come on—let us make an inspection of these rooms and see what can be done.”

“I’m going to release the girls first,” said Dave, and getting out his penknife, he opened the file blade and began work on the steel band which encircled Jessie’s ankle.

Seeing this, Roger employed himself on the band which held Laura prisoner, and soon the youths had the satisfaction of setting the two girls free.

“Those gypsies will be very angry when they find out that you have ruined the chains,” remarked Jessie.

“We’ll have to take our chances on that,” answered Dave.

“We are still armed, even if we are prisoners,” put in Roger. “I guess we could put up a pretty stiff fight if we had to.”

“Oh, Roger, I hope there won’t be any shooting!” cried Laura, in horror.

“There won’t be, unless they start something,” answered the senator’s son.

The two young men began a careful inspection of the two rooms. Although the bungalow was old and dilapidated in many places, the timbers of which it was built were heavy, and they found the walls and the floor, as well as the ceiling, intact. The only place that looked as if it might afford some means of escape was the little closet where the girls had hung up some of the articles contained in Laura’s suit-case. Here, by standing on a bench, Dave found that one of the boards in the closet ceiling was loose. He was just about to make an investigation of what was beyond this loose board, when there came a sharp knock on the door leading to the corridor.

“I want Dave Porter to step out here!” said a voice. “I want to talk to him!”

CHAPTER XXIX
TRYING TO ESCAPE

“Oh, Dave, don’t go!” cried Jessie, as he walked toward the door, and she caught him by the arm.

“I don’t think I’d trust myself out there alone, Dave,” cautioned Roger in a low voice. “I think the best thing we can do under the present circumstances is to stick together.”

Dave hesitated. He realized that what his chum said might be true. Then his hand went into the pocket where he had his automatic pistol.

“I’ve got this, Roger. I think I can defend myself,” he said.

“Oh, Dave, I’d hate to see any shooting!” whispered his sister.

“There won’t be any shooting unless they start things,” he answered.

“Say, Dave Porter, are you coming out or not?” demanded the voice of the person in the corridor.

“Is that you, Nick Jasniff?” asked our hero quickly, for he was quite sure that he recognized the voice.

“Who told you I was Nick Jasniff?” grumbled the fellow outside.

“Never mind that now, Jasniff. What do you want?”

“You are making a mistake about me, Dave Porter. I want you to come outside so I can talk to you.”

“Is the door unlocked?”

“It is. But don’t you try any funny work, because we are well armed, and we don’t intend to take any chances so far as you and Roger Morr are concerned.”

With caution Dave opened the door several inches, and peered out into the corridor. He saw the disguised person he suspected of being Nick Jasniff standing there, and behind him were several others, evidently gypsies.

“This is a fine piece of business for you to be in, Jasniff,” he said sharply. For a close look at the face in front of him had convinced him that the rascal was really the fellow who had escaped from prison.

“Humph, you needn’t preach to me, Dave Porter! I guess I’ve now got you just where I want you!” answered Nick Jasniff, seeing it would be useless to deny his identity any longer.

“That remains to be seen. Fellows like you always get to the end of their rope sooner or later.”

“We won’t waste words on that just now, Porter. What I want to know is, did you and Morr come here alone or are there others hiding in the woods?”

“Do you think I’d be fool enough to tell you our plans?” demanded Dave.

“You’ll tell me everything, Porter, and do it pretty quick!” snarled Nick Jasniff, flying into a sudden rage. “Don’t you see that you are entirely in our hands, and that we can do as we please with all of you? Unless you tell me everything I want to know, we are coming in there and take those two girls away and leave you two fellows here, bound and gagged. Then, if nobody comes to rescue you, you can starve to death. Do you get me?”

“Oh, Dave! don’t let them do anything like that!” pleaded Jessie, who had been listening over his shoulder to what was said.

“Don’t worry about their binding and gagging us—at least not while we are armed,” put in Roger.

“See here, Jasniff, you can talk all you please, but we do not intend to let you carry out your threats,” said Dave. “Both Morr and I are well armed, and we know how to shoot. In a very short time this place will be completely surrounded and you will be made prisoners.”

“It isn’t so!” cried the former bully of Oak Hall; but the tone of his voice showed his uneasiness.

“It may be so!” cried one of the gypsies quickly. “Remember, Carmenaldo did not return. That looks bad.”

The gypsies began to whisper among themselves, and then one of them pulled Jasniff back.

“We had better go out again and take another look around,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “That young man may speak the truth, and we do not want to run any chances of being captured in such a game as this. If we find the woods clear, we can then come back and settle with these intruders.”

“All right, have your own way,” grumbled Jasniff. “Just the same, I think they came here alone. Didn’t I see them alone at that hotel?”

The gypsies were evidently too disturbed to argue the matter further, and they pushed forward and closed the door in Dave’s face. Then those inside the room heard the lock fastened once more and heard the gypsies tramp away and down the stairs.

“Oh, Dave, I’m so glad you didn’t get into a fight!” cried Jessie, her face showing momentary relief.

“While they are gone let us see if we can escape by way of the opening in the top of the closet,” suggested Roger.

“Hush, not so loud!” whispered Dave. “One of the gypsies or Nick Jasniff may still be in the corridor listening.”

“I’ll tell you what let’s do,” returned the senator’s son in an equally low voice. “Let the two girls stay here and do some pretty loud talking. That will cover up any noise that we may make in the closet. Then, if there is a chance to get out, we’ll have to lay a plan as to just how to do it.”

This suggestion was carried out, and the two girls began to talk hurriedly and in a loud tone of voice close to the door leading to the corridor. In the meantime, Dave and Roger went to the closet, and both made an investigation of the ceiling. Here, as stated before, one board was loose, and they soon managed to pry up another.

“Now boost me up, Roger, and I’ll investigate further,” said our hero.

Dave presently found himself in a dark place directly under the sloping roof of the bungalow. In its highest part, the roof was but four feet from the flooring, so he had to stoop as he felt his way around. He soon came to a sort of hatchway; the cover to this he raised cautiously. Below was a vacant room which had once been used as a bed-chamber. Around the opening where Dave stood was a mass of discarded household things and several packages of magazines which had evidently been brought up to the little garret-like opening by means of a ladder, but now the ladder was missing.

Our hero lit a match, and this brief illumination showed him several large bundles of magazines still tied together with some old rope. He quickly possessed himself of the rope, and found it still usable. Then he went back to the closet where Roger awaited him, and told of what he had discovered.

“Do you think we can make our escape that way?” questioned the senator’s son eagerly.

“I don’t know about that, Roger. We might try.”

The matter was discussed for several minutes with the girls, and all decided that they had better do what they could to secure their freedom without delay. Dave brought down one of the boards from the flooring above, and setting the bench up endways placed one end of the board upon it, thus making a sort of gangplank. Up this he and Roger assisted the girls, and then followed to the little garret-like enclosure above.

“Now I think I had better go down into that other room first and look around,” said our hero, and let himself down by means of the rope which he had found and which he fastened to a staple at the side of the hatchway.

Once below, Dave tiptoed his way around cautiously. There was a window to the room, and this looked out on the top of a little porch, beyond which were a number of trees. Then he went to the door and opened it cautiously. He saw a little corridor opening into that which led to the stairs. From below came a murmur of voices.

“I don’t think we can get away by going below,” he explained to the others, after they had joined him; “but that looks pretty good to me,” and he pointed out of the window to the roof of the porch and the trees so close at hand.

“Oh, that’ll be easy if they don’t catch sight of us getting down,” answered Roger quickly.

The glass of the window was gone; nevertheless, they had to raise the lower sash before any of them could get out on the roof of the porch. This was much dilapidated, and creaked as they stepped upon it.

“Oh, Dave! you don’t suppose it will break down with us?” cried Jessie.

“Jump for the trees if it starts to go,” he answered, and the words had barely left his lips when the old porch began to sag. A moment later it collapsed completely, sending all of the young people to the ground.

It was a most unexpected tumble. As they went down Dave made a grab for Jessie and did what he could to save her from getting hurt. Both landed in some bushes, and Laura and Roger came down beside them.

With the sudden collapse of the porch, there was a cry of alarm in the lower part of the bungalow, and some person, evidently one of the gypsies, set up a yell from somewhere among the trees.

“Come!” cried Dave, as he pulled Jessie to her feet. “We’ve no time to spare! Let us get out of sight as quickly as possible!”

He glanced over his shoulder, to see that Roger had Laura by the arm and was forcing her along. All four ran among the trees, not knowing, however, in which direction they were heading.

“Oh, Dave, they are after us!” panted Jessie.

Our hero glanced back and saw that several gypsies and Nick Jasniff had just emerged from the bungalow, some with pistols and others with clubs in their hands.

“This way, quick!” he exclaimed, and pointed to a little gully but a few feet away.

He and Jessie leaped into this, and Roger and Laura immediately followed. The hollow was filled with weeds and brushwood.

“Say, can’t we hide here?” asked Roger.

“They’d be after us in a minute, Roger,” answered Dave. “Come on!” and he pushed his way down along the hollow until they reached the tiny watercourse which flowed from the spring near the roadway. Here was a heavy clump of trees, some of the branches close to the ground.

“Now then, up you go!” cried Dave, and he and Roger assisted the two girls into the nearest tree branches. Then the young men hauled themselves up.

“Now climb up as high as you can,” directed Dave to Jessie and his sister. And then all four went up the tree a distance of twenty feet or more.

“Where did they go?” cried someone who stood close to the watercourse.

“I don’t know. But they must be somewhere in this vicinity,” answered the voice of Nick Jasniff.

Hardly daring to breathe, the four in the tree listened to what was taking place below. They heard Nick Jasniff and several of the gypsies tramping around, first in one direction and then in another.

“Are you sure they all got away?” questioned one of the gypsies, of another who had just arrived.

“Yes. The room was empty and we have searched the house thoroughly.”

“Then I guess the game is up,” growled a third.

“What’s the use of giving up so soon?” grumbled Nick Jasniff. “I believe they are hiding around here somewhere, and I don’t believe there is anybody else near. I think the best thing you can do, Bopeppo, is to call in all those other fellows and begin a search for them. Eight of us ought to be able to handle two fellows and two girls without much trouble.”

After that Jasniff and Bopeppo moved around again through the woods in the immediate vicinity of the bungalow. One of them had discovered where the party of four had jumped into the gully leading to the watercourse, and now he set up a sudden shout:

“They came this way! Here are their footprints!”

“Where do they lead to, Vazala?” questioned Nick Jasniff eagerly.

“They lead to right here!” answered Carlos Vazala, pointing to some impressions in the damp ground and some overturned stones.

“I bet they went up into these trees!” cried Jasniff. He raised his voice. “If you are up there you might as well come down,” he commanded. “If you don’t, we’ll come up there and bring you down.”

CHAPTER XXX
THE ROUND-UP—CONCLUSION

“Oh, Dave, do you think——” began Jessie in a low voice, when a look of warning from our hero stopped her.

“You can’t fool us!” cried Nick Jasniff, after a moment of silence. “Are you coming down, or shall I come up and bring you down?”

To this none of those in the tree replied. All kept silent, scarcely daring to breathe. Jessie was clinging to Dave’s arm, and Roger had a protecting hand on Laura’s shoulder. Each of the young civil engineers had his pistol ready for any emergency which might arise. They heard a movement below as if either Nick Jasniff or one of the gypsies was starting to climb the tree.

“Oh, don’t let them come up here!” whispered Laura, unable to remain silent longer.

“Yes, yes, make them stay on the ground!” breathed Jessie.

“Stop where you are!” cried Dave in stern tones. “Don’t you dare come a foot closer if you value your life.”

“Don’t you shoot me!” exclaimed Nick Jasniff.

“Then you get back on the ground, Jasniff, just as quick as you can,” answered Roger. “We won’t stand any more of your nonsense!” and at these words Nick Jasniff lost no time in dropping out of the tree.

The gypsies and the fellow who had escaped from prison began to talk among themselves, but in such a low tone of voice that those in the tree could not make out what was being said.

“What do you suppose they’ll do next?” questioned Jessie anxiously.

“They’ll try to get us down somehow; but I’m not going,” answered Roger stubbornly.

“But they may keep us up here all night—or even longer!” returned Laura.

“Are you going to give in or not?” demanded Nick Jasniff in a loud tone of voice.

“I don’t see why we should give in,” answered Dave.

“You’ll have to do it, Porter, sooner or later. Can’t you see that we’ve got the bulge on you? If you don’t give in now, we’ll keep you up in that tree until you change your mind. The best thing you can do is to drop your pistols and give yourselves up. If you’ll do that we’ll promise to treat you well and let you go as soon as we receive that ransom we are expecting.”

“We don’t intend to give in,” answered Dave, after a few words with Roger.

“All right then, we’ll let it go at that—for the present,” answered Nick Jasniff. “I think you’ll change your tune after you have spent a night in that tree and are good and hungry,” he added cunningly. “And let me tell you, if anybody tries to escape he’ll get shot.”

After that there was a long period of silence. Evidently some of the gypsies had moved away, but it was more than likely that the others were keeping on guard in the vicinity of the tree. What had become of Nick Jasniff those who were concealed among the branches could not surmise.

It must be confessed that Dave and those with him were in a great quandary. They did not wish to remain in the tree indefinitely, and yet to make another break for liberty might be decidedly perilous.

The best part of an hour passed, and then Dave and the others heard some of the gypsies calling to each other.

“Dobado is back, and he has news!” they heard some one cry.

“Did they find Carmenaldo?” asked another voice.

“They did not.”

“Perhaps that half-witted fool has gone back on us,” came in the voice of Nick Jasniff. “I said it wouldn’t be wise to let that fellow into the game.”

“Carmenaldo is all right. He can be trusted,” answered the voice of Mother Domoza. She was an aunt to the half-witted gypsy and she did not like to have any one speak ill of him.

Then began a hurried consultation among the gypsies, and the whole crowd moved down in the direction of the tree in which our friends were hiding.

“Ha, you are a pack of cowards not to get them out of the tree!” cried Mother Domoza. “Had I the strength to climb, I’d get them out single-handed.”

“We’d bring them down quick enough, were it not that they are armed,” answered Tony Bopeppo.

There was a warm discussion, the old gypsy woman urging the men to go up into the tree and bring down our hero and the others.

In the midst of the discussion Dave heard a sound which thrilled him to the heart. Far off from the direction of the main road between Frytown and Cullomburg came the honk of an automobile horn twice repeated.

“Roger, did you hear that?” he cried in a low voice. “Listen!” and a moment later the double honk was repeated.

“Why, it sounds like the horn on your auto!” exclaimed the senator’s son.

“That’s just what it is! And didn’t you hear—it sounded out twice in rapid succession? Listen! there it goes again! That’s the signal from my Uncle Dunston!”

“Oh, Dave! can it be Uncle Dunston?” exclaimed his sister.

“That’s just who it is!” he answered, great relief showing itself in his voice. “I’m going to answer back!” and pulling out his pistol, Dave fired two shots in the air in rapid succession.

“Hi! hi! what are you doing?” roared a voice from below. “Don’t you dare to shoot at us!”

“We are not shooting at you,” answered Dave quick-wittedly. “I am trying my pistol to see that it is in good order.”

“Huh, you’ll get no chance to use that pistol on us,” growled Nick Jasniff.

All in the tree paid but scant attention to what was said below. They were listening intently. An instant later came two more honks from the distant automobile.

“Give them two more shots, Roger!” cried our hero. “I’m going up to the top of the tree to look around,” and he began to climb with vigor.

From the top of the tree Dave could get a fairly good view of the surroundings. He soon made out the little side-road and the point where it ran into the main highway. Then he spotted an automobile containing four or five men. Another auto was on the main highway but a short distance away.

Standing on the topmost branch of the tree and holding fast with one hand, Dave waved his cap with the other and then fired two more shots from his pistol. Those in the automobile were evidently on the alert, and a second later our hero saw that his signal had been seen. One man jumped up in the front automobile and waved his arms, and then the automobile moved forward rapidly up the little side-road.

“They have seen us, and they are coming in this direction!” cried Dave, as he lowered himself to where the others rested in the tree. “I’ll give them another signal, so that they won’t go astray,” and a few seconds later two more shots rent the air.

“Hi, you! what are you doing up there, anyway?” came uneasily from Nick Jasniff.

“An automobile is coming!” came in a yell from a distance. “An automobile with a number of men in it!”

“We’ve been betrayed!” added another of the gypsies. “We must run for it or we’ll be captured!”

“The automobile! Why can not we ride away in the automobile?” asked Mother Domoza, in sudden panic.

“We can’t use it! That other auto will block the road!” answered Nick Jasniff.

By this time a shouting was heard from the narrow roadway as the first automobile came closer, quickly followed by the second car.

“Hello, Uncle Dunston! is that you?” yelled Dave at the top of his lungs.

“Yes, Dave!” came the answering cry. “Where are you?”

“We are all here in a tree in the woods,” answered Roger.

“Are the girls safe?”

“Yes,” returned Dave. “Never mind us—go after those gypsies and after Nick Jasniff.”

“We’ll do that all right enough!” answered Dunston Porter.

“They are the kidnappers, don’t let them get away!” yelled Roger.

The men who had accompanied Dunston Porter needed no further urging. They knew many of the particulars concerning the case, and had been promised a large reward if they would give their aid in rounding up the kidnappers and saving the two girls. One man was a local constable, and two were detectives, while the others were men who had been picked up in the town and pressed into service because of their strength and willingness to fight. The whole crowd leaped from the automobiles and lost no time in giving chase to the fleeing criminals.

“I’m going to join in this hunt, Roger!” exclaimed Dave. And then he added to the two girls: “You had better remain where you are until we come back.”

He dropped out of the tree just in time to see his Uncle Dunston making after one of the gypsies and Nick Jasniff. Several shots were fired, which, however, took no effect, and then the criminals dived out of sight between a number of trees.

Dave’s blood was up, and he made up his mind that Nick Jasniff should be captured if it were possible to do so. Roger had followed him out of the tree, and now both made after the rascal who had escaped from prison.

“You get back! Don’t you dare to follow me!” howled Jasniff, and flourished a revolver at them. He pulled the trigger, but the weapon failed to go off, and then the rascal continued to run.

“We ought to shoot him!” exclaimed the senator’s son.

But as he spoke he saw Nick Jasniff trip over a tree root and go sprawling. Before the fellow could arise, Dave was on him. Jasniff tried to catch our hero by the throat, and in return received a blow in the chin which all but stunned him.

That the chase after the fleeing gypsies was going on in earnest was testified to by the sounds coming from various quarters of the woods on the mountainside. Exclamations and cries rent the air, punctuated every now and then by a pistol shot or the discharge of a shotgun. One of the gypsy men was hit in the leg and fell, and Mother Domoza received part of a charge of shot in her right hand.

“We’ll disarm him and tie his hands behind him,” said Dave to Roger, referring to Jasniff. And despite the protests of the fellow who had escaped from prison this was speedily done. Then Jasniff was marched along to the foot of the tree in which the girls were hiding, and there Roger stood guard over him, while Dave assisted Jessie and his sister to the ground.

In less than half an hour the impromptu fight came to a finish. Mother Domoza and three of the leading gypsies had been captured. The others had escaped into the mountains, but a posse was organized, and all of them were rounded up inside of twenty-four hours.

“Oh, Uncle Dunston, I am so glad to see you!” cried Laura, when the uncle put in an appearance.

“And I am glad, too!” exclaimed Jessie.

“Are either of you hurt?” questioned Dunston Porter quickly.

“No, not in the least,” answered the daughter of the jewelry manufacturer. “But we have been horribly frightened.”

“You didn’t pay the gypsies or Jasniff any reward, did you?” questioned Dave quickly.

“No, Dave; although we might have done so if we hadn’t got the word that you sent by telephone.”

As far as our friends went, it was a happy little party that gathered in the bungalow a short while after. The girls were inclined to be somewhat hysterical, and the young men and Dunston Porter did all they could to quiet them.

“As soon as I discovered your automobile in the bushes I knew that you must be somewhere in this vicinity,” explained Dunston Porter. “We had come in to Frytown from Crandall less than an hour before.”

“But how did you get to Crandall so quickly?” questioned Roger.

“As soon as I got word from Dave I set the wires to working, and through the authorities had the Boston Express stop both at Crumville and Crandall, so that brought us up here in no time.”

“Did you see that fellow we had tied to the tree?” questioned Dave.

“Oh, yes, I found him directly after I located your auto. I tried to get something out of him, but he seemed a bit off in his mind. Then I remembered that signal you had spoken about and used it on the auto horn.”

“Oh, won’t I be glad to get back to Crumville!” murmured Jessie.

“That’s right,” answered Laura. “I don’t think we want to make that trip to Boston just now. I want to get home and see the rest of the folks.”

And now let me add a few words more and then bring this story of “Dave Porter’s Great Search” to a close.

The whole party found themselves that night at the Bliss House in Crandall, where they would have to remain until morning. Word had been sent to Crumville, and it can well be imagined how happy those at home were when they received the glad tidings that the girls were safe and that those who had kidnapped them had been captured.

“Oh, Dave, it was simply wonderful how you and Roger got on the trail of Jasniff and those awful gypsies!” remarked Jessie, in talking the matter over.

“It was certainly very clever work,” put in Laura. “I think I’ll have to have medals of honor struck off for both of you”; and this remark brought a happy laugh all around.

The criminals had been taken in charge by the authorities, and the following day found them safe behind the bars. It may be added here that later on all of the gypsies, including Mother Domoza, were tried and sentenced to long terms of imprisonment. Nick Jasniff was returned to the prison from which he had escaped.

“He’ll have to serve his old sentence over again,” explained Dunston Porter. “After he has finished with that, they will probably try him for this kidnapping affair, so that it’s likely he will not mingle with honest people for a good many years to come.”

On being taken to prison, Jasniff was closely questioned and finally gave the particulars of how he had stolen the battered touring-car, come to Crumville in disguise, learned that the girls were going to take the trip to Boston, and arranged with the gypsies to do the kidnapping.

“Oh, what a misspent life!” was Laura’s comment.

“Well, he has no one to blame for it but himself,” was Roger’s blunt reply.

The home-coming of the two girls, accompanied by Dave, Roger and Dunston Porter, was made a gala occasion at Crumville. Many of their friends were on hand to greet them, and Mrs. Wadsworth shed tears of joy when she embraced her daughter and Laura.

“I shall never forget what you have done,” said Mr. Wadsworth to Dave and Roger. “It was grand—simply grand!” and he wiped the moisture from his eyes.

“I knew Davy would do it,” quavered Caspar Potts, nodding his head over and over again. “He’s a great boy—my Davy is!”

As for Dave’s father, the man could hardly speak, but the way he grasped his son’s hand spoke volumes.

The two young civil engineers could not resist the temptation to send a so-called night letter over the wires to those at the construction camp in Montana, telling of what had been accomplished and stating that they would soon be back at work. This message caused even Ralph Obray to become enthusiastic.

“They are certainly great boys,” he said to Frank Andrews.

“The finest lads we have in camp,” answered the other. “I’m certainly glad they joined us. Some day they’ll make their mark.”

“I believe you!”

Now that the young civil engineers had found the two girls they were loath to separate from them. The young folks had many hours of happiness together, which the older heads did not have the heart to interrupt.

“They certainly think the world and all of each other,” said Mr. Porter to Mr. Wadsworth, referring to Dave and Jessie.

“So they do, and I am not sorry for it,” answered the jewelry manufacturer. “And I notice that Roger thinks a good deal of your daughter Laura.”

“You are right. And that pleases me, too,” returned Dave’s father.

“Well, we’ve got to start back for the West to-morrow,” announced Dave one day.

“Right you are!” answered the senator’s son. “I suppose after this there won’t be anything left for us to do but to work.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Roger. Something else may turn up sooner or later,” returned our hero.

And he was right. Something else did turn up, and what that was will be related in our next volume, to be entitled “Dave Porter Under Fire, or A Young Army Engineer in France,” in which book we shall learn how our hero and his chum “did their bit” for Uncle Sam.

“Becoming civil engineers has not been such a monotonous existence after all,” said Roger. “Think of those strenuous times we had along the Rio Grande and in Mexico, and then all those doings out in Montana, and when we went after the gypsies and Jasniff.”

“They certainly were strenuous days, Roger,” answered Dave. “But now we’ve got to buckle down to work if we want to become first-class, full-fledged civil engineers.”

And here let us take our leave and bid Dave Porter good-bye.

THE END

EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS

Old Glory Series

Cloth. Illustrated. Net $1.75 per volume.

UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA.

A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA.

FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS.

UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES.

THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE.

UNDER MacARTHUR IN LUZON.

Fortune Series

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ON TO PEKIN.

UNDER THE MIKADO’S FLAG.

AT THE FALL OF PORT ARTHUR.

WITH TOGO FOR JAPAN.

Colonial Series

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WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST.

MARCHING ON NIAGARA.

AT THE FALL OF MONTREAL.

ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC.

THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS.

TRAIL AND TRADING POST.

Mexican War Series

Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume $1.00.

FOR THE LIBERTY OF TEXAS.

WITH TAYLOR ON THE RIO GRANDE.

UNDER SCOTT IN MEXICO.

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LOST ON THE ORINOCO.

THE YOUNG VOLCANO EXPLORERS.

YOUNG EXPLORERS OF THE ISTHMUS.

YOUNG EXPLORERS OF THE AMAZON.

TREASURE SEEKERS OF THE ANDES.

CHASED ACROSS THE PAMPAS.

Dave Porter Series

Cloth. Illustrated. Net $1.75 per volume.

DAVE PORTER AT OAK HALL.

DAVE PORTER IN THE SOUTH SEAS.

DAVE PORTER’S RETURN TO SCHOOL.

DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH.

DAVE PORTER AND HIS CLASSMATES.

DAVE PORTER AT STAR RANCH.

DAVE PORTER AND HIS RIVALS.

DAVE PORTER ON CAVE ISLAND.

DAVE PORTER AND THE RUNAWAYS.

DAVE PORTER IN THE GOLD FIELDS.

DAVE PORTER AT BEAR CAMP.

DAVE PORTER AND HIS DOUBLE.

DAVE PORTER’S GREAT SEARCH.

DAVE PORTER UNDER FIRE.

DAVE PORTER’S WAR HONORS.

Lakeport Series

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THE GUN CLUB BOYS OF LAKEPORT.

THE BASEBALL BOYS OF LAKEPORT.

THE BOAT CLUB BOYS OF LAKEPORT.

THE FOOTBALL BOYS OF LAKEPORT.

THE AUTOMOBILE BOYS OF LAKEPORT.

THE AIRCRAFT BOYS OF LAKEPORT.

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AMERICAN BOYS’ LIFE OF WILLIAM McKINLEY.

AMERICAN BOYS’ LIFE OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

DEFENDING HIS FLAG. Price $1.75

DAVE PORTER SERIES

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER

“Mr. Stratemeyer has seldom introduced a more popular hero than Dave Porter. He is a typical boy, manly, brave, always ready for a good time if it can be obtained in an honorable way.”—Wisconsin, Milwaukee, Wis.

“Edward Stratemeyer’s ‘Dave Porter’ has become exceedingly popular.”—Boston Globe.

“Dave and his friends are nice, manly chaps.”—Times-Democrat, New Orleans.

DAVE PORTER AT OAK HALL

  Or The School Days of an American Boy

DAVE PORTER IN THE SOUTH SEAS

  Or The Strange Cruise of the Stormy Petrel

DAVE PORTER’S RETURN TO SCHOOL

  Or Winning the Medal of Honor

DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH

  Or The Pluck of an American Schoolboy

DAVE PORTER AND HIS CLASSMATES

  Or For the Honor of Oak Hall

DAVE PORTER AT STAR RANCH

  Or The Cowboy’s Secret

DAVE PORTER AND HIS RIVALS

  Or The Chums and Foes of Oak Hall

DAVE PORTER ON CAVE ISLAND

  Or A Schoolboy’s Mysterious Mission

DAVE PORTER AND THE RUNAWAYS

  Or Last Days at Oak Hall

DAVE PORTER IN THE GOLD FIELDS

  Or The Search for the Landslide Mine

DAVE PORTER AT BEAR CAMP

  Or The Wild Man of Mirror Lake

DAVE PORTER AND HIS DOUBLE

  Or The Disappearance of the Basswood Fortune

DAVE PORTER’S GREAT SEARCH

  Or The Perils of a Young Civil Engineer

DAVE PORTER UNDER FIRE

  Or A Young Army Engineer in France

DAVE PORTER’S WAR HONORS

  Or At the Front with the Fighting Engineers

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.     Boston

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Moved the advertising page at the beginning of the book to between the End and the advertising at the back.

Silently corrected typographical errors.

Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.