CHAPTER XLIII.THE SILVER BULLETS.

CHAPTER XLIII.THE SILVER BULLETS.

“Look out!” exclaimed Bertie; “it’s loaded.”

Dick held the queer old pistol in his hand, turning it slowly and looking at it with a puzzled expression on his face.

“This is mighty queer,” he muttered. “I don’t understand it. Did you see Lynch with this weapon in his hand?”

“He dropped it when he was knocked out by the ball,” persisted Bertie. “He was sneaking up behind you with that pistol, Dick.”

Merriwell shook his head.

“Why should Mike Lynch, or any one else for that matter, carry a weapon like this?” speculated Dick. “It’s an ancient relic.”

“You know Mike has been rotten queer lately.”

“Yes, I know,” nodded Dick. “He’s been troubled with hallucinations. Of course, you know about the running down of Buckhart’s boat in the harbor. At that time Lynch and his friends fancied I was drowned. Strangely enough, Mike was the one most affected by this belief. It seemed to upset him mentally, and no one could convince him that I was not dead. On other things he appeared rational enough, but he certainly was queer on that point. Whenever he met me he refused to look at me. They told me he invariably flew into a passion if any one spoke of my escape from drowning. After being hit by that baseball to-day Lynch seemed rational for the first time in many days. You know I did what I could to restore him to consciousness. When he came round he stated that he seemed to have dreamed that I was dead. I fanciedthe shock had knocked the delusion out of his head and restored him to his normal condition.”

“Well, I don’t know what sort of condition he was in,” said Bertie; “but I do know he was sneaking up behind you with this loaded pistol in his hand. You can imagine what he meant to do. I don’t like to think of it.”

“If he meant to shoot me,” muttered Dick, “the fellow was certainly crazy. There’s no other explanation. No chap in his right mind would attempt such a deed.”

“Probably he meant to plead brain storm as an excuse,” said Lee.

Dick shook his head decisively.

“I must refuse to believe that Lynch contemplated any such dastardly act. Perhaps there’s nothing but powder in this pistol. Perhaps he had some freakish scheme in his befogged mind. Lee, I’m going to find out whether there’s anything more than powder in this pistol. I haven’t anything to draw the charge, but there’s another way to settle the point. Come down into the back yard with me.”

They descended the stairs and passed through the kitchen into the back yard. Finding a heavy block of wood, Merriwell placed it close to the fence, retreated a few feet, and leveled the pistol at it. When he pulled the trigger there was an explosion like the report of a shotgun. Springing forward to the block of wood, Dick examined it.

“Great Scott!” he cried, his face paling. “Look here!”

His finger pointed to the spot where two bullets had entered the wood close to each other.

“I see it! I see it!” spluttered Lee. “That settles it! Now you know the old thing was loaded with something more than powder.”

Dick took out his handkerchief and wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead.

“Mike Lynch must have been crazy,” he said huskily. “Only a crazy man would think of using such a weapon as this, anyhow. Any one in his right senses would have chosen an up-to-date revolver. Kid, I wish you’d ask the kitchen girl for a hatchet. I’m going to get those bullets or slugs out of this block.”

But Maggie herself was on hand, having been brought out by the report of the pistol.

“Heavings save us!” she gasped, holding up her hands. “What air you doing, Mr. Merriwell? You nearly scat me to death a-shootin’ out here in the yard.”

“Bring me the hatchet, Maggie!” called Dick. “I want to use it right away.”

The girl reëntered the house and reappeared with a heavy, broad-bladed hatchet in her hand. Seizing this implement, Dick split off a piece of the bullet-pierced block.

“Say, but there was a heavy charge of powder in that old thing,” observed Lee. “Look how deep the bullets went in.”

Merriwell hacked at the block until finally one of the bullets was uncovered. Cutting away around it, he pried it out with a corner of the hatchet.

“Fresh-molded,” he muttered, holding it up. “See how bright it is.”

Lee seized the hatchet and hacked away at the block to bring the other bullet to light. While Bertie was doing this, Dick produced his jackknife and tried the blade on the bullet he had secured.

“This is not lead,” he announced. “It’s too hard and too bright. If it were lead, it would have flattened out. By Jove, Kid, this looks like silver to me!”

“Here’s the other one!” cried Lee. “They’re mates, Dick. Say, if you’d ever got those through your head, it would have been your everlasting finish.”

Dick took the second bullet, inspected it, compared it with the first, and dropped them both into his pocket.

“Bertie,” he said, “I want you to keep a close mouth about this business. Don’t mention it to any one—at least, don’t mention it until I give you permission.”

“I’m not liable to mention it,” said Bertie quickly. “I don’t want Mike Lynch on my neck. I don’t know what you think about it, Dick, but it seems to me that Lynch had something mighty nasty in his mind when he was sneaking up behind you. If he’s daffy, he should be placed in confinement where he’ll do no injury to any one. It isn’t right to let a crazy fellow run loose. I’m afraid of him. If they don’t take care of Lynch, I’m liable to get out of New Haven myself, I tell you that.”

“Don’t hurry, Kid. If Mike Lynch is crazy enough to attempt murder, I’m going to see that he is taken care of. But first I think I shall talk with Lynch myself.”

Having arrived at such a decision, Dick wasted little time. He proceeded straight to the room occupied by Lynch and unhesitatingly knocked for admission.

A voice called, “Come in!”

Lynch was sitting in a morris chair with a bandage around his head. He was wearing a dressing gown and looked pale and listless.

“Hello, Merriwell!” he said, with an intonation of surprise as Dick appeared. “I didn’t suppose it was you. Thought it might be some of my friends, but they don’t seem to be in any hurry about calling to find out whether I’m seriously injured or not. Won’t you sit down?”

“I’m not going to make a long call,” said Dick. “I dropped in to ask you about this queer old pistol. Have you ever seen it before?”

He produced the weapon and held it up before Lynch as he spoke.

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