Behind them the enraged Blackfeet began shooting, and the bullets whistled over the heads of the fugitives.
"I pray none of those hits little Fairy," panted Frank.
"Ef we could strike some kind o' cover an' hed a minute to spar', we'd be able ter stan' ther varmints off," came from Old Rocks.
"My rifle is empty."
"I ain't got mine, an' I'll allow my small guns are empty; but I kin load 'em as we run."
"We may have to fight anyhow."
"Right, boy. Ef we do, dog my cats ef we don't make some o' them onery skunks gaul derned sick!"
Still running, Old Rocks snapped the empty shells from his revolvers, and replaced them with fresh cartridges.
At times it was not easy to keep track of the Hermit, who ran through the night with the speed of a deer and the tirelessness of a hound.
Now and then the frightened child cried out, and this aided Frank and the old guide in following.
Rocks soon replenished his revolvers, and said:
"Thar, I kinder 'lows we kin make it interestin' fer them varmints ef they press us too hard. Dunno ez I kin find ther place whar I hid my rifle, but I reckons I oughter."
"If we escape."
"Ef we escape! Whut's ther matter with you, boy? Think we can't dodge them red whelps in ther dark?"
"We might alone; but the man ahead of us may make no attempt to do so, and we must stand by him. It would not do to let the child fall into the hands of those wretches again. They would surely murder her."
"They'd be likely ter, an' that's facts. Oh, we'll back up ther Hermit, an' thar won't be no trouble 'bout gittin' erway, 'less them varmints behind manages ter hit one o' us with a lead pill."
The flight and pursuit continued, the Blackfeet seeming to have the eyes of owls or the scent of hounds. They pressed the fugitives hard, and Old Rocks feared that some of the flying bullets which whistled around them would find a mark.
At length the guide gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"Reckon I knows whar ther Hermit is headin' fer," he said.
"Where?" asked Frank.
"Straight fer Sand Cave."
"Where is Sand Cave?"
"Not very fur ahead. Thar is some bowlders at ther mouth o' ther cave, and we oughter be able ter stand ther red niggers off thar."
"Are you sure the Hermit is going there?"
"I ain't sure, but it looks thet way. It ain't likely he kin keep up this pace much farther, an' kerry ther child."
However, Old Rocks feared the man ahead might not be making for Sand Cave, and so he called to the Hermit, asking him if he knew where to find the cave. The Hermit replied that he did, and Rocks urged him to go there.
"Git in with ther gal—git in out o' ther way o' bullets," advised the old guide. "Ther boy an' me will stand ther red dogs off all right."
To this the Hermit agreed.
A short time later, as they were rushing along the base of a bluff, the Hermit was seen to disappear.
"Hyar's ther cave!" panted Old Rocks, catching hold of the boy. "Right yar behind these boulders. In with yer!"
Frank saw the dark mouth of the cave behind the bowlders, over which he vaulted.
The cry of the child came out of the darkness of the cave.
The Hermit and little Fay were there.
"Reddy!" hissed Old Rocks, crouching behind the bowlders—"reddy ter repel invaders!"
The Blackfeet were coming on, and their dusky forms suddenly appeared near at hand in the darkness.
On his knees behind a bowlder, Frank had drawn a revolver, and he began firing with Old Rocks.
The flash of the weapons blinded the boy for the moment, and he stopped shooting when he had fired three times.
Old Rocks stopped at the same moment, growling:
"Thet's ther way with ther onery skunks! They'll never come up and be shot down ther way they oughter!"
The Indians had disappeared.
"Where are they?" asked Frank, wonderingly.
"Right near yere, you kin bet yer dust," answered the guide. "They drapped down ther instant we begun slingin' lead, an' they're huggin' ther yearth, you bet!"
"Did we kill any?"
"Wa-al, I dunno; but I'll allow thet I didn't do any shootin' fer fun. I don't b'lieve in thet under such circumstances."
"This affair may bring on an Indian war."
"Let'er bring! It'll be er good thing ef it does, an' ther hull Injun nation is wiped out. But ther chances are thet it'll never be heard of by anybody except them we tell itto. Ther varmints will make tracks outer ther park, fer they're on forbidden ground."
"If the soldiers should turn up——"
"It'd be a mighty good thing fer us. Still, I kinder reckon we'll be able ter hold Half Hand an' his gang off till they git weary."
They took care that their revolvers were replenished with cartridges, and then Frank loaded his rifle.
A sudden silence seemed to brood over the whole world.
Old Rocks stirred uneasily.
"I don't like it," he muttered, speaking to himself.
"Don't like what?" asked Frank, who felt a foreboding of some coming catastrophe.
"This yare stillness. Why, thar ain't even an owl hootin'."
"What do you think it means?"
"Dunno; but it means somethin'. Keep yer eyes an' ears open, an' be ready fer what may come."
Little Fay had ceased her sobbing, and the silence was finally broken by her voice:
"Who's doin' to tate me to my mamma?"
Then the Hermit was heard trying to comfort and reassure her.
"Dog my cats ef I wouldn't like ter smoke!" muttered Old Rocks; "but I'll allow thet it w'u'dn't do ter light a match hyar."
"No; it might be fatal. The light——"
The sharp report of a rifle rang out, and Frank fell backward behind the bowlder.
With a grated exclamation, Old Rocks flung up his revolver, and took a snap shot at the spot where he had seen the red flash of the weapon as it was discharged.
"Did you get him?" asked Frank, as he sat up.
"Dunno," was the answer; "but I wuz afeared he'd got you."
"The bullet whistled so close to my head that I felt the wind of it. It must have penetrated the cave."
To their ears came the sound of a deep groan, and then the voice of the Hermit reached them:
"The bullet came in here. I am shot!"
"Holy cats!" gasped Old Rocks.
"The child!" panted Frank. "What if the red wretches fire again, and their bullets reach her? She must be placed where she will be safe."
"Right."
"Can you hold the mouth of the cave?"
"I kin try it."
"I will go in there and see how badly the Hermit is injured, and will see if both cannot be placed beyond the reach of bullets."
"Thet's easy. Ther cave is a big one, but this hyar is ther only entrance ter it."
Frank crept back into the cave, softly calling to the Hermit. The man was groaning, and, as Frank crept near, a pair of soft arms suddenly closed about the boy's neck, while a sweet voice sounded in his ear:
"I knows you w'en I hears you speak. You singed me to sleep. I tolt you I'd be your Fairy."
"So you did, dear," said the boy, giving her a tender embrace; "and I have done my best in the work of saving you from the Indians."
"Bad Injuns!" exclaimed Fay. "Dey tarry me off fwom my mamma. You tate me to my mamma?"
"We will, dear."
Frank's hands found the wounded man, and he asked:
"Where did the bullet strike you, Hermit?"
"Here in the side," was the faint answer. "I think I am done for! I have found death at last!"
The boy shivered, for the words were uttered exultantly, as if the man actually rejoiced.
"Are you able to creep back farther into the cave?" Frank asked.
"I don't know. Why should I do so? It is too much exertion."
"If not for your own sake, you should do so for the child. Another bullet may reach her."
The man stirred and sat up.
"That is true," he panted. "She must be returned uninjured, and Foster Fairfax must know that I did my best to save her."
"Foster Fairfax! He is the man you saw this morning?"
"Yes."
"What is he to this child?"
"He is her father."
"And you—what are you to her?"
"Nothing."
Frank was somewhat dazed, for he had felt sure that the Hermit was Fay's father.
"We were friends," explained the wounded man. "I can't tell all the story. We both loved Marian Dale. Our rivalry was fair and square, and we swore that the one who won her should still retain the friendship of the other. At last, she promised to be mine at the end of six months. Business took me into the Southwest, and there I met Fairfax, who had rushed away as soon as he learned of my success. He was somewhat bitter toward me, and accused me of using unfair means to win Marian. We parted, and the very next day I was in a railroad collision, being injured about the head, so I did not know my own name. I recovered, but I was still unable to tell my name or remember anything of my past. In this condition, I wandered over the countryfour years. I was able to make a living, and seemed all right, with the exception that I could not remember anything back of the accident. One night in Omaha I was in a hotel fire, and I jumped from the window to escape. They took me up in an unconscious condition, and carried me to a hospital. I recovered, and my memory came back to me. Then I hurried East to Marian, and I found her married to Foster Fairfax, who had told her that I was dead, and that he had seen my dead body. This little girl is their child."
"While you are talking, you are losing blood," said Frank. "Move back, and let me see if I cannot stop the flow."
He induced the Hermit to move back into the cave, where he was able to light some matches and examine the wound. Not being a physician, Frank could not tell how severe it was; but, with considerable difficulty, he finally succeeded in stanching the flow of blood to a certain extent.
"It is useless," declared the Hermit. "I am booked, and I am glad of that. I have nothing to live for."
"Yes, you has!" cried little Fay, creeping close to him. "I dess you is pretty dood man. One time I had a birdie that die, and it was all tovered up in the dround. You don't want to be all tovered up like dat. I don't want you to be."
"God bless you!" murmured the Hermit, thickly. "You are a dear, sweet child, and I shall not live to make more trouble for your father and mother."
All was quiet at the mouth of the cave. Frank was longing to hear more of the Hermit's story, and so he questioned the man.
"How does it happen that Foster Fairfax and his wife are not living together?"
"I separated them."
"How?"
"I appeared like one risen from the dead, and Marian was prostrated by the sight of me. I denounced Foster, called him a false friend and a dastardly traitor. I was insane at the moment, and it is remarkable that I did not kill him. However, I swore to have his life if we ever met again. Then I left them."
"And you did not see Fairfax again till you met him here in the park?"
"No."
"How did it happen he left his wife?"
"When I met him I did not know they were not living together. He forced me to listen, and he told me how he had taken a mangled corpse from the wreck and buried it as me—how he had firmly believed me dead. Then he bore the news to Marian, and she was prostrated.
"He loved her, but it was long before she consented to marry him. At last, she did so, and they married, both believing me in my grave."
Frank was fascinated by the story.
"Go on," he urged.
"When I appeared both were horrified. When I left them, Marian accused Foster of treachery. She was unreasonable and would listen to nothing he could say. She bade him leave her and never return. He departed, and they have not seen each other since. He does not know she is somewhere in the park, as she must be, else the child would not be here. I did not tell him of the peril of his child, but I resolved to save her and restore her to his arms. I have saved her, but I shall be unable to take her to him. I shall not live to see the light of another day."
"Oh, you may not be so badly injured as all that."
"I am. I am sure of it. I will leave the child in yourcare. Take her to him, and tell him that I forgive everything. Never again will I rise like one from the dead to come between Foster and Marian."
Frank remained with the man a while longer, and then, telling Fay to stay there that she might keep beyond the reach of bullets, he returned to the mouth of the cave.
"I'm glad ye've come, boy," said Old Rocks. "Ef them pesky varmints ain't gone away entirely, they're up ter mischief, an' I needs yer hyar."
They crouched behind the bowlders and waited, while the minutes slipped away, and the same silence reigned.
At least an hour passed, and then came a sudden sound that filled both with surprise and alarm.
Behind them there was a faint dropping in the cave, a movement, a rush, and a roar. Then a cloud of dust swirled out and nearly smothered them.
"What is the meaning of that?" said Frank, bewildered.
"A cave-in!" shouted Old Rocks, making a hasty examination. "By ther livin' gods! ther hull derned cave is blocked, an' ther Hermit an' ther leetle gal is both buried beneath ur beyond thet fall!"
Frank was horrified beyond measure.
"It is terrible!" he gasped. "Poor little Fay!"
"What you want?" asked the familiar voice of the child, near at hand. "It was lonetome in dere. The mans goed to sleep, an' I tomed out to see you."
"Thank God!" came fervently from Frank's lips, as he caught her up in his arms and covered her face with kisses.
"Wa-al, thet's whut I call luck!" gurgled the guide.
"Luck!" cried Frank, rebukingly. "It was the hand of Providence! Can you doubt the wisdom and goodness of an Overruling Power after this?"
"Dunno ez I kin," admitted the old man. "It duz look like something a' ther kind took her out o' thar jest at ther right time."
A complete examination showed that the whole roof of the cave had apparently fallen in, and the passage was blocked with tons upon tons of earth and sand.
"This yar's ther end o' Sand Cave," said Old Rocks.
They kept the child with them and waited behind the rocks for the attack of the Blackfeet, but no attack came. Thus the long night passed, and another day came round.
Then it was found that the Indians had departed.
"They didn't dar' stay hayer longer," said Old Rocks. "Ther whelps wuz afeared o' ther soldiers. I'd like ter run onter ther soldiers an' set 'em arter Half Hand an' ther gang."
Led by the guide, they left the spot. Frank carried Fay in his arms.
Old Rocks first proceeded to the spot where he had hidden his rifle, and, with that again in his possession, he expressed himself as feeling ready to "chaw up ther hull Blackfeet tribe."
They found some game for breakfast and dinner, and before nightfall they reached the camp on the shore of the lake, where Preston March and Foster Fairfax had met.
A large party of tourists had gathered there, and the appearance of the man and boy, the latter bearing Fay in his arms, created the greatest excitement. Several persons rushed into the tent and drew forth a man and woman, the latter white and grief-stricken, and pointed out the child, who was sitting on Frank's shoulder and waving her hand, as she laughingly called:
"I dess my mamma is dere! I knowed you'd tate me bat to my mamma!"
The man and woman were Foster Fairfax and hiswife, who had met by accident there in the Wonderland of America. She had told him how little Fay had wandered away and become lost, and both had feared that they would never see their child again.
Their unutterable joy cannot be depicted in words. Frank and Old Rocks were the heroes of the occasion.
"Yer don't want ter give me too much credit fer this yar," said the guide. "I done ther trailin', but this yar tenderfut saved me frum bein' killed twice, an' he's got nerves o' steel. It ain't often I take ter a tenderfut, but I will allow thet this yar chap is a boy ter tie to. Ther babby sticks by him; he has won her heart. Dog my cats ef I blame her either!"
Then the old man told how Frank had saved him from the grizzly, how the boy had been tireless on the trail, how he had not murmured at any hardship, and how he had broken the arm of the Blackfoot Indian who was about to brain the guide.
As a result, Frank found himself regarded with unspeakable admiration by all the tourists, while Foster Fairfax and his wife could not say or do enough to express their feelings.
Frank told them of the death of Preston March, and, later, when Professor Scotch and Barney had been found by Rocks and brought into the party, all visited the spot where the Hermit of Yellowstone Park lay buried beneath tons of earth.
At the mouth of the cave Foster Fairfax caused a cross to be erected, bearing the name of the unfortunate man, the date of his birth and of his death.
Frank remained in the park till he succeeded in photographing some "real wild buffalo," and then he was well satisfied to move on to other fields of adventure.
Half Hand was shot while trying to get away with a stolen horse about a year later.
When the time came to part from Frank, little Fay was almost heart-broken. She clung to him, sobbing:
"Is you doin' to leave me? I don't want you to! You know I is your Fairy."
"You will ever be my Fairy," said the boy, with deep feeling. "Your mamma has promised me your picture, and I shall keep it with me ever. Some time by and by, dear, I will come back to you again."
And he kissed her farewell.
The remainder of the stop in Yellowstone Park proved a delightful time.
"I wish I could sthay wid ye, Frankie, me b'y," said Barney, one day.
"Stay with me? What do you mean?" asked Frank.
"Oi have news from home. Oi must go back to Fardale to rasume me studies."
"I'll be sorry to lose you Barney." And Frank spoke the truth, for he loved his Irish chum a good deal.
Just then Professor Scotch burst in on the pair, telegram in hand.
"I must return East at once," he cried. "A relative of mine has died and I must settle up his affairs."
"Two at once!" ejaculated Frank. "Then I'll be left to continue my travels alone."
"Not for long, my boy," answered the professor. "I will soon return to see that you fall into no more danger."
Two days later found Frank alone, the professor and Barney have taken the eastbound train the evening before. Frank proceeded to Ogden, Utah, where he spent three days in sight-seeing.
But he was anxious to go farther West, and one fine day found him a passenger on the Pacific Express, bound for San Francisco.
Every seat in the parlor cars was taken, as Frank discovered, on endeavoring to obtain one. Then he decided that any kind of a seat would do, but nearly every one was occupied.
As he passed through the train, he noticed a girl of seventeen or eighteen who seemed to be sitting alone. She was reading, and, as Frank came along, she dropped the book in her lap, looked up, and smiled.
Frank touched his hat, paused, and asked:
"Is this seat taken, miss?"
"No, sir."
"Would you object——"
He paused significantly, smiling back at her.
"Not at all," was her immediate reply, as she drew a bit nearer the window, and he sat down.
The book in the girl's lap was a noted one of detective tales. Frank caught his breath in astonishment as he noted this.
"Queer literature for such a girl to beperusing," was his mental observation.
He cast a sly glance at her. She was looking out of the window, but the side of her face was toward him. Frank noted that she had a beautiful profile, and that there was a most innocent and winsome expression about her mouth. Her hair was golden and her eyes were blue.
There was a refinement and delicacy about the girl which impressed Frank favorably.
Still, hewonderedthat a girl like her should be reading a book of detective tales. She was the sort of a girl he would have expected to see perusing love stories of the "Bertha M. Clay" class.
He longed to get into conversation with her, and yet, for all of the smile with which she had seemed to greet him, something held him back and told him it was not wise to be too forward.
At last she resumed reading again. She did not read long. With a faint, scornful laugh, she dropped the book in her lap.
Frank fancied he saw an opportunity to "break the ice."
"You do not seem to like those stories," he observed.
"They are very amusing, and utterly improbable and impossible," she said.
The boy laughed.
"Then you fancy the author overdrew his hero?" he asked.
"To be sure he did. There is no detective living who can do such astonishing things as this one is credited with. No such detective ever lived."
"Possibly not."
"Surely not. You cannot make me believe that a detective could come in here, look me over, and then tell everything about me almost to my name and the hour of my birth. Rubbish!"
Frank's wonder at the girl was on the increase. She did not talk much like the ordinary girl of seventeen.
"If you dislike the stories so much how does it happen you are reading them?"
"Oh, I do not dislike them. I confess that I found them very amusing, but I am beginning to weary of them."
"I consider it remarkable that you attempted reading them."
"Why?"
"Young ladies like you seldom care for this kind of literature."
"Oh, I see. I presume not. They are too sentimental—soft, some call it. Well, I am not sentimental."
"Perhaps not."
She lifted her eyebrows and pursed her lips a bit.
"You say that as if you do not believe me. Never mind. It makes no difference whether you believe me or not."
She did not seem offended, and still she gave him to understand that what he thought was of little consequence to her.
"Well," laughed Frank, "I have never yet met a girl who did not declare she was bound to be an old maid, and those are the very ones who get married first."
"And you think, because of that, that I must be sentimental, as I have said that I am not, do you?"
"Oh, well—you see—I—I——"
She interrupted him with a merry laugh.
"Do not be afraid to answer. I don't mind. We are strangers, and why should I be offended?"
"It is true we are strangers," said Frank; "and, as we may be seatmates for some time to come, I will offer my card."
He drew out a cardcase and gave her a delicate bit of cardboard, with his name engraved upon it.
"Frank Merriwell," she read. "Why, that is a splendid name, and it seems to fit you so well! I like you all the better for your name."
"Whew!" thought Frank. "That is point-blank, and still she says she is not sentimental. She may not be, but she is decidedly complimentary on short acquaintance."
Aloud, he said:
"I am happy there is something about me that you admire, if it is no more than my name."
She smiled, looking at him in a big-eyed, innocent way.
"Why, I didn't say that was all. I have not known you long enough to tell. I am no gifted detective, and I cannot read your character at a glance."
"Well, supposing we say the detective was a freak or a myth, and relegate him to the background."
"That goes," she said.
Then she clapped her hand over her mouth, with a little exclamation of dismay, quickly exclaiming:
"That is dreadful! I completely forgot myself! You see, I have been away to school, and I caught on to some slang there, and I find I can't shake it, although mamma doesn't like to have me make such breaks."
She paused, a look of the utmost dismay coming to her face, as if she just realized what she had been saying.
It was with the utmost difficulty Frank restrained his laughter. At the same time he felt his liking and admiration for the strange girl growing swiftly. The little slip into slang seemed to add to her innocence, especially when followed by such utter dismay.
"I am bound to do it occasionally," she said, after a few moments. "I can't seem to get out of the habit, although I have tried. I trust you will pardon me."
"Certainly."
"Thank you. I'll keep this card. I have none of my own with me. My name is Isa Isban."
Somehow, that name was a shock to Frank. He could not have told why, to save his life, but there was something unpleasant about it. It did not seem to fit the girl at all.
However, this feeling soon passed, and they were chatting freely in a short time. Their conversation drifted from topic to topic, and Frank was delighted to find his fair companion wondrously well informed on subjects such as are given little attention by most young girls. She could even talk politics rationally, and she rather worsted Frank on a tariff discussion.
"You are beyond my comprehension," he declared, admiringly. "Where you ever learned so much is more than I can understand."
"Do you fancy that young men are the only ones who know things? If you do, you are sure to find there are others—— Oh, dear! there I go again."
Having become so well acquainted, Frank asked ifshe were bound for San Francisco, and, to his disappointment, she informed him that Carson City was her destination.
The conductor came through the train for tickets. Frank had his ready, and the girl began searching for hers, but had not found it when the conductor came along.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, and Frank was about to offer to aid her, if she needed a loan, when she opened her purse and took out several bills, every one of them new and crisp, and of large denominations.
"The smallest I have is fifty dollars," she said. "Papa gave me large bills, as he said they would not be so bulky."
"I can't change a bill of that size," said the conductor.
"I can," put in Frank, immediately producing his pocketbook. "I will break it for you."
So he took the new bank-note, and gave her two twenties, a five and five ones for it, enabling her to pay her fare without difficulty.
The conductor gave the girl a rebate ticket and passed on.
"Thank you so much!" she said to Frank. "I believe I may have trouble in getting those large bills broken. Would you mind giving me small bills for another fifty?"
Frank did not mind, and he gave them.
Thereby hangs a tale.
The Pacific Express drew into Reno on time, and Frank Merriwell was about to bid adieu to the beautiful girl whom he had first met the day before.
"I shall not soon forget this pleasant journey," he said, sincerely. "Your company has made it very agreeable, Miss—Isban."
Somehow, he stumbled over that name, to which he had taken such a strong dislike.
"Thank you," she said, and he half fancied her lip quivered a bit. "You have been very kind, Mr. Merriwell."
Frank's heart fluttered a bit; the train was drawing into the station; the boy leaned toward her, his eyes shining, a flush in his cheeks.
"And now we are to say good-by, without the least probability of ever seeing each other again," he said, his voice not quite steady.
She turned away for a moment, and then, as she turned back, she swiftly said:
"It is possible we may never see each other again, but you have given me your home address, and you say any letter I may send will be forwarded to you. You may hear from me—some time."
"I may—but if you would promise to write——"
"I have told you I cannot promise that."
"And you will not give me your address?"
"I cannot for reasons known to myself. Do not ask me."
"Miss Isban, I believe you are in trouble—some things you have told me have led me to believe so. If you need a friend at any time, let me hear from you."
She gave him her hand, looked straight into his eyes, and said:
"I will."
The brakeman thrust open the door and shouted:
"Reno. Change here for Carson, Virginia City, Candelaria and Keeler."
The train came to a dead stop.
Frank escorted Isa from the car, carrying her traveling bag, which he gave to her when the station platform was reached.
"Remember!" he breathed in her ear.
Her hand touched his, she smiled into his eyes, whispering:
"I will! Good-by."
He lifted his hat, as she turned away.
At that moment a youth came hurrying forward, lifted his hat, his face radiant, and accosted Isa:
"Vida," he said, "I am here. You did not come when you said, but I have been watching for you."
Frank staggered back.
"Cæsar's ghost!" he palpitated. "Is it possible, or do my eyes deceive me? Can that be Bart Hodge, my schoolmate, chum, and comrade of Fardale? As I live, I believe it is! And he knows Miss Isban! What's the matter? She does not seem to know him!"
The girl had drawn back, with an expression of alarm.
"I think you have made a mistake, sir," she said, rather haughtily.
"A mistake!" gasped the handsome youth, astonished and dismayed. "Why, you know me! There is no mistake."
"But there is. I do not know you."
"Vida, you say that? Why, I am——"
"Animpertinentyoung scoundrel!"
Smack!—an open hand struck Bart Hodge on the cheek, sending him reeling. The blow was delivered by a large man, with a heavy black mustache and the manner and appearance of a "gentleman rowdy." His clothes were flashy, and he "sported" several large diamonds.
Frank was not the boy to stand idle and see a friend struck. Without a word he made a leap for the big man. His fist was clinched, his arm shot out, and his knuckles took the fellow under the left ear.
It was a beautiful knock-down blow. The man measured his length on the platform in an instant.
"All aboard!"
The train was about to start, the conductor was giving the signal.
"Let it go," said Frank, quietly. "It is possible I had better stay here and see this matter through. Bart may need me."
The train began to move.
With a cry of dismay, the girl had knelt beside the fallen man.
A bit dazed, Bart Hodge had faced around in time to see Frank strike that telling blow. Bart stared, almost doubting the evidence of his eyes.
"Great guns!" he gasped.
Then he sprang forward, his hand outstretched, shouting:
"Frank Merriwell!"
"Bart Hodge!"
They shook hands, both laughing forth their delight.
"You are a sight for sore eyes, old man!" cried Bart.
"You're another!" flung back Frank.
The man with the black mustache pushed away the girl and sat up, staring, in a dazed way, at the two boys.
"Who struck me?" he asked.
"I believe I had that pleasure," smiled Frank.
"You? Did you knock me down? Why, you're a kid! I can kill you with one blow!"
He got upon his feet, his face dark as a thundercloud.
The girl caught him by the arm, crying, in distress:
"Don't Paul—don't harm him! He has been kind to me on the train. I beg you not to hurt him!"
This seemed to anger the man still more.
"Kind to you, eh?" he snarled. "And the other one tried to flirt with you. I will——"
His hand went round to his hip, and there was a mad, deadly gleam in his eyes. He looked murderous.
Neither of the boys made a move to draw a weapon.
"I wouldn't do it," said Frank, coolly. "I know this section of the country is called 'the wild and woolly West,' but it is not sufficiently wild and woolly to overlook a cold-blooded murder. If you take a fancy to shoot two boys you will be pretty sure to get yourself beautifully hanged."
"Oh, I won't shoot!" growled the man, his hand dropping away from his hip. "But I will——"
"Easy, there!" came sharply from the lips of a police officer. "Somebody is going to get yanked here."
He forced his way through the crowd that had formed a circle about the principal actors on the scene.
"Who is talking about shooting here?" he demanded. "Where is the man who carries concealed weapons?"
"Come away, Paul," whispered the girl, pulling at the man's arm.
"All right," he muttered—"all right, but there are other days. Those young whelps had better keep out of my way."
"Disperse, here!" ordered the officer, commandingly, flourishing his stick. "Be lively about it, too."
The crowd began to disperse.
The big man turned away, and the girl took his arm. Bart Hodge took a step after them, but Frank caught hold of his arm, saying, sharply:
"Easy, old boy! Let her go."
"But——"
"Are you looking for further trouble right here?"
"No, but——"
"Then mind me."
"I suppose I'll have to, as you always were the boss. But I know that girl, and she refused to recognize me."
"Well, what do you think you can do about it?"
"I was going to demand an explanation, and——"
"You would have received it—from the man who accompanies her."
Frank drew Bart away, but the latter still grumbled.
"If you understood it—if you knew, Frank. Why, I have chased across the continent to meet her, and then to have her cut me dead! It is terrible!"
Frank smiled.
"I should fancy it would seem a bit hard," he confessed. "But you may have made a mistake."
"Not much!"
"Still, it is possible you did, Bart—it is probable."
"Probable! Get out! I——"
"Wait a minute. It happens that I am slightly acquainted with the young lady."
"You? She never mentioned you to me."
"Still, I am slightly acquainted with her," smiled Frank, who knew well enough why she had never mentioned him. "I heard you call her Vida, and——"
"That is her name—Vida Melburn."
"It's just as I thought—you have mistaken this girlfor some one else. The name of this young lady is Isa Isban."
"Impossible!"
"It is the truth. I traveled with her from Ogden, and she left me a moment before you observed her. Now, I know what I am talking about, and you are twisted, old boy."
Bart smote his hands together, his dark eyes glowing.
"I will not believe it yet; but, if it is true, there are two girls in the world who look exactly alike."
"Come away from here," said Frank. "Where can we obtain something to eat? We can talk it over——"
"Hold on, Frank. I believe those people are going to take the next train south, which leaves immediately."
"That is right. Miss Isban is on her way to Carson."
"Then I shall take that train."
Frank looked his friend over from head to foot.
"Say," he chuckled, "you are hard hit! I will confess that I was a bit stuck on the girl, but I did not have it this way."
"She is in trouble," asserted Bart. "I mean to be on hand to help her, if she needs assistance."
"All right; we'll take the next train south."
And so they took the next train for Carson City.
Isa Isban and her companion of the dark mustache were on the same train, as they learned without difficulty.
The girl and the man were in the same car with the boys, but neither of them seemed to pay the least attention to the latter.
"Look here, Frank," said Bart,"tell me how you happened to get acquainted with her."
Frank did so, and Bart's face clouded as he listened.
"I know you are great at catching on with the girls," Bart observed; "but I swear I did not believe Vida Melburn was the sort to take up with a chance acquaintance, under any circumstances."
Frank laughed.
"Now, you are jealous, old man," he said. "It came about naturally enough, and she acted like a lady."
"But not like the Vida Melburn I know."
"I do not believe she is the Vida Melburn you know. You have been deceived by a resemblance, my boy."
Bart shook his head.
"Not much! Don't take me for a fool, Frank! I am not such a dunderhead as that—oh, no!"
"Then she lied to one of us."
Bart's face lighted a bit.
"Possibly she did not care to give you her right name, having made your acquaintance in such a manner. That must be the real explanation."
"Look here, Bart, that girl is too unsophisticated, tooinnocent to work that kind of a game. She has the most innocent face I ever saw."
"You are right," the dark-haired lad confessed, "Vida would not be likely to do such a thing. She is frank and open as the day."
"Well, what do you make of it?"
"I don't know what to make of it."
"Tell me how you came to know her."
"She was visiting at Fardale, and I became acquainted with her. She liked me and—I liked her. We were together a great deal. She did not tell me much about herself, but, still, I learned a few things. Her home is in Sacramento, but she has relatives in Carson City. I found out that there had been trouble between her father and mother, and they had separated. That is how her father happened to send her East. Her relatives at Fardale did not regard me with favor for some reason, and they ordered me to have nothing more to say to her. Still, we met occasionally, and—to tell the truth, old boy—I fell in love with her. They found out we were seeing each other secretly, and they made a rumpus about it. Then they wrote to her father, and they sent for her to return to the West. She was shipped off in a hurry, so we would see no more of each other; but she wrote me a short note, telling me to address her at Austin, Nevada. I did so, and, as I happen to have a rich old uncle in California, I proposed to come out here. She answered, saying she would be in Reno just three days ago, and for me to meet her at the railway station, if possible. It looked impossible then, but I was hard hit, and I made a big hustle to get away from school and come out here. I worked all kinds of schemes on the governor, and he finally agreed to let me come West to visit Uncle Hiram. I came, and I was in Reno on thedate set, but she did not appear. I have been there every day since, and to-day she came. You know the rest."
Frank regarded his friend steadfastly for some moments, smiling covertly.
"You are a queer fellow, Bart," he said. "You go to extremes in everything. Now, stop and think of chasing away out here after a girl. It is——"
Bart interrupted him with a sharp gesture.
"Oh, I know—I don't deny that I am a fool! At the same time I can't help it. I never saw a girl before this one that I cared a snap for. She seems to be my affinity."
Frank's laugh rang out merrily.
"Affinity is good!" he exclaimed. "You are hard hit. And the girl threw you down when you appeared on the scene. What do you make of that?"
Bart scowled.
"I am sure of one thing."
"And that is—what?"
"She is in trouble."
"Who is the man with her?"
"That is what I'd like to know. I am sure she fears him. She must have seen him, and she must have feared to recognize me. There can be no other explanation."
"He is not her father, is he?"
"That creature the father of that girl? Well, not much!"
"No, he is not. If I remember right, she called him Paul. Can he be her brother?"
"Never!"
"Then, what is he?"
"You tell."
"I can't."
"More than ever am I sure she is in trouble—great trouble. I am determined to know the truth. I will learn it from her own lips."
"How?"
"By following her till I get an opportunity to speak with her."
"Well, Bart, you are so badly struck that all I can do is hang by you and see you through. We will solve the mystery of this girl, if we are capable of doing so."
"Right you are, Frank."
Then they spoke of other matters, old friends at Fardale, and how things were moving there. Bart told all about the events that had taken place at the academy since Frank left, how they had missed him as a leader in sports of all kinds, how often he was spoken of with admiration and affection by his old comrades, and how even the professors held him up as a model to be emulated.
"They seem to have forgotten the pranks you were up to and the larks you were in," said Bart; "but they remember that you stood at the head in everything you undertook."
Then Frank told of his own adventures in knocking about, and Bart regarded him with still greater admiration.
"You are the luckiest fellow alive!" declared the dark-haired lad. "I wish I had a rich and eccentric old uncle to kick the bucket and leave me a big fortune on condition that I would 'travel over the world to advance my education and broaden my ideas.' Say, that uncle of yours was a good thing!"
"Uncle Asher was original in everything."
"I should guess yes. When are you going abroad?"
"Very soon. Professor Scotch will make arrangements for such a move while he is in the East."
"You are the envy of Fardale. Hans Dunnerwust returned with a stock of tales of astounding adventures, which he managed to bungle badly in the telling. And now I suppose Barney Mulloy will take his turn. Between them they will make you out one of the most remarkable heroes of modern times."
Thus the boys chatted till Carson City was reached.
All the while Bart was watching the girl closely, and he saw that she really intended to get off at Carson.
The boys slipped out of the car, and were on the platform as soon as the pair they were following reached it. It happened that the station platform was crowded, and they were swallowed by the throng, so they found it easy to keep out of sight of the man and girl.
The man seemed to watch to see if the boys left the car, while the girl tried to draw him away. After some moments he submitted, and they entered a closed carriage.
"Here!" exclaimed Frank, catching hold of a sleepy driver and giving him a whirl; "see that carriage?"
"Yep."
"Don't lose sight of it for a moment, but do not seem to follow it. Understand?"
"I reckon."
"Good! If you do the trick well, you get a tenner."
"Got it?"
"See."
Frank showed his roll, on the outside of which were the bright new fifty-dollarbills.
"Get in."
The boys sprang in lively, the door closed on them, the driver leaped to his seat, the whip cracked, and away they went.
"This is the first time I ever played the detective," said Bart.
"But it is not the first time for me," declared Frank. "I have founditnecessary, several times, in New York, Chicago, New Orleans and elsewhere."
"I noticed how ready you were to do the proper thing. You did not give them the start."
"Not a bit of it."
"You are the same old, self-reliant, hustling, go-ahead Frank Merriwell. The only changes I can see in you are for the better."
"Thank you."
The driver in advance was a hustling fellow, and he had two good horses. He sent them right along. Now, it was fortunate that, although, the driver behind was a sleepyhead, he, also, had some fine horses, and he did not make any great effort to keep them at a clipping pace.
It is probable that the man with the black mustache regarded the boys with no little contempt, for he surely made no effort to give them the slip. It is likely he did not fancy they would follow him so hotly.
At length the carriage in advance stopped before a certain house, and the driver got down to open the door.
The driver who was carrying the boys continued past, turned the first corner, stopped short, jumped down, opened the door, and said:
"Got 'em? They're just round the corner back yon."
"And you have earned your X," said Frank, springing out.
"This is counterfeit!"
It was in the First National Bank of Carson, between nine and ten o'clock of the day following Frank's arrival in the city.
Frank had found it difficult to get either of the new fifty-dollar bills changed, and so he stepped into the bank and asked if he could be favored there.
The bill had been scrutinized closely, the cashier had examined it beneath a magnifying glass, after which he questioned the boy concerning his manner of obtaining the paper, and Frank had told the truth fully and without hesitation. Then the boy had been called into a private room, and the cashier had declared the bill counterfeit.
Frank had been prepared for such an assertion by what went before it, and he immediately opened his pocketbook and produced the other bill which he had received of Isa Isban.
"Please look at this, and see if it is also counterfeit," he asked, with remarkable coolness.
In a moment the cashier said:
"It is a mate for the first one. Both are 'queer.' My boy, this is bad stuff to be carrying around. It is liable to bring you into no end of trouble."
As he said this he was regarding Frank's face with a searching stare, as if seeking to discover if the lad were honest or crooked.
Frank knew he was under suspicion, and he bore himself as quietly as possible.
"This is the first intimation I have received that the bills are bad," declared the lad. "I received them as I have explained, and I have tried in several places, this morning, to get one of them broken, but did not succeed. I finally came here."
The cashier's brows lowered. He partially closed his eyes, and regarded the boy steadily. Then he began once more to ask questions.
Frank knew he was in an unfortunate situation, and he decided the best thing he could do was to answer every question truthfully, which he did.
It happened there was not much business going on in the bank. The paying teller and the receiving teller listened to the questions and answers. The receiving teller was a young man, and his face wore a sneering look of incredulity. He regarded Frank with open doubt, and, once or twice, muttered, "Ridiculous!" "Nonsense!" "A clever lie!" or something of the sort.
The face of the paying teller was calm and unexpressive. It seemed that he had not determined in his own mind if the boy were telling the truth. He was listening to hear everything before he decided.
Frank explained how he came to be in Carson City, having given his name, age, his guardian's name, told where his home was, and answered more than a score of other questions.
The sneers of the receiving teller angered the boy; but he held his feelings in check, and did not seem to hear the man when he proposed that Merriwell be handed over to the special policeman in front of the bank.
"Mr. Merriwell," said the cashier, "I shall have to take possession of these bills."
"Why is that?"
"It is my duty. I have such instructions. You are getting off easy at that."
"But I shall not recover my hundred dollars."
"No; that is lost. Let me tell you something: There is a band of queer-makers somewhere in this vicinity. They do not attempt to run their stuff into circulation around here; the most of it is put out in Chicago. But they have been traced to this part of the country. Detectives are at work on the case—Secret Service men, in the employ of the government. Who these detectives are no one can say, although it has been reported that Dan Drake is in it. Up to this time they have been putting out tens and twenties. This fifty must be a new bit of work. And I have something more to tell you. It is said that the queen of this gang of counterfeiters is a beautiful young girl, who does not look to be more than seventeen years of age. It is possible——"
But he made a gesture of anger, because such a thing should be thought for a moment.
"It is not possible!" he said, sharply. "She is innocent of such a thing as that! Youcannotmake me believe——"
He stopped, noting that the look of scorn on the face of the receiving teller was deepening. Then, slowly and surely, the thought that the girl had deceived him, that she was not as innocent as she looked, came upon him. The mystery that surrounded her deepened, and a sudden longing to know the truth grasped him.
The receiving teller laughed shortly, as he saw the changes which flitted across the lad's face.
"There's guilt for you!" he muttered.
Frank stiffened up, giving the man a cutting look.
"What became of this girl for whom you changed two fifty-dollar bills?" asked the cashier.
"I do not remember what became of her," declared Frank. "She was a passenger on the Pacific Express. I left the express at Reno."
"And she went on? Bound for 'Frisco, it is likely."
Frank had not said she went on. He explained that he met a friend at Reno, and that was how he happened to leave the express; that friend was coming to Carson, and that was how he happened to come to Carson.
He did not tell that they had followed the girl to Carson, had shadowed her to the house where she had stopped, and that his companion or himself had watched that house constantly, ever since.
"Bart is watching it now," he told himself. "She can't get away. She must explain to me how that bogus money came into her possession. I believe I know! The man with the black mustache must have given it to her!"
That the man with the sinister mustache was a villain he did not doubt, but he still doubted that the girl was anything but what she seemed—young, innocent, incapable of crime.
The cashier spoke a low word to one of his companions, and a sudden fear came upon Frank. Was the man ordering his arrest? He could not afford to be detained and bothered at that time. How would he solve the mystery if they placed him under arrest?
But Frank had nerve, and he would not take to his heels, knowing such an act would make it seem certain that he was guilty.
The receiving teller spoke sharply to the cashier, seemingly urging him to some action; but the boy heard the cashier reply:
"It will spoil the whole thing to be too hasty."
"The boy can be made to peach on the gang," said the teller, in a guarded tone.
"That's folly!" declared the cashier, shortly. "Theboy is not connected with the gang. Think they would send him here—to a bank—if he were! Have a little sense, Burton!"
The teller mumbled, looking sullen and rebuffed, while Frank felt relieved.
Then the cashier once more questioned Frank, as a lawyer might question a witness. He tried, in various ways, to entrap the boy, but Frank made no blunders.
After a time, the cashier seemed satisfied.
"I am sorry for you," he said. "You have lost a hundred dollars, but you are fortunate to escape arrest and imprisonment."
"I suppose I am," admitted Frank; "and I will tell you something, now; I propose to solve the mystery of this money. I am going to find that girl, I am going to find out how she came to have the bogus stuff, and I am going to bring this band of queer-makers to book, if possible."
The receiving teller laughed scornfully.
"A fine bluff!" he muttered.
The cashier gave him a crushing glance.
"You have undertaken a big job, my boy," said the latter. "I hardly think you will be able to carry it out when government detectives are bothered."
"I'll do my best."
"And you'll be pretty sure to get into further trouble."
"I may, but I am lucky about getting out of trouble."
"Yes, you are dead lucky," muttered the receiving teller.
The cashier gave Frank some outspoken advice, and then told the boy he might go.
Frank left the private office and walked out of the bank. There was a look of determination on his face.
"I don't fancy being beaten out of a hundred dollars,"he said to himself. "It's not the money so much; but if that girl knew—if she played me——"
He stopped short, anger and disgust expressed on his face. His pride was touched. He did not like to think that he had been thus deceived.
"I am going to know!" he vowed."I am going to know the truth!"
He walked away, his head down, thinking. He was trying to form a plan of action. Within a short time the mystery that surrounded the beautiful girl with two names had deepened. He must find a way to learn the truth; he would not be satisfied till he knew the truth.
For some time he walked along, paying little heed to his surroundings, and then, all at once, a thought came to him:
"I am followed!"
He was confident of it. He did not look back, but he seemed to see the shadower on his trail. They were determined to know at the bank if he had told the truth, and a detective had been detailed to keep watch of him.
Frank loitered along, looking into windows. He betrayed no uneasiness. At last he came to a restaurant. Into this he wandered, proceeding to a table at the farther end. Here he sat and gave his order.
The boy had taken a seat where he could watch the front door. In a short time a small man entered quietly, walked straight to a table, sat down, without glancing round, having hung his hat close at hand, and looked over the bill of fare.
"You are the shadower," decided Frank. "I wonder how I can give you the slip?"