“Das vas Pelvast,” said Hans.

“Yes,” nodded Frank, who was at the wheel of the White Wings, “that is Belfast, ‘the home of fair women, brave men and Strainer’s Sarsaparilla.’”

Frank Merriwell, the great Yale athlete, was cruising off the Maine coast, during this vacation in his yacht, the White Wings. He had with him four of his friends—Bart Hodge, Bruce Browning, Jack Diamond and Hans Dunnerwust.

“How do you knew so much apout him?” asked the Dutch boy.

“Why, there it is in glaring letters on that big advertising board that has been placed where it can be read almost anywhere here in the harbor.”

“Vale, I didn’t seen dot. I don’d vant no sarsbarillas, und I don’d gif a cend vor der prafe men, but I don’d mind if you took a look der peautiful girls at.”

“They say we shall see plenty of them here,” smiled Merry. “Belfast is famous for them. No city of its size in the State of Maine can compare with it for pretty girls and beautiful women, if the report is true.”

“Vot peen der madder mit Shack Ti’mond?” chuckled Hans, calling attention to the Virginian. “He don’d seem to took some interests dose peautiful girls in.”

“Haw!” grunted Bruce Browning. “He is thinking of the girl he left behind him—at Bar Harbor.”

“Vale, Baula Penjamin vos a beach,” admitted the Dutch boy; “but there vos odders.”

“You make me weary, Hans,” said Jack, irritated. “If you will close up a while I shall consider it a great favor.”

“I don’t toldt you so!” squawked Dunnerwust. “You vos tochy, dot’s vot is der madder mit me! You nefer vos aple to took a shoke in my life.”

“Your jokes are rather dense.”

“I don’d knew vot you meant py dot.”

“I didn’t suppose you would.”

The boys were charmed with the view of Belfast obtained from the water. The city is built on a slope, and is embowered in trees, the houses and cottages showing amid the green mass of foliage. Here and there could be seen the tall spires of churches. The handsome residence of the mayor on Northport Avenue could be plainly seen, as it was situated in a sightly place overlooking the harbor and the bay.

Several vessels were on the stocks in the shipyards, and the sound of hammering could be heard, while crews of men were seen busily working about them.

The harbor was filled with shipping. Lying at her wharf, taking on freight and passengers, was the Boston boat, City of Bangor, bound for the “Hub.”

“Where will you anchor, Frank?” asked Bart Hodge, approaching Merry.

“Beyond the steamboat wharf where that fleet of small boats and yachts are anchored.”

Clang-clang! clang-clang! The bell on the steamer suddenly rang, and Frank knew what the signal meant.

“She is going to swing off from the wharf,” he said. “It is high water, so I will hold inshore and let her go outside.”

The steamer’s paddle wheels began to revolve, and she swung round at the southern end of the wharf, straining at the huge cable that held and turned her. It took some time for her to turn, but a sudden toot from her whistle told that at last she was ready to go ahead. Then the cable was flung off and the great boat glided down the harbor.

A stream of teams and human beings were leaving the wharf and climbing the hill into the city, but on the wharf remained a group of young men and boys, all dressed in bicycle suits. They seemed to be watching the White Wings with remarkable interest.

“Wonder why those cyclists are watching us?” said Diamond.

“I was wondering about the same thing,” admitted Frank.

Then a youth was seen to climb on the piles at the corner of the wharf. He stood up straight and cried:

“Ahoy, the yacht!”

“Ay! ay!” answered Frank, giving the wheel over to Hodge.

“Is that the White Wings?”

Those on the wharf could not see the name on the stern of the yacht.

“It is.”

“Frank Merriwell in command?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you going to stop at Belfast?”

“We are.”

“Then the Belfast Wheelmen will be honored to entertain Mr. Merriwell while he remains in our city. Will he be kind enough to come ashore as soon as possible? If so, we will wait here for him.”

“Great Scott!” muttered Frank. “How did they know I was coming? This is too much! They made it altogether too interesting for me at Camden and Rockland, and it begins to look as if there is to be a repetition of it here. I’d rather not be known at all.”

“But you can’t help it now,” said Hodge, who was proud of Frank’s fame and popularity. “It won’t do to refuse their polite offer.”

“Don’t refuse,” grunted Browning. “They’ll have something good to eat.”

“Py shimminy!” gurgled Hans. “Dot peen vot you vant. I vos hungry enough to ead a raw tog alretty.”

“The rest of us are not invited,” said Diamond, quickly. “It’s only Frank.”

“Vale, maype he vould slip a piece of bie his bocket indo uf he knew id vould safe my life.”

“Will Mr. Merriwell come ashore?” asked the spokesman of the bicyclists.

“Say yes, Frank,” murmured Hodge. “Tell them you will do so as soon as we drop anchor.”

Frank did so, and a cheer went up from the wheelmen assembled on the wharf.

With this gathering were several girls in riding suits, and other girls and young ladies watching, making it evident that Frank and his friends had been expected.

The White Wings swung in near to the other yachts anchored in the harbor, her anchor went over and her sails came down smoothly. Then Frank got into the small boat, and Diamond and Hodge rowed him over to the wharf where the cyclists awaited him. They gathered around him as he came up the step onto the wharf, and the one who had hailed the yacht grasped him by the hand, saying:

“You are Mr. Merriwell, I presume?”

“That is my name,” smiled Frank.

“Mr. Merriwell, I am delighted to know you. We are all delighted. My name is Dustan—Howard Dustan. These gentlemen are members of the Belfast Bicycle Club. We heard you were coming. There was a Camden man on the City of Bangor, which passed you on its way here from Searsport, and he reported that you were headed this way. It didn’t take long to get the boys together when they learned that Frank Merriwell was coming in here. Let me introduce them to you.”

So Frank was introduced to each of the lads in gray as they came forward.

“Gentlemen,” he laughed, in his charming way, “I assure you this is an unexpected pleasure. It will be a long time before I shall forget my reception in Belfast. I am glad to know you all.”

“And we are glad you did not slight us by skipping Belfast,” said Mart Woodock. “We heard you were in Camden and Rockland, but, as you left there more than a week ago, we thought you were not coming to Belfast. You will find just as good people here as there are in the State of Maine.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” bowed Merry; “and I am charmed with the people of Maine. It is my first visit this way, but I am sure it will not be my last.”

Then he uttered a sudden exclamation of surprise and sprang toward the door of the freighthouse.

All were surprised by Merriwell’s sudden move.

Frank had seen a person appear in the open door of the freight house, look at him, and then dodge back. Although he obtained but a glimpse of this person, Merry fancied he knew him.

Into the doorway he sprang, and looked around. On every hand were boxes and barrels and piles of freight, but no one was to be seen. The opposite door was standing open.

“Must have dodged out that way,” muttered Frank, and he darted toward the door.

But when he reached the door, he looked in vain for the person he fancied he had seen.

“My eyes may have fooled me,” he said.

He had been followed by several of the cyclists, and they were staring at him in amazement. He saw that he must make some explanation, or they would think him deranged.

“It’s all right,” he laughed. “I fancied I saw a person that I know. He appeared there in the doorway, and then retreated into the building. I may have been mistaken.”

“You must have been,” said Mart Woodock.

“Come out and meet the girls,” said Howard Dustan. “They are waiting to be introduced.”

So Merry was escorted into the presence of the girls and introduced to each one in turn.

“We had begun to believe you were not coming to Belfast at all, Mr. Merriwell,” said a vivacious little blond named Mabel Mitshef, but called “Mabel Mischief” by her friends.

“I came near missing Belfast,” acknowledged Frank; “but, after going to Bar Harbor, I learned something about this place that made it seem very attractive to me, and so I decided to come here. Already I am satisfied that the stories I heard about Belfast are true.”

“My!” cried Mabel. “You make me curious. I wonder what stories you could have heard?”

“Well,” smiled Frank, “I heard that Belfast had the prettiest girls of any place on the Maine coast.”

This threw the girls into confusion, but Mabel had sufficient presence of mind to say:

“If you came here because of those stories, I hope you will not be disappointed, Mr. Merriwell.”

“If the girls I have already seen fairly represent the fair sex of Belfast, I am sure I shall not,” bowed Frank.

Frank’s back was turned toward the freight house door, so he did not see the hateful eyes which peered out at him. The owner of those eyes drew back in a moment, muttering:

“Yes, it is Merriwell—curse him! I dodged him just in time. He would have seen me if I hadn’t hidden amid those boxes. He must not see me now.”

The speaker was Parker Flynn, who claimed to be the rightful owner of the yacht, White Wings, and who had made a desperate attempt to capture her by force in Rockland harbor ten days before this story opens.

Flynn wore a bicycle suit, and he quickly stole out of the freight house by another door, found a wheel outside, mounted it and rode away swiftly.

In the meantime Frank was chatting with his new friends, fascinating them by his wit and easy manners. They had heard much of him, and not one of them was disappointed in his appearance.

“Mr. Merriwell,” said Dustan, “I took care to bring along a wheel for you when I heard you were coming into the harbor. Of course, I took a chance about fitting you, but I have the best wheel to be found in the city, and I think it can be adjusted to suit you, if it is not right.”

“But I have my yachting suit on.”

“Never mind. I have trouser guards.”

“Still I do not fancy riding this way. If I am to be escorted into the city by the Belfast Wheelmen, I will wear a riding suit. I have one on board, and can get into it in fifteen minutes. Of course, I do not wish to keep any of you waiting if you——”

“That’s all right!” cried several.

“Go ahead and get your suit,” nodded Dustan.

Diamond and Hodge had remained in the boat awaiting orders from Merry, and now he hastily descended the stairs and stepped into the boat.

“To the yacht,” he said.

Away they went, the two oarsmen pulling with such grace and skill that they won the admiration of those watching from the wharf.

“What’s up, Merry?” asked Jack, eagerly.

“The Belfast Wheelmen are here to meet me, and they are going to escort me into the city.”

“Well, how in the name of all things wonderful did they know you were coming—for they must have known it?”

“You know the City of Bangor passed us just outside the harbor as she was coming in on her way down river.”

“Yes.”

“Well, there was a Camden man on her, and he saw us.”

“Is that the way of it?”

“Sure. He recognized the White Wings, and, as soon as the steamer reached the wharf, he told them we were coming. Then there was a hasty gathering of the wheelmen to meet us. That is how it came about.”

“Why are you going back to the yacht?”

“To get into a riding suit. They have a wheel for me, and I am to ride up into the city with them.”

“Say!” burst impulsively from Diamond, “these people down this way are too much for me! I don’t understand it! I thought we’d find a lot of farmers and woodsmen, and I didn’t dream we’d ever run into anyone who had heard of you, Merriwell. Instead of that, they seem to know all about you, and they are ready to give you a royal welcome wherever you go. Bar Harbor was the only exception, and I will bet there are persons there who know all about you. They didn’t know you were in town, that’s all.”

“How about Green’s Landing?”

“Oh, that’s different. That place is situated so far from the mainland that——”

“It has regular steamboat connections with the mainland, and the daily newspapers reach it, but——”

The boat softly touched against the side of the yacht, and Frank did not wait to say anything more. Over the rail he went at a bound, and hurried down into the cabin.

“Eh?” grunted Browning, rising up from a bunk. “Back so soon? What for?”

“To see if you are helping Hans get things trimmed up,” said Frank.

“I am,” declared the lazy fellow, settling back comfortably. “I am looking after things down below here, while he attends to things on deck.”

Frank laughed. It was like the big fellow, who really seemed too lazy to draw a breath without an effort.

With skill that would have done credit to a “lightning change artist” in a variety show, Frank got out of his yachting suit and leaped into his bicycle suit. Then he pulled on a Yale sweater, brushed his hair, caught up his cap, and hurried on deck.

Jack and Bart were waiting. Frank did not hurry after appearing on deck. With the utmost deliberation, he looked around, gave some orders, and then walked to the rail and got into the boat.

Arriving at the wharf, Dustan met him at the head of the stairs, laughing.

“How you did it so quick I can’t tell, and still you seemed in no particular hurry.”

They went round to where the wheelmen and girls were waiting. The bicycle brought for Frank was new and a beauty. Merry tried it, and, to his surprise and satisfaction, it seemed to fit him perfectly.

“It doesn’t need adjusting,” he said.

“We have a hard hill out here,” said Woodock. “Some of us can’t climb it. There are but two girls in town who can do it, and they are with us.”

“You will ride with me at the head of the party,” said Dustan, speaking to Frank. “Miss Mischief and Miss Hazle will ride with us. They are the ones who can climb the hill.”

“Perhaps I can’t climb it,” smiled Frank.

“I think there is no danger of your failing.”

They started. From choice it seemed Mabel Mischief rode at Frank’s side, chatting with Hattie Hazle, who was next to her. Hattie had dark eyes and hair, presenting a strong contrast to the lively blonde.

The hill proved to be rather steep and difficult, but Frank and Dustan pedalled up it without permitting their wheels to falter or sway on the steepest grade. The girls found it more difficult, but they stuck to it persistently till they accomplished the ascent.

Looking back, it was found that more than half the party was trundling the wheels, so those who had ridden up dismounted and waited for the others.

With the hill behind them, the party was formed again, and then they rode along the elm-shaded streets into the business portion of the city.

“Will you ride about the city, or shall we go directly to the club rooms?” asked Dustan.

“I would enjoy seeing something of the city.”

“That will suit us.”

So they rode about the place, and Frank was pleased with its general appearance.

At last they arrived at the club rooms of the Belfast Wheelmen, and there the girls left them, Mabel and Hattie bidding Frank good-by, but expressing a hope that they might see him again.

Dustan led the way into the club rooms, and Merry followed. Just as Frank was entering, a person attempted to come out hurriedly and brush past him.

With an exclamation of satisfaction, Frank grasped this individual, holding him fast.

“Wait a minute,” cried Merry. “I think I know you!”

“Leggo!” snarled the man.

“In a moment. Ha! I thought as much! I saw you down at the wharf, but you dodged me. We have met again, Mr. Parker Flynn!”

With a savage curse, the man struck straight at Frank’s face.

“Look out!”

Dustan tried to catch Flynn’s arm, but was not quick enough.

“All right.”

Frank dodged the fist of his foe.

“Blazes!”

Flynn snarled out the word, trying to recover and strike again.

“No, you don’t!”

With a twist and a snap, Merriwell flung the desperate fellow against the wall and held him there, despite all his struggles.

“Break away!”

Mart Woodock tried to part them, but was prevented by Dustan, who spoke swiftly and sharply:

“Let them alone! Merriwell knows what he is doing.”

“But—but——”

“He can handle Mr. Flynn.”

“Flynn is our guest. We can’t see him misused.”

“There is no danger that I will misuse him, gentlemen,” cut in Frank, still holding the fellow against the wall. “I have not offered to give a blow in return for his.”

“He attacked me—he assaulted me!” cried Flynn, in a half whine. “I never did anything to him. I call on the members of this club for protection.”

“You do not need it, Flynn,” said Frank, “for you are in no danger.”

“Then let me go.”

“In a minute. First, I want to tell these gentlemen just who and what you are. I know you.”

“And I know you!” hissed the rascal, his face growing dark. “You are a thief! You were arrested as a thief in Rockland! You can’t deny it!”

“I was arrested——”

“Hear that! hear that!” shouted Flynn, triumphantly. “He confesses it! He owns that he was arrested!”

“I was arrested on a warrant sworn out by you,” admitted Frank, quietly. “I do confess that.”

“That’s enough.”

“Perhaps so. Why didn’t you stay and prosecute me? Why did you take to your heels and fly from Rockland?”

“Business——”

“Business caused you to run away, eh? Tell the truth! You knew I had sworn out a warrant against you, charging you with an attempt to capture my yacht by force in Rockland harbor.”

“I didn’t care for that. It’s not your yacht. It’s mine.”

“Indeed! Then why didn’t you remain in Rockland and recover possession of it by legal means? You claimed to have bought it of a man who is now in an insane asylum. You fancied Benjamin, of whom I purchased it, was on his way to Alaska. When you discovered that Benjamin was in Rockland, you were so frightened that you lost not a moment in running away.”

“It’s a lie! I didn’t care anything about Benjamin. The White Wings belongs to me, and I will have her sooner or later. I am not talking through my hat, either.”

“If you don’t let it alone, you will land in prison. I shall not fool with you. I can push you now if I wish, but I’ll be satisfied in exposing you. You have been a guest here. It is plain you have had the freedom of the club. I scarcely think you will be admitted in the future, for I brand you as a rascal and a ruffian unfit for the society of gentlemen.”

Flynn turned crimson, and then he became ashen pale, while his eyes gleamed redly and his features betrayed the terrible fury that possessed him.

“All right!” he said, his voice being husky with anger. “I’ll make you sorry for it. I have said all along that I was not done with you.”

“The best thing you can do is to get out of Belfast and this State in a hurry.”

“Oh, I’m not frightened!”

“I may swear out another warrant against you.”

“Go ahead!”

“If I do, I can shove you. I have witnesses.”

“Your own gang, and they will swear to anything you want ’em to. Let go—let go, I say! Take your hands off!”

“Steady!” and Frank again pinned him against the wall, despite his struggles, holding the man with an ease that astonished the witnesses. “I will let you go when I am ready—not before. I am not done talking to you.”

Flynn’s anger was terrible to see. His eyes glared and he actually frothed at the mouth. At that moment he looked as if he longed to annihilate Merry.

The fellow stopped struggling, but suddenly he drew something from beneath his coat—something that flashed.

“Look out, Merriwell!”

Now Woodock tried to catch hold of the fellow, but Flynn struck at Frank with that bright thing, and Merriwell dropped to the floor, with a gasping exclamation.

“He’s stabbed!” shouted Dustan, horrified.

Clang!

The knife fell from Flynn’s hand to the floor. The ruffian stared down at Frank a moment, and then he whirled toward the door.

“Stop him!”

Howard Dustan shouted the words.

“Don’t try it!” grated Flynn.

One of the spectators did try it, however.

Out shot Flynn’s fist. Smack!—it struck the fellow fairly in the mouth, knocking him down.

The desperate rascal leaped over the one he had struck down and was outside in a moment. His wheel was there. Onto it he leaped, his feet found the pedals, and he shot away.

“He’s killed Merriwell!”

“I—think—not,” gasped Frank, speaking with difficulty. “He’s simply—knocked the wind—out of—me.”

Then he sat up, with his hands pressed to the pit of his stomach.

“Why, he stabbed you there!” exclaimed Dustan.

“Don’t think so,” said Merriwell, with a rueful smile. “He came near it. Belt buckle turned knife. He meant to do it, all right. Took me by surprise. I was to blame. Wasn’t on guard. Blow knocked wind out of me—that’s all.”

“Thank Heaven for that! I thought he had done you up. But he meant to, and that was a crime! After him, fellows! Don’t let him get away! Thomaston prison is good enough for him!”

Already two or three had rushed out and started in hot pursuit of the fugitive, raising an outcry on the street. They soon disappeared.

Merriwell arose, looking thoroughly disgusted.

“I was not smart, or he’d not taken me by surprise like that. Wasn’t looking for that kind of a blow.”

“You can thank fortune he didn’t murder you,” said Dustan. “Why, I never saw anything like it! He struck like a snake!”

“He is a snake. It surprised me to find him here.”

“Don’t blame us. He had papers that showed he belonged to two of the leading cycling clubs of Boston. He is a smooth talker, and he literally talked his way in here. Woodock seemed to take to him, for some reason, and they were friendly. He is pursuing him now.”

“Well, Mr. Flynn left something behind to remember him by,” smiled Frank, picking up the knife. “I believe I will keep this.”

“Tell us everything about your trouble with him, if you really were not harmed by that knife,” urged one of the wheelmen.

Examination showed a dent in the buckle of Frank’s belt, but his clothes were not cut and he was entirely uninjured, although, as yet, he had not fully recovered his wind.

When he could talk with ease, Merry told how he had seen Flynn the first time shortly after taking possession of the White Wings in Boston, how Flynn had showed a bill of sale for the yacht, made out to him by Fergus Fearson, a former owner, and how the encounter had ended in the discomfiture of Flynn, as Frank had proved the bill of sale was dated nearly ten days after Fearson sold the yacht to Jack Benjamin, of whom Merriwell purchased it.

Flynn had sworn to have the yacht, and, as the White Wings was entering Rockland harbor one foggy morning, several days after the encounter in Boston, the claimant and some fellow rascals had tried to take possession of her by force, one of the gang pretending to be Sheriff Ulmer.

Frank had not been fooled, and he demanded to see their authority. As they could show none, they were warned not to attempt to board the White Wings.

They did attempt it, however, but were repulsed by Frank and his friends and forced to retreat.

Then came the arrest of Frank on his appearance in Rockland, but Flynn had discovered the presence of Benjamin in the Limerock City, and then he had not stopped to prosecute, but had quickly and discreetly disappeared.

“The boys will catch him,” said Dustan, with confidence. “You can put him behind the bars, Mr. Merriwell, and you must do it.”

But, to the surprise of all, the pursuers returned after a time, coming back in a body, and announced that the fellow had given them the slip. He had ridden like the wind, turning corner after corner, and they had followed as hotly as they could. At last they came up with a rider they believed their man, but found it was another person. In some way he had dodged them after turning a corner.

Dustan looked angry.

“That was beastly luck!” he exclaimed. “But we’ll catch the fellow, Mr. Merriwell, I promise you that. He assaulted you here in our rooms, and we shall feel it our duty to see that he is arrested. Come with me, and I will take you where you can swear out a warrant against him.”

“I do not fancy that will do any good,” said Frank. “He thinks he stabbed me, and he will not stop till he has left Belfast far behind. You’ll not see him around here again.”

“You are right,” nodded Dustan; “but we can put an officer on the track of him. We’ll run him down.”

“It isn’t worth while, for it will cause me a large amount of trouble. I shall have to appear against him and testify, and I do not wish to take the time for that. He will not trouble me again, so I will let him go.”

“It’s your affair,” said Dustan, “so you may do as you like, but no person can try to stab me and get off so easy.”

By this time it was known on the street that an encounter had taken place between two guests of the wheelmen, and the report that one of them had tried to stab the other was enough to provide a fertile topic for conversation.

But when it was known that the one murderously assaulted was Frank Merriwell, the famous star twirler of the Yale baseball team, the tongue of gossip wagged freely.

A crowd gathered in front of the building in which the club rooms were located. The greater part of the crowd were boys and young men, and their conversation showed that every one had heard of Merriwell and all were eager to see him.

One of the club members came in after passing through the crowd, and he was laughing.

“I was not aware you were so well known in Belfast, Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “Those youngsters out there are wild to get a peep at you. I just heard one of them say you were a bigger man than the President of the United States.”

Frank blushed.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “If this thing keeps up, I’ll have to travel through Maine in disguise. Had to get out of Camden because I was too well known.”

“They are talking about your famous double shoot. I wonder how that story started.”

“What story?”

“Why, the story about that double curve. Of course, there may be an out drop, or something like that—in fact, we know there is such a thing. But a double curve that consists of an in and an out is an utter impossibility.”

“Why an impossibility?” smiled Frank.

“Because there is no scientific explanation of it.”

“There is no scientific explanation of any shoot.”

“What is that? Why, it can’t be that you mean to tell me that, Mr. Merriwell?”

“Mr. Wallace is an authority around here on baseball, Mr. Merriwell,” said Howard Dustan, quickly.

Frank bowed.

“Do you claim to explain the science of shoots and curves, Mr. Wallace?” he asked.

“Why, it is simple enough,” assured Wallace, boldly. “What astonishes me is to hear a college man like you, reputed to be a great pitcher, declare there is no scientific explanation of shoots.”

“You think I should be able to explain them?”

“Certainly.”

“I am not. What is more, never yet have I met a pitcher who could. I have met several who have tried it, but they tripped themselves and showed their own ignorance before they had finished. If you can explain shoots, I shall be very pleased to listen.”

“Why, it seems easy enough. If a ball leaves the pitcher’s hand so that it is whirling swiftly, the resistance of the air is bound to cause it to deviate from a straight course. I should think anyone might understand that.”

“That seems simple enough,” confessed Frank, still smiling. “It might seem to explain the ball that curves gradually and regularly, but it does not explain any shoot. If you have followed baseball closely, Mr. Wallace, you have thousands of times seen balls which left the pitcher’s hand and seemed to shoot straight ahead for more than two-thirds of the distance to the batter. Then you have seen them give a sudden jump or shoot to one side or the other. Indeed, some of these shoots are so sudden that the ball almost seems to make an angle in the air, instead of a curve. I am afraid you will find it difficult to apply your explanation to that kind of a ball.”

Wallace looked somewhat bewildered.

“I have not thought much on that point,” he confessed.

“I have,” said Frank, “and so have thousands of intelligent persons. Thus far not one of them can give a satisfactory explanation of the odd shoots of a ball. They say it is the way the pitcher takes hold of the ball—the way it leaves his hand. That is true. But it frequently occurs that two pitchers take hold of the ball in a manner entirely dissimilar to throw the same curve. They do not deliver it in the same manner, and yet the ball curves the same. They know that by taking hold of it just so and throwing it with just such speed they can obtain a certain curve; but ask them to explain why the ball curves and you will see some very puzzled gentlemen. You say the whirling motion of the ball, resistance of the air, and so forth. It may be you are right, but explain the shoot. Photographers have tried to catch it so they could see just how it curves in the air. Thus far these attempts have not proved satisfactory. Fame awaits the man who first explains the shoot and makes his explanation convincing.”

The club members had gathered around to hear what Merriwell was saying. They were greatly interested.

“Still,” said Wallace, “you would not have us believe that, on one delivery, a ball can commence to curve one way and then reverse and curve the other?”

“Really, sir, I am indifferent whether you believe it or not. I know such a thing happens. I know that I can throw the double shoot when I am in good condition and feeling just right. I know I take hold of it in a certain manner, give my arm a certain swing, and my wrist a snap. The ball starts out straight, shoots one way and then reverses and shoots the other. I am not the only one who can pitch that ball. I first saw it pitched by a Maine man, Billy Maines, of Windham. Then I set about trying to get it, and, by the merest accident, I hit upon it. I have tried to show other good pitchers how to throw it, but they are not persistent enough—they get discouraged after a while and give it up. But there is something more wonderful than the in and out double shoot.”

“What can it be?”

“A rise with a drop on the end of it.”

“What? You don’t mean to say anybody can pitch a ball like that?”

“I believe there is a man in the National League that claims to do it. Those who have seen him work say he really does pitch such a ball.”

“Impossible! The only drop it can have is the one given it by natural gravitation.”

“I know it seems that way, but they say his ball rises steadily after leaving his hand till it is more than two-thirds of the distance to the batter, and then takes a most remarkable down shoot. It is said to be a wicked ball to hit.”

“Well,” said Wallace, “I shall take no stock in such yarns till I am convinced by the evidence of my own eyes—and then I don’t know as I could believe it.”

“It is plain that you are prejudiced, and any man will waste his time who tries to convince you. There are hundreds of people in the country to-day who will not believe it possible to throw any kind of a curve. Some of them will not be convinced. They are not worth wasting time upon.”

With that Frank turned away. Wallace paled and pressed his lips together, for he felt that Merriwell’s final words were a thrust at him.

Mart Woodock slipped up to Wallace and muttered in his ear:

“That fellow thinks he knows it all. He makes me sick!”

“Well, I’m not stuck on him myself,” sulked Wallace. “I do not fancy being given even a mild calling down by such a chap as he.”

Then they drew aside by themselves and talked in low tones.

If Frank had accepted, he and his friends would have been taken care of at the best hotel at Belfast without finding it necessary to pay a cent for accommodations. The Belfast Wheelmen assured him that the city was his. He could take what he wanted, and they would settle the bill.

But Frank explained that the accommodations on board the White Wings were sufficient and he preferred staying on board, as he could watch his yacht. He did not wish to take chances of losing it, and it was possible Flynn might make another desperate attempt to take it.

He was invited to accompany the club on an evening run to Northport, and accepted. They told him to bring along any of his friends who wished to go, saying wheels would be furnished for all.

When he left the club he was forced to pass through the throng outside the door. As he appeared, a voice exclaimed:

“There he is!”

Then there was considerable pushing, and a small boy shouted:

“Hooray fer Frank Merriwell! He’s a jim-hickey!”

A yell went up from the boys.

Frank laughed and bowed.

“Why don’t ye come down here to live?” piped a little fellow. “Then Belfast could git inter the league an’ beat anything on top of the earth.”

“Clear out, you young rascals!” cried Howard Dustan. “Don’t you know better than to block the way!”

He started to drive them back, but Frank quickly interfered.

“That’s all right, Dustan,” he said. “They are not in my way. Let them alone.”

“That’s him!” shrilled a youngster with a freckled face. “That’s jest like Frank Merriwell. He don’t never try ter crowd nobody off’n the earth.”

Frank passed through the crowd, and, accompanied by Dustan, walked along the main street. It did not seem so remarkable that the town of Camden had given him so much attention, but he was surprised when he found himself regarded with equal interest in Belfast. Men turned to look at him, and pretty girls gave him curious and admiring glances as they passed.

As they turned from the main street toward the steamboat wharf, Dustan said:

“Here is the Windsor Hotel. We will meet here this evening at seven o’clock for the run down to Northport. It is not far, but we can spend a pleasant evening at Northport and start back by ten o’clock. Bring any of your friends who wish to come. We’ll try to make it pleasant for you.”

Frank expressed his thanks and promised to be on hand.

Dustan walked all the way to the wharf.

Diamond was watching for Merry, and saw him descending the hill. Then he got Hodge into the boat, and they were at the wharf waiting for Frank when he arrived.

Frank introduced Dustan, who was urged to go off to the yacht.

“I can’t do so this afternoon, gentlemen,” said Howard; “but I’ll be pleased to do so to-morrow. I’ve got to go home and get ready for this evening.”

So, shaking hands with Merry, he turned and hastened away.

“How does Belfast strike you, Merry?” asked Diamond.

“It’s a great town as far as hospitality goes. Why, the Belfast Wheelmen wanted to lodge us at the best hotel in the city and pay all of our bills while we remained.”

“Don’t tell Hans,” said Hodge. “He will have a fit if you don’t accept.”

Hans was on deck, and he hailed them before they reached the yacht.

“Did you got dot biece uf bie, Vrankie?” he asked.

“What piece of pie?”

“Why, der von I toldt you to put your bocket indo.”

“I haven’t seen any pie, and I am back here to be fed.”

“Shimminy Gristmas! vot vos der madder mit you, ain’d id?” squawked the Dutch boy. “You don’d vant to ate der crub vot vos on poard this yocht uf ven you can got a sqvare meal der shore on, do I?”

“You didn’t suppose I would eat on shore and leave you here to wear your teeth out on canned stuff and hard bread, did you? Well, I am not that kind of a chap. What is good enough for you is good enough for me.”

“Py shimminy! I nefer looked at heem dot vay in pefore. You peen all righd, Vrankie, und I abbreciate your thoughtfulness-ness us of. Subber vill peen retty as soon as I can got id.”

Then Hans hurried below.

“He is satisfied now,” said Hodge. “You fixed him all right, Frank.”

The water of the harbor was as smooth as glass, for the afternoon breeze had died out with the declining of the sun. The deck awning had been erected on the yacht while Frank was absent, and Hans brought up the folding table and spread it beneath the awning.

Browning was in his bunk, sleeping like a log. When he was aroused by Merry, he grunted:

“I thought you were going ashore?”

“I have been ashore.”

“Well, why didn’t you stay a while?”

“I stayed more than two hours.”

“Hey? What sort of a jolly are you giving me?”

“No jolly at all. Turn out. You have been sleeping like a pig. I did think you were about as lazy as you could be before we started on this cruise, but you are getting worse and worse.”

Browning rolled out of his bunk and sat up rubbing his eyes.

It did not take Hans long to get supper ready, and they gathered about the table. As they ate, Frank told them of his adventure with Flynn. Diamond began to get excited as he listened, and he uttered a cry of rage when Frank told how the fellow tried to stab him.

“Look here, Merriwell!” said the Virginian, hotly, “what are you going to do about this?”

“Can’t do much,” said Frank. Then he told how Flynn took to his bicycle and got away.

“And you let him go?” boiled Diamond. “If any man had done such a trick to me, I’d pursued him round the world, but I’d given him his deserts!”

“Don’t doubt it,” smiled Frank. “If they had brought Flynn back, he’d been shoved.”

“Why not shove him anyhow?”

“I might, but it would make no end of trouble, you know.”

“Never mind the trouble. Give it to the whelp!”

“But it will spoil our trip down this way.”

“How?”

“I shall be forced to spend some time in pursuing the rascal, and, after he is caught, it will be necessary to have him tried. It will make no end of trouble and expense, and, by the time it’s all over, a good share of the time we have left during this vacation will be used up.”

“Never mind,” said Jack. “We can stand it. Shove him, Merry. It takes considerable time to arouse you, but you are a bad man when you get started. Now is the time to get started. Don’t you think so, fellows?”

“Oh, what’s the use to go to all that trouble?” said Bruce. “It won’t pay.”

The Virginian gave the big fellow a look of scorn, started to say something, cut himself short, and began eating in a manner that showed his disgust.

Frank told of the general invitation to accompany the wheelmen on the run to Northport.

“Who wishes to go?” he asked.

Hodge and Diamond expressed a desire to do so, while Hans said he would remain and look out for the yacht. Browning said he would stay with Hans.

After supper they lounged under the awning a while, and Browning, who had taken up smoking again, lighted a cigar.

“I am glad to see that isn’t a cigarette,” said Frank. “If you must smoke, smoke anything but cigarettes.”

It was past six when Hans set Frank, Jack and Bart ashore and then rowed back to the yacht, under the awning of which Bruce still lounged, apparently fully contented.

The trio walked up the street and arrived at the Windsor ahead of time.

Harold Dustan was waiting for them, and he said:

“Your wheel is ready for you, Mr. Merriwell. Will your friends go?”

“Yes, they thought they would enjoy it.”

“Then I will telephone to Woodock to bring two good wheels for them. No trouble at all. I made arrangements to provide five wheels, if necessary.”

He went into the hotel and telephoned for the wheels. Fifteen minutes later Woodock and Wallace arrived with the extra wheels, which Hodge and Diamond immediately adjusted to suit them.

The wheelmen gathered swiftly when seven o’clock arrived, and a few minutes after the hour struck the party started from in front of the hotel, with Dustan, Merriwell, Diamond and Hodge leading.

It seemed that all the boys of the city were on hand to watch them start, and the youngsters set up a great yelling as they rode away.

Along the pleasant street they pedaled in the cool shadows of the tall trees. Handsome residences were to be seen on either hand, and Diamond found a novelty in mentally contrasting them with the houses of the South. To him, despite the fact that the Northern houses were tasty and pleasant, there was something about a Southern dwelling that satisfied him far better. Had he been asked to tell just what that something was, he could not have done so, but he felt it was a certain distinctive air that belonged to the South. For a moment something like a strong feeling of homesickness swept over him. He remembered how little time he had spent at home since entering college, and a sense of guilt settled upon him. To himself he seemed half a traitor.

“But I am a Southerner still!” he mentally exclaimed. “Nothing can wean my heart from the South. The North is smart and bustling and pleasant, but it is not like my dear Virginia home. No matter where I may go, I know my heart will always turn back to Old Virginny.”

At length they came to the forks of the road where Northport Avenue began. Just as they reached the fountain at the forks, down from the other street came eight young lady cyclists, merrily ringing their bells. The boys answered in a similar manner as the young ladies approached.

Dustan explained that they were friends of the club members, and they were chaperoned by a young married woman whose husband belonged to the wheelmen.

Mabel Mischief and Hattie Hazle were with the party. They bowed to Frank. A flush came into Bart’s cheeks as his eyes rested on Mabel.

“Jove!” he muttered. “What a stunning girl!”

“Which one?” asked Merry.

“The one with light hair.”

“Keep away! I met her first.”

“Then I haven’t a show,” came ruefully from Bart. “I don’t suppose you will introduce a fellow?”

“Well, did I ever refuse anything of the kind? When the opportunity comes, I will introduce you.”

Bart watched for the opportunity. He saw Mabel and Hattie racing for the lead, laughing as they did so. Hattie won, and Mabel stopped trying, so that Frank soon was at her side. Then Bart pushed forward so that he was abreast of them and coughed. Frank took the hint, and the desired introduction followed. Bart lifted his cap gracefully.

Walter Wallace had kept his eyes on Mabel, and he muttered something under his breath as he saw the introduction. Then he pushed forward and spoke to her.

“Good-evening, Miss Mischief,” said Wallace. “I thought you said you could not come with us to-night?”

“I did,” she answered, laughing.

“But here you are.”

“Mother decided to let me come when she knew Mrs. Porter would be with us.”

“It seems to me that your mother is very particular.”

“She is. Excuse me. Mr. Hodge was speaking to me.”

“Hang Mr. Hodge!” muttered Wallace, under his breath. “I’d like to punch his head!”

Mabel chatted with Bart and Frank by turns, scarcely noticing Wallace, who grew more and more angry.

Northport Avenue was in fine condition, and that made the ride very pleasant.

Hattie Hazle was smitten by the appearance of Diamond, and it was not long before she found an opportunity to ask Dustan why he did not introduce Jack. She did this laughingly, saying it was rather awkward to find herself at times riding beside some one she did not know.

Dustan soon found an opportunity to introduce Jack, and Hattie chatted away to the Virginian in her artless way. Jack was polite and courteous, but not in the least effusive. He talked to the pretty girl at his side without giving her more than an occasional glance, which rather piqued her, for she was pretty, and she knew it. She was accustomed to admiration, and the Southerner’s rather distant manner was something new to her.

It was plain enough that Diamond was not bashful, and that was what aroused Hattie. Inwardly she resolved to win attention from him. She was a bright girl, and she began to sound Diamond, in order to find out as far as possible what his tastes were. She found he loved flowers, read Thackeray, Scott and Tennyson, admired handsome horses and dogs, and thought Frank Merriwell the finest fellow in the whole wide world. But, although she chatted intelligently of the things Jack liked best, she gave it up and rode forward a bit till she was beside Mabel.

“It’s no use,” she laughed, speaking so Mabel alone could hear, “I can’t make an impression on the Virginian. He is bullet proof. Wonder if all Southerners are that way?”

“I’ll chance it that he is in love,” laughed Mabel. “He must be!” exclaimed Hattie. “But even if he is, he’s the first fellow I ever saw who wouldn’t flirt a little.”

“And he will not flirt at all?”

“Not a bit!”

“Well, there are others.”

“Oh, Mabel!” exclaimed the dark-haired girl. “I thought you signed the pledge never, never to use slang again. Why, since I signed that pledge, slang gives me that tired feeling. I’m dead sore on anything like slang.”

And then Hattie wondered why Mabel laughed so merrily.

Mabel found an opportunity to ask Frank about Jack.

“Hattie says he acts as if he is in love,” laughed the light-haired girl. “Is it true? I know it is by the expression on your face! Oh, do tell us about it!”

“Yes, do!” urged Hattie, riding up on the other side of Frank. “I am awfully curious now. I am dead stuck on anything romantic.”

“How about slang, Hattie?” asked Mabel.

“Goodness! I forgot! You see, Mr. Merriwell, we have taken the pledge never, never to use slang any more, and you can bet we are going to keep it!”

Then, as both Frank and Mabel laughed, she realized what she said, and her face grew crimson.

“It’s awful!” she declared. “But we girls picked up those things at school, and we find it hard to get rid of them.”

“Tell us about Mr. Diamond,” urged Mabel.

“Yes, please,” entreated Hattie.

“You tempt me, girls,” confessed Frank; “but I do not believe in giving away a friend. Excuse me for that bit of slang, but nothing else seems to express my meaning so perfectly. I can tell you nothing of Mr. Diamond’s love affairs.”

“Then he has an affair?” exclaimed Hattie. “I knew it! Now I wonder if he is so constant that he absolutely will not flirt? If he is, he’s the first fellow I ever saw taken that way. You try him, Mabel.”

“I will if I get a good opportunity,” said Miss Mischief; “and then if he does flirt, I’ll tell him what I think of him. I’d like to find one fellow who would be constant.”

“I hope she doesn’t mean anything!” murmured Hodge, reddening somewhat.

“It seems to me she does,” laughed Frank.

Mabel found an opportunity to chat with Jack before Northport was reached. They came to a hill that was not particularly difficult, but she complained that her wheel ran hard, and said something was the matter with it. She asked Jack if he would not examine it, and so they dismounted at the foot of the hill.

Diamond looked over the wheel in a systematic manner, but could find nothing the matter with it. He got out his oiler and oiled it. Then Mabel said she did not feel like riding up the hill, so they walked up together, for the Virginian would not leave her.

Now, Mabel Mischief was the kind of a girl to attract the Virginian. Jack was dark and passionate, while she was light and gay. Without appearing to, she brought all her arts to bear on him in the short time given her to do so, but the result was not what she expected, for he did not seem at all impressed. On reaching favorable ground, he said:

“Now, Miss Mitshef, we can overtake the others in a short time.”

He did not even venture to call her Miss Mischief, although everyone else did so, but was particular to pronounce her name correctly.

“I do not like to ride fast,” she smiled, looking up at him. “We are in sight of them. What is the need of hurrying?”

“I didn’t know,” said Jack. “I thought you would enjoy being with your friends.”

“I am satisfied with present company,” she laughed.

Then he looked away, without appearing to hear her, and called her attention to the view, which was charming.

“You have beautiful scenery around here,” he observed, in a matter-of-fact way.

“Oh, very!” she said, somewhat sharply; “but I have seen it so much that I am tired of it. Let’s talk about something else.”

“If you like.”

“Don’t you think Hattie Hazle a pretty girl?”

“I believe she is.”

“You ‘believe so’! Why, didn’t you notice?”

“Not in particular.”

“Well, you are a queer fellow!”

“Am I?”

“Decidedly. Now, what sort of a girl do you admire most?”

“I—I’m sure I—I don’t know,” stammered Jack.

“There must be some girl somewhere who is your ideal. Think of her. Describe her.”

The face of the Virginian grew crimson, and he betrayed himself by his confusion.

“Really, Miss Mitshef,” he said, “I think the others are wondering where we are. I see them looking back.”

“It’s Wallace and Woodock who are looking back. Woodock annoys me and Wallace bothers Hattie. They will not let us alone.”

Then Jack suddenly straightened up, grimly saying:

“If they dare to annoy you during this ride, Miss Mitshef, they shall answer to me! A fellow who forces his attentions on a lady is no gentleman, and he deserves to be soundly whipped. If you need my assistance, I shall be ready to aid you in any manner possible.”

“Thank you, Mr. Diamond,” she said, with sincere gratitude. “I shall not forget your kindness.”

And then, strange to say, she was ready to ride forward and overtake the others.

“Well,” said Hattie, eagerly, “what success?”

“Mr. Diamond,” said Mabel, with wonderful seriousness for her, “is a perfect gentleman and a splendid fellow. I am sure now that he is in love, and he will be true to the fortunate girl. There are not many fellows like him, and the girl who finds one is lucky.”

“Why, Mabel!” exclaimed the dark-haired girl, “I believe you are more than half in love with him yourself!”

Then Mabel was confused.

“Perhaps I am,” she finally said, with a defiant toss of her head. “Even if I am, I wouldn’t try to cut the other girl out. I have satisfied myself that he is constant, and that was what I was trying to do. Had he flirted with me, I was ready to give him a calling down.”

“Do you hear, Hodge?” laughed Merriwell. “Beware how you flirt with Belfast girls. They are liable to be fooling you all the time.”

“Why, I’ll not dare look at one of them after this,” said Bart, with an air of absolute seriousness.

“You must not be frightened so easily,” smiled Mabel. “Not every fellow is a Diamond.”

“That is complimentary for us,” said Frank, ruefully.

“Very!” nodded Bart. “It makes me feel jolly!”

“It makes me feel jollied,” declared Merry.

“Oh, you are a flirt by nature,” asserted Hattie, speaking to Frank. “You can’t help it.”

“This is growing jollier and jollier!” murmured Merriwell. “It is a very warm evening.”

“Just a trifle,” nodded Hodge. “This time Diamond has the start on you, Merry. He’s won the admiration of both of these girls without trying to do so.”

“Well, Miss Mischief,” said Frank, “you are right about Jack Diamond—he is a splendid fellow. He has his odd streaks, like anyone else. Sometimes he is petulant and almost offensive, but his heart is all right, and I never permit any of his moods to change my feelings toward him.”

“That’s right,” agreed Hodge. “Merriwell will stand more from Diamond than from any other fellow living. I don’t know why, but I do know that anybody else would have cut Diamond long ago.”

“Doesn’t he always come around right in the end?” asked Frank. “Among all my friends there is not a man who will fight for me quicker or harder than Jack Diamond. You know that, Bart.”

“Well,” admitted Hodge, reluctantly, “I suppose it’s only right to give the fellow his due, and I know he would lay down his life for you if necessary.”

Among all of Frank’s friends, Diamond was the only one for whom Hodge entertained real feelings of jealousy. He could not help being jealous of the Virginian; but, profiting by Merry’s example and teachings, he tried to crush the feeling out of his heart and be just with the Southerner.

In the cool shadows of a perfect summer evening they reached Newport, which is a summer resort at the present time, although it was originally a camp-meeting ground. Located at one of the most beautiful spots around Penobscot Bay, it was but natural that Northport should become something more than a place where a religious sect met to worship one week every year. From a small beginning it had grown to a village of handsome summer cottages and a first-class hotel, which are occupied all through the warm summer months, and is literally overflowing with visitors the last of August. Beyond the limits of the “camp ground” on the “South Shore” are various places of amusement, such as bowling alleys, billiard rooms and a dance hall, where dances are held at regular intervals through the season and every afternoon and evening during “camp-meeting week.” There is also a hotel on the South Shore and a host of cottages, owned by persons who do not care to be restricted at any season by the rules of the camp ground.

Northport is a place of gayety at the height of the season, and of the crowds that swarm there camp-meeting week, not one out of ten goes to attend the meeting.

Two miles to the south of Northport, at Temple Heights, is a spiritualist camp ground that is rapidly becoming a popular resort.

The Boston boat touches at Northport during the “season,” and a stage line connects with the railroad at Belfast, so the resort is easily accessible.

Many business men of Belfast own cottages at Northport and spend the hot summer months there, riding to and from the city, mornings and nights, on bicycles or the small steamer that makes several trips a day.

The cycling party from Belfast came down the curving road toward the Northport House, their bells ringing merrily. They made a pretty show in the dim evening light, even though they had not lighted their lanterns.

The girls went straight to a Belfast cottage, while the boys took their wheels to the Northport House, where they were cared for by attendants.

Diamond strolled away by himself. Merriwell went out upon the broad veranda of the hotel and looked away over the bay, where the moon was just rising.

On the green in front of the hotel some wandering musicians were playing “Kathleen Mavourneen,” and a hundred people were listening on the benches and the grass.

Hodge came out and stopped at Frank’s side.

“Jove, Merry!” he exclaimed, “this is fine! I’m glad we came.”

“So am I,” said Frank, softly. “Hush!”

He was listening to the music. It stirred a responsive chord in his soul.

“Beautiful!” he whispered, as the last sweet strains died away.

“Come,” said Hodge, brusquely. “Don’t get sentimental, old man. Let’s take a stroll together.”

“Wait. They are going to play again.”

The musicians played “O Promise Me,” and again Frank was thrilled. As they played, Merry softly sang:

“Oh, say, come on!” impatiently exclaimed Hodge. “Let’s find the girls.”

“What girls?”

“Why, Miss Mischief and Miss Hazle, of course.”

“I was thinking of some other girls,” said Frank, quietly. “It seems but yesterday that we were at Fardale. Have you forgotten May Blossom, Bart?”

“Of course not!”

“I didn’t know. You seem greatly interested in these Belfast young ladies.”

“What’s struck you? Great Scott! are you preaching—to me? Why, you do not hesitate, when you see a pretty girl, to seek her society. You seem to forget Inza Burrage and Elsie Bellwood for the time. Oh, you can’t preach to me, old man! It won’t go down.”

Frank felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

“That’s all right, Hodge,” he said. “Perhaps I deserve this calling down from you. But my eyes have been opened somewhat to-day.”

“How?”

“By Hattie Hazle and Mabel Mischief.”

“In what way?”

“Those girls divined Jack Diamond’s secret. They discovered that he was in love.”

“Well?”

“They did not make a success of their attempt.”

“No.”

“What was the result?”

“I don’t know.”

“You heard Mabel Mischief express her sentiments. You heard her say how much she respected Jack. Up to that moment I had thought her frothy and thoughtless. Then I discovered that she did think and reason, and she opened my eyes, for she showed me how much respect a fellow commands who is constant to one girl. I met her first, Hodge, but I know that at this minute she thinks far more of Jack Diamond than she does of me.”

“What of that? There are others. And I didn’t suppose you were pledged to any girl, Merriwell.”

“I am not.”

“Then I fail to understand what the matter is with you. I know you admire Inza Burrage, and she thinks a great deal of you; but I also know that you like Elsie Bellwood just as well, and I think she cares more for you than Inza ever can. Those are not all the ones, either. There are other bright, smart girls whom you admire and respect. You are not engaged to any of them. What are you going to do while you are not in their society? Because you think a great deal of some girl, are you going to shun all others as if you were married and settled down?”

“Well, I can’t say that I ever have,” laughed Frank.

“No, and it’s too late to begin now. It’s all right for Diamond to do so if he wishes; but I think it is equally right for you to do as you have done in the past. The time will come some day, without doubt, when you cannot do so. Until that time does come, get all the pleasure out of life that you can, and what is more enjoyable than the society of an intelligent, charming and pretty girl?”

Frank was astonished by Bart’s words and manner, for it was seldom that Hodge expressed himself thus freely.

“That is good logic, old man,” he confessed, “but those musicians have awakened thoughts of a little girl with blue eyes and golden hair, and I don’t think I care for the society of either Miss Mischief or Miss Hazle at present. Let’s stroll down to the shore.”

They did so, and found Diamond sitting on some bowlders, looking off over the bay in the track of moonlight which seemed to lead toward Bar Harbor.

“There he is,” said Hodge. “Thinking of the girl at Bar Harbor, I’ll bet something.”

“How long have you been here, old man?” asked Merry.

“Less than a minute,” answered Jack. “Just stopped here. Isn’t the moonlight beautiful on the water?”

“It is, but when a fellow gets to watching the moonlight all alone by himself it means something. I think Hattie Hazle was right.”

“About what?” asked the Virginian, quickly.

“She said you were in love.”

Jack said not a word.

“And Mabel Mischief settled it. Two nice girls, eh? Jack?”

“Do you want my honest opinion of them?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, you know I am always very careful about what I say concerning the fair sex.”

“Yes.”

“I would not say this to anyone else, but I know neither you nor Hodge will repeat it. Those girls are bright enough and are pretty, but they are too forward. I think the bicycle is responsible for it, but I notice that girls who ride are likely to be that way.”

Immediately both Merriwell and Hodge protested.

“Not necessarily,” said Frank. “I know many young ladies who are just as much ladies since they have begun to ride as they were before. If a girl is inclined to be unladylike, it is possible that riding a wheel may give her more opportunities to show her real nature than anything else. But the wheel is not to blame. It simply shows the person’s real nature.

“And I take exceptions, Jack, to your statement that those girls are bold. They were pleased by your appearance, and they tried to make themselves agreeable to you. That’s all.”

“I may be wrong,” admitted Jack; “but it seemed boldness. I wouldn’t say so to anyone else. Do not repeat it for the world! It might reach their ears, and I’d rather do anything than say a word to hurt the feelings of a lady.”

But his words had already reached the ears of Mabel and Hattie, for the girls were sitting on a flat stone and leaning against a bowlder less than thirty feet away.

As soon as Merriwell, Hodge and Diamond walked away, the girls arose and hurried from the spot.

“Oh, I could kill him!” flared Hattie.

Mabel said nothing.

They walked down the beach till they came to some steps that led up to an unoccupied cottage. They sat down on the steps.

“To think that fellow could say anything like that about us!” exclaimed Hattie, passionately.

“It is dreadful,” acknowledged Mabel.

“Dreadful! Why, it’s awful! He said we were bold! Oh! Ugh! How I hate him! How I hate him!”

“Don’t get so excited, Hattie.”

“Why, haven’t I every reason to get excited? Oh, I’d like to tell Mr. Jack Diamond what I think of him!”

Mabel sat still and looked out upon the water.

“He didn’t mean for us to hear it,” she said, after a time.

“But he said it! It’s just as bad!”

Pretty soon there was a queer sound in Mabel’s throat. Hattie looked at her in astonishment. Mabel was sobbing.

Above the bank there was grass on the ground, so the feet of two lads walking along there made no sound. They halted in amazement, looking down at the girls.

Hattie had placed her arm about her friend, and was trying to comfort her, saying swiftly:

“The wretch! How did he dare say it! He has broken your heart, Mabel! How can fellows be so mean!”

“It is Miss Mischief and Miss Hazle, Bart,” said Frank Merriwell. “Somebody has insulted them.”

“I’d like to punch the head of the fellow who would dare!” growled Hodge.

They heard him and looked up quickly. Then the boys were in a quandary, not knowing exactly what to do.

“We must pretend we did not know she was crying,” said Frank. “We must go down there, Bart.”

He whispered the words, and Hodge nodded. So they descended the bank, greeting the girls cheerfully.

“We have been looking for you,” declared Frank. “How fortunate we found you!”

“Yes, very fortunate,” said Hattie, a strange inflection in her voice. “We have something to say to you—something we wish you to tell a particular friend of yours.”

“Hattie, stop!” gasped Mabel. “Would you——”

“Yes, I would!” flashed Hattie.

“You mustn’t!”

“I must! Your friend, Mr. Diamond, expressed his opinion of us a short time ago.”

Frank was astounded and confused. For once in his life he did not know what to say. He wondered how these girls had learned what Jack said.

“Hattie, be still!” cried Mabel.

“Mr. Diamond was kind enough to say he thought us bold,” said Hattie. “And Mabel is crying over it.”

“I am so sorry,” said Frank, as he sat down on a stone at the foot of the steps. “Mr. Diamond would not have hurt Miss Mitshef’s feelings for the world. I assure you, he is a perfect gentleman, and——”

“He should not form opinions on such short acquaintance!” cried Hattie, still very angry. “He has no right to judge us!”

“I am afraid he has,” said Mabel, much to the surprise of all.

“What do you mean?” gasped the dark-haired girl. “It can’t be that you——”

“That’s what I cried over,” said Mabel, with a hysterical little laugh. “I knew Mr. Diamond spoke the truth!”

Bart Hodge staggered, and Frank caught his breath, while Hattie Hazle was speechless with astonishment.

“He had a reason to think me bold,” Mabel went on, swiftly. “I gave him that reason, for didn’t I do my best to flirt with him? A girl who does anything of the sort must expect the fellows to say she is bold. I don’t blame Mr. Diamond, for I know he did not say it to harm me, and he did not dream it would reach my ears. He was right! And he taught me a lesson. Folks have called me Mabel Mischief, and I have fancied I could do just as I pleased. Now I know I must be careful, for I am no longer a little girl. I owe Mr. Diamond a debt of gratitude.”

Hattie Hazle was quite overcome.

“Why, Mabel!” she said, “do you really mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it, Hattie. For the first time in my life I understand how my carelessness may be regarded by a stranger. In the future I shall be careful.”

“And you do not hate Jack Diamond?”

“No, for he spoke the truth.”

“Well, I declare!”

That was all Hattie could say. She had been very angry a short time before, but now she was bewildered. It was some time before she could see the matter in the same light as Mabel did, but, after a while, the light-haired girl convinced her that they had really given the Virginian every reason to say what he did. Then Hattie became very sober, and it was plain that she was meditating. She realized at last that her thoughtless conduct had given people opportunities to talk about her. And then, all at once, realizing her position, she jumped up, saying:

“Come, Mabel, let’s go to the cottage.”

As she turned around, she saw three persons who were looking down at them from the bank above.

“Oh, there they are!” exclaimed the voice of Walter Wallace. “You are right, Mr. Flynn, in what you said about Merriwell and his friends. They are up to their tricks. But we are three to their two, and now is our chance.”

“Come on, then!” urged the hoarse voice of Parker Flynn, and the trio came charging down the bank, the third one being Mart Woodock.

“Look out, Merriwell!” shouted Hodge.

But Frank was on his feet, ready to meet their assailants, and, a moment after, a savage battle was taking place there on the shore.

“Get away, girls—get away quick!” urged Frank. “If people come and find you here, your names will be drawn into this affair.”

The girls heeded the warning and ran away swiftly.

“Take that, you cur!” cried Hodge, striking Wallace fairly in the mouth. “You will find all the fight you want here.”

“Back to back, Bart!” hissed Merry. “It’s not the first time we have fought that way!”

Back to back they placed themselves, and they fought fiercely.

Parker Flynn was there, and he was eager to get at Merry. He held a large stone in one hand, and he watched his chance to strike Frank with it.

“I’ll crack his skull if I hit him right!” grated the fellow. “In a fight like this it would not count against me, for it would not be possible to tell who did the job.”

Frank was watching Flynn, for he knew the fellow was desperate, and would hesitate at nothing.

Woodock considered himself something of a fighter, and he did make it hot for Merriwell for a few moments; but Frank got in a blow that dazed the fellow and made him wary.

Hodge found Wallace not eager to follow him up, and this caused him to break away from the back-to-back program for a moment and leap toward Walter.

Smack!—Hodge landed with his left, and Wallace was stretched on the sand. Then Hodge sprang back to defend Frank’s rear.

Flynn fancied he saw his opportunity, and he made a rush to get at Frank from behind. As Hodge whirled into his position, the stone in Flynn’s hand came down on his head.

Without a cry or a moan, Bart dropped and lay still.

“The wrong one!” gasped Flynn, dropping the stone. “I’ve finished him, too!”

Then he wheeled suddenly and took to his heels.

Wallace and Woodock both heard Flynn say, “I have finished him!” and they saw Bart stretched on the ground. When the ruffian took to his heels they did not waste much time in following his example, and the trio soon disappeared from view.

Finding himself alone with Hodge, Frank quickly knelt at the side of his fallen friend.

“Bart!” he anxiously exclaimed; “are you hurt much? Speak—answer me!”

But Hodge did not speak, and his face looked pale and ghastly in the white moonlight that streamed across the water.

A sudden fear seized Merriwell, for he, also, had heard the words of the ruffian, Flynn. Was Hodge dead?

Frank looked for a wound, but could find none. He would not have been surprised had he found the stones of the beach red with the blood of his friend.

Then he felt for Bart’s heart, but it seemed that there was not so much as a fluttering beneath his hand, and his fear turned to horror.

“He has killed Hodge!”

The words came in a hoarse gasp from Merry’s lips. And then, suddenly, he reproached himself.

“I was a fool!” he said. “If I had sworn out a warrant for the wretch and set an officer on his track, this would not have happened. I am to blame! Oh, but I will avenge my friend! I am aroused at last!”

Too late!

It seemed that the evening breeze whispered the words in his ear.

But the criminal must not escape.

At that moment several persons, attracted by the sounds of the conflict, came hurrying to the spot. They found Frank endeavoring to arouse Bart. To their questions Merriwell replied by telling them just what had happened and who were responsible.

“Why, it can’t be Walter Wallace who had anything to do with this!” exclaimed a Belfast man.

“He was concerned,” declared Merriwell; “but he is not the one most guilty. I do not fancy he knew one of his companions had murder in his heart. Find Parker Flynn. He is the one who must suffer for this!”

Then he described Flynn, and some of the men hastened away to give the alarm and attempt to apprehend the perpetrator of the deed.

Hodge was lifted and carried into the cottage. There did not seem to be a cut upon his head, but there was a contusion.

“A doctor must be summoned at once!” said Merriwell, who was becoming more and more alarmed.

“Perhaps Dr. Mann is somewhere on the ground. He comes down often. Send somebody to the hotel to look for him.”

But Dr. Mann was not on the ground. He had not come down from the city.

Every effort was being made to restore Bart, but he lay in a heavy stupor, although he was breathing and his heart could be felt fluttering irregularly.

Some of the wheelmen heard what had happened, and came to the cottage. Harold Dustan was on hand, and he said he would send a fast rider to the city for a doctor. This was done, but the doctor was out making a call, which caused some delay, as another one had to be summoned, and it was not easy to find one who wished to ride to Northport that night.

Till the physician arrived Frank Merriwell hovered over his friend. Diamond came, took one look at Hodge, and then plunged out of the cottage, muttering an oath of vengeance as he went. Frank knew the Virginian had gone to aid in the search for Flynn.

Neither Wallace nor Woodock could be found on the ground. They had appeared in breathless haste at the hotel and taken their wheels out. No one knew whither they had gone, but it was plain they had taken flight, overcome with terror.

The doctor examined Hodge, and set about doing everything possible to bring the unfortunate lad out of the stupor.

“How badly is he hurt, doctor?” asked Frank, anxiously.

“I do not know yet,” was the physician’s candid confession. “He should have come round before this. His skull may be fractured, but I do not think so.”

“If not, why does he remain in this stupor?”

“Perhaps his brain was injured by the shock. It is possible there is a blood clot forming on his brain.”

“If so——”

“We will hope it is not so.”

The manner in which the doctor uttered the words showed that he regarded the case as hopeless, if a clot should form on Bart’s brain. He had spoken plainly so that he might be understood.

“And all this came about through my negligence in letting that rascal alone!” thought Frank, reproachfully. “If I had set the officers after him when he tried to stab me in Belfast, Bart would not be there on that bed, dying, perhaps.”

Frank spent a night of acute torture. He reproached himself constantly.

Several of the wheelmen stayed at Northport, anxious to learn the result of the doctor’s efforts.

Toward morning Bart opened his eyes and looked around in a wondering way. Frank uttered a low exclamation of thankfulness, and would have spoken, but the doctor motioned for him to be silent, whispering in his ear:

“Wait. Let him speak first. Don’t shock him now.”

After some time Hodge muttered thickly:

“What’s the matter?”

“Now you may speak to him,” said the doctor.

“Is there anything I can do for you, old man?” asked Frank, gently.

“Do for me?” repeated Bart, vaguely. “What’s the matter? I’m in bed.”

“Yes.”

“My head——”

“You were hurt.”

“Hurt? How?”

“You were struck on the head, you know. Don’t you remember?”

“I almost remember. I knew something had happened. Now—I am beginning to remember! Flynn—he meant to do you!”

“And he struck you instead of me.”

“That’s it! I remember seeing him just as he struck, but I didn’t have time to dodge. He must have hit me a good one. Where is he?”

“Twenty men are hunting for him.”

“Hope they catch him! He ought to be hanged! Got to shut him up now, Merry, or he’ll do you next.”

“I think that’s right, Bart.”

“I know it. Ought to have done it before. He’s a bad one. I’m tired. I want to sleep. We’ll talk it over in the morning. Can I sleep here?”

“Yes, it’s all right. Sleep as much as you like.”

“All right. Good-night, Merry. You’re a brick! Don’t let Flynn do you up. I’ll stand by you, Merry. Good-night. I’m fagged out.”

His eyes closed wearily, and he slept.

“Will he be all right in the morning, doctor?” asked Frank.

“I think so,” answered the doctor; “but that was an awful blow. We can’t tell the result of it. He may never be in as good condition as he was before, but we’ll hope that he comes round all right.”

Frank was wearied. He wondered where Diamond could be, but he knew well enough Jack was doing everything in his power to catch Flynn.

Morning was not far away when Frank lay down upon a couch and fell asleep. He was exhausted, and he slept soundly till some time after the sun had risen. He was aroused by the owner of the cottage, who informed him that a boy had just said that he was wanted at the telephone in the hotel.

Bart was sleeping. Frank took one look at him, and then hastened over to the hotel. He was shown the ’phone. As soon as he spoke, a voice asked:

“That you, Merry?”

It was Jack.

“Yes,” answered Frank. “What do you want?”

“Want you to come to Belfast in a hurry.”

“What’s up?”

“I have Flynn located here.”

“Nab him!”

“Can’t do it very well till you swear out a warrant for him. I am watching him. Make time getting here, old man, and we’ll pinch the scoundrel. I will wait for you at the Windsor. Come on, now, and don’t let any grass grow under your bike.”

“All right. I’ll be there in a very short time. Don’t let Flynn get away.”

Bang!—up on the fork went the receiver. Ting-lingling!—Merry rang off. Scoot!—he made a rush for the room where the bicycles had been stored.

Three minutes later he carried his wheel out of the hotel. He mounted it in a moment, and away he flew up the little hill and out of sight on his way to Belfast.

Frank fairly flew over the dusty road. It was well for him that there was no law for scorching on Northport Avenue, for he was going like an express train when he reached that long, straight strip of road leading into Belfast. Behind him rose a thin cloud of dust picked up by the tires of his wheels.

Another thing that favored Frank was that it was early in the morning, and there were not many teams on the avenue. Around Belfast there had been so much riding that few horses minded a wheel more than they did another team, and Frank did not find it necessary to slacken speed for any of them he met.

People stared at him in amazement as he flitted past like the wind. They had seen fast riding, but never anything quite like this. Those who obtained a glimpse of his hard-set face and gleaming eyes were certain it was a case of life or death, and that he must be riding thus furiously for a doctor.

Into Belfast sped Merriwell. His one fear was that his enemy, the wretch who had struck Hodge down, would escape. He was determined now. Flynn should be punished as he deserved. Thomaston prison should hold the wretch. It made no difference that it would cost time and trouble to prosecute. Frank thought of Hodge lying in a stupor nearly all the night, of his anguish as he watched beside his faintly breathing friend, of the vows he had repeated, and there was not an atom of mercy in his heart. Indeed, he felt as if he had never known mercy for an enemy.

The bicycle sang its whirring song beneath him, and it seemed to urge him to still greater exertion. His heart swelled with a fierce longing to clutch and hold the wretch he sought. He pictured the satisfaction he would feel as he cornered the scoundrel.

As he approached the Windsor he saw Jack Diamond was there, and that caused his heart to leap, for he felt that Flynn had not escaped. Scarcely slacking the speed of his wheel, he made a flying leap, his feet struck the ground, he ran forward a few steps and stood before the Virginian, panting.

“Where is he?”

“Great Scott!” gasped Diamond. “How did you get here so soon? Didn’t expect you for ten minutes.”

Frank’s hand shot out, his fingers fastened on Jack’s shoulder, and he shook the Southerner, as he almost snarled:

“Where is he?”

“Steady,” cautioned the Virginian, who had been cautioned himself and held in check a hundred times by Frank. “He is right here.”

“Where?”

“Inside.”

“The hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Lead the way.”

“Wait a minute.”

“Not a second.”

“You must!”

“Why?”

“Where is your warrant? This man must be arrested in proper style. It won’t do to attempt to take him by main force without the proper authority.”

“And while we dinky around he may take the alarm and escape.”

“The door of his room is watched. I have Dustan on guard there. He can’t come out of that room without Dustan seeing him. He won’t get away, Frank. You are cool enough usually, but now——”

“All night I have watched beside the bed of a friend struck down by that devil, not knowing but that friend might die before morning. All my coolness was eaten away by the fury that gnawed at my heart. Sometimes I believe I would have killed Flynn without hesitation had I been able to reach him.”

Something like satisfaction filled the heart of Jack Diamond, for Merriwell’s general coolness and self-control had been exasperating to him more than once. He had felt that Frank was altogether too cool under exasperating circumstances, and he had almost doubted that the great Yale pitcher could be stirred and utterly controlled by his passions. Now, however, he saw that, for once at least, Frank Merriwell was betraying the same emotions any other fellow in his position might feel, and that gave Diamond absolute pleasure.

It seemed strange to the hot-blooded Virginian to be counseling caution and doing all in his power to hold Frank in check. It was a novel experience, and he realized that such a thing was not likely to happen again, so he made the most of it.

“The proper officers are waiting in the office of the hotel, Frank,” said Jack, quietly.

“What officers?”

“A lawyer, and——”

“What do I want of a lawyer now?”

“Why, you must have a warrant. The sheriff is there, also, and he will be able to serve the warrant as soon as you swear it out. I could have done this, but I thought it best to leave it all to you.”

“That was right,” said Frank, a change coming over him—a change that was so sudden that it startled Jack, for Merry seemed to suddenly become as cool as ice. “You have done well, Diamond. Let’s get to work in short order.”

Jack led the way into the hotel. As he had said, a lawyer and an officer were waiting in the office. Two or three others were present.

In short order Frank swore out a warrant against Parker Flynn, charging the scoundrel with assault with murderous intent. The paper was placed in the hands of the officer to serve.

Up the stairs they went, officer, Merriwell, Diamond, and two or three others. They approached the door of a room before which stood Harold Dustan.

“He hasn’t offered to come out,” said Dustan, softly. “I think he is asleep.”

Rat-tat-tat!—the knuckles of the sheriff beat a tattoo on the panel of the door.

No answer. All was quiet within that room.

Again the sheriff knocked loudly, but still there was no answer. He turned the knob and shook the door.

“Open this door!” he commanded.

Not a sound from within.

“Open it, in the name of the law!”

Even that failed to elicit a response.

Frank grew impatient.

“There must be a duplicate key,” he said. “Let’s have it.”

“I will get it,” said the clerk, and he started downstairs.

Frank knelt in front of the door and tried to peer through the keyhole, but he quickly said:

“There is a key in this lock on the inside!”

“Then he must be in there,” said Diamond. “It’s no use for him to play this kind of a game. We’ll have him soon.”

A sudden thought came to Merry. What if Flynn had committed suicide? The fellow was rattleheaded and desperate. Without doubt he drank heavily. No one could tell what such a man might do.

The clerk came with the key, but it could not be used. Again the sheriff demanded admittance, and again there was no answer.

“Break down the door!” said Frank.

“Wait!” cried the clerk—“wait till I find the proprietor!”

“I will pay for the door!” exclaimed Frank. “Go ahead, Mr. Officer.”

The sheriff set his shoulder against the door and gave a surge. Then there was a crash and the door flew open.

Into the room they went.

It was empty! Flynn was not there!

The window was open. Out of it dangled a rope. Frank leaped forward and looked out into the back yard.

“He’s gone!” cried Merriwell, fiercely. “He knew he was watched, and he has given us the slip!”

“What’s this?” exclaimed Jack, catching up a sheet of paper from the stand. “He’s left a note here.”

Then Diamond read aloud:

“I know this room is watched. You think you have me caught, but I will fool you. When I found myself watched, I came here and took this room, which I have occupied before, because I knew it would be easy to drop out into the back yard and give you the slip that way. But I am not done with Mr. Frank Merriwell. He has robbed me, and I will get at him yet. My time is coming.

“I believe I am on the trail at last!”

Frank Merriwell uttered the words. It was two hours after Flynn’s escape from the Windsor, and a dozen persons had been searching for the man ever since.

Frank had found that Flynn, after restoring the hired wheel, in his possession, to the dealer of whom he had obtained it, had returned that very morning and bought the wheel outright, taking it away with him. This was at a time after he retired to the room in the hotel, and was, beyond a doubt, after his escape into the back yard.

Then Merry reasoned that the fellow had purchased the wheel to aid him in escaping from the city. Merriwell, Diamond and several of the Belfast wheelmen set out by different streets in the attempt to get on the track of the fugitive. Frank had ridden north, toward City Point, making inquiries as he went. At last he received information that led him to believe he was on the right scent.

Over the bridge and into the country beyond rode Frank. He found a man who had seen a bicyclist pass an hour before, and the description fitted Flynn.

At first the road was furrowed by many teams that had gone into the city that morning, and it was useless to look for the track of a bicycle. This made it necessary for Frank to halt many times to make inquiries, and he knew the fugitive was gaining on him if he were pushing on steadily.

“Never mind!” said Merry, with savage determination, “if I am on the right trail, I’ll never give up till I have run him down.”

Once or twice he proceeded some distance on the wrong road, and was forced to turn back and take another course. These mistakes were exasperating.

The sun rose higher and higher till it blazed down with crushing heat from almost directly overhead.

“Never supposed it would be so hot up here in this country,” muttered the pursuer.

But heat did not cause him to slacken his pace. He drove forward steadily, covered with dirt and perspiration.

All the forenoon he tracked Flynn. He was miles from Belfast, having passed through Waldo, Brooks, Monroe and other places. At noon he was in a hilly country, where the roads were rough and dangerous. He found where the man he was after had stopped at a farmhouse and eaten dinner.

Frank did not stop there. On the dusty road he could see the trail of the bicycle. It was plain enough now, and he did not need to ask questions. He knew he was riding in pursuit, for the track told him that, as the resistance of the air to the bicycle, and, in a lesser degree, the resistance of the roadway, caused furrows to appear on either side of the bicycle track, and those furrows formed an angle with the track of the bicycle in the direction in which it was going. Frank had discovered by observation that a bicycle could be tracked in the right direction on a dusty road with the aid of these telltale furrows, and now his knowledge stood him in good stead.

The intense heat continued, but in the northwest black “thunder heads” were pushing upward against the sky. Pretty soon the thunder began to mutter and rumble.

“A shower is coming,” thought Frank, “and it will blot out this trail. Can’t I overtake the fellow before the rain strikes?”

Onward he flew. He drove his wheel up a hard hill that was thickly wooded. When he reached the top he saw that the rain would soon strike him. Jagged flashes of lightning shot athwart the black clouds, which had risen till they were almost over his head.

He started to descend the hill, but had not gone far before he saw an old road that led off into the woods, and toward that road a single track turned out of the dust of the main highway.

Immediately he leaped from his wheel and quickly turned it into the old road.

“I am close upon him!” thought Frank. “Not a moment is to be wasted.”

He mounted again and drove onward, as fast as he could ride, over the unused road. Through a long opening amid the trees he caught a glimpse of another rider just disappearing from view.

“There he is!”

A terrible crash of thunder drowned his words. There was a hush in the woods—the hush before the storm.

The road grew steeper and steeper, but Frank rode at furious speed, for something told him there was danger that he would be given the slip once more by Flynn. Ahead of him the road curved out of sight, but he knew the foot of the steep hill must be near. He managed to keep his feet on the pedals, but did not try to hold the flying bicycle in check.

Round the curve he sped, and then a gasp of alarm escaped his lips, for directly ahead of him was a small river, and where it had been spanned at one time by an old bridge, only the rotting, sagging timbers were left. The planking had been torn away, leaving only the stringers.

He was right upon the ruined bridge, and, finding he could not stop, he felt certain that he was rushing to certain destruction. And nowhere before him could he see Parker Flynn. He had been tricked by the rascal, who might be watching him at that moment.

At the very last moment, Frank turned his wheel so that it struck one of the stringers, to which broken pieces of planking still clung. In a most remarkable manner, he held the wheel steady, and straight along that stringer it shot. Even then, in that moment of peril, he remembered seeing a bicycle that lay under the water at the bottom of the river.

How he crossed that stringer he could not tell, but he did so, reaching the other side in safety. It was a most miraculous feat, and was more of a chance than anything else.

Off the bicycle he sprang, and back to the bridge he rushed. He walked out on the stringer and looked down at the bicycle beneath the water. From some timbers fluttered a strip of cloth. He looked down the stream, and in an eddy he could see a hat floating round and round. Then he hurried to the bank, made his way down the river, secured a long stick and drew the hat in.

“It’s Flynn’s!” he said, before his hand touched it. “He did not escape going into the river, and he must have struck with terrible force against some of these broken timbers. It’s two to one he’s drowned.”

Securing the hat, he found the name of a Boston dealer inside, and there was no longer a doubt in his mind but it had belonged to Parker Flynn.

There was a patter of rain on the leaves and a distant roar that told of the coming downpour. At a distance up the river was an old mill, and toward this Merry hurried. He reached it just as the storm broke in all its fury.

For an hour the rain came down in torrents, the lightning blazed and the thunder shook the earth. When it was all over, Frank started out to find Flynn.

He did not find the man. After searching till late in the afternoon, he secured the aid of a number of farmers. At nightfall they had found nothing. Some of them were certain the body of the man would be recovered from a pond into which the river ran about a mile below the broken bridge, but night brought an end to the search.

Nearly forty-eight hours later Frank rode back into Belfast. His disappearance and prolonged absence had caused great wonder and excitement, and his return was hailed with satisfaction. He went straight to the rooms of the Belfast Wheelmen and found Diamond there.

Frank told the story of his pursuit, and expressed regret at being forced to say that neither Flynn alive nor his body had been found, but the farmers who had assisted in the search were confident that, in time, the body would be recovered from the pond.

He asked anxiously for Hodge.

“Bart is all right,” said Diamond. “He has had the very best of care. Yesterday he was brought up from Northport, and you can’t guess where he is.”

“I won’t try.”

“He is at Miss Mitshef’s home. She told her mother all about the encounter, and Mrs. Mitshef insisted that Bart be brought there and stay there till he had quite recovered. He has recovered already, but he knows when he is well off, and he is pretending to be an invalid. I don’t blame him, either.”

“Eh? Why, I thought——”

“Hush, Frank!” said Jack, quickly. “I know I expressed an unfavorable opinion of certain young ladies, but I want to take everything back. I was up there last evening to see Bart. Hattie Hazle was there, and I have changed my mind concerning those girls. Mabel Mitshef is cultivated and refined, as also is Hattie Hazle, although she seems to entertain a positive dislike for me. I was altogether too hasty in forming an opinion of them.”

“Look here!” exclaimed Frank, with a twinkle in his eyes. “It can’t be you are forgetting the little girl at Bar Harbor?”

Jack blushed, but quickly said:

“Not a bit of it, Merriwell! But I did want to retract what I said about these girls here. There is to be a party at Miss Mitshef’s house to-night, and we are all invited. If you did not return, it was to be postponed.”

“Well, we will attend the party,” smiled Frank. “I am ready for a little pleasure after what I have passed through in the last three days.”

From a handsome residence on High Street, Belfast, came the sounds of music, singing and merry laughter. From top to bottom the house was brightly illuminated, and the sounds from within told that it was overflowing with light-hearted young people.

Mabel Mitshef, or “Mischief,” as she was almost universally called, was giving her party, and Frank Merriwell and his friends, Hodge, Diamond, Browning and Dunnerwust, were invited guests.

Leaving out Hans, Frank’s party formed a fine quartet, and their singing of college songs had been received with great applause. “Solomon Levi,” “Bingo,” “Stars of the Summer Night,” all the old favorites came in turn, and still the cry was for more.

Browning gave up from sheer exhaustion.

“It’s no use,” he said; “I’m not in training. Can’t keep it up, you know. I beg you to excuse me.”

Then, being urged, Frank sang one of the late popular songs, Jack accompanying him on the piano. Never had he sung better, and never had those present heard anything that pleased them more. There was a great burst of applause when he finished.

“Beautiful!” murmured Hattie Hazle, a handsome, dark-eyed girl. “I don’t wonder all the girls fall in love with Mr. Merriwell, for he does everything divinely! His singing is enough to make anyone adore him.”

“I don’d pelief you nefer heardt me sung,” said Hans, who sat near her. “Oh, you haf missed der dreat uf my life! I vos a pird!”

“Why, Mr. Dunnerwust,” cried Hattie, a twinkle in her eyes, “I am just perfectly crazy to hear you sing! I’ve been wanting to ask you, but didn’t dare, you know. Won’t you sing us a solo?”

“If he does, I hope he will sing it so low I can’t hear it,” muttered Browning. “I’ve heard him sing. The toothache is delirious delight compared to his singing.”

“Vale,” said Hans, with assumed modesty, “I don’d put meinseluf vorwart as no brimer donners, but I can vawble in a vay dot vill surbrise you.”

“That’s a fact,” nodded Bruce. “Everybody secure a supply of cotton before he begins. You will need it to stop your ears.”

“Vot vos dot?” demanded the Dutch boy, angrily. “You vos shelus, dot’s vot’s der madder you mit! You knew I vos goin’ to took der shine off vrom your sunging, und you don’d vant me to done dot. Vale, Misder Prowning, you don’d run der vorld!”

“Oh, don’t mind him, Mr. Dunnerwust,” said Hattie. “I am sure we are all very anxious to hear you sing.”

“Yes, indeed!” cried several other girls, taking the cue from Hattie and crowding about Hans. “Please sing, Mr. Dunnerwust.”

“Vale,” said Hans, smiling and putting his hand over his face in a manner meant to express great embarrassment, “it vill gif you great bleasure—no, I mean it vill gif me great bleasure to sung to der laties. I nefer could resist der laties.”

He arose and bowed, with his hand on his heart.

“Oh, how charming!” cried several of the girls, who had been given the tip by Merriwell early in the evening to have sport with the Dutch boy. “Do sing, Mr. Dunnerwust!”

“Before you begin, Hans,” laughed Frank, “you had better make sure no one in the room has a gun.”

“Coot cracious!” gurgled the Dutch boy, staring at Frank. “Vos you shelus, too? I didn’d oxbect dot vrom you, Vrankie. Py Chorch! This vos a surbrise vor you!”

“It will be a surprise for a great many when you begin to sing,” sighed the big Yale man.

“Mister Prowning, your remarks vos oxceeding der blace out uf. Laties, vot shall I sung to you?”

“Oh, anything!” cried Hattie. “Make your own selection.”

“I nefer sing any dose common songs uf. Der oldt songs vos goot enough me vor, such as, ‘Holdt der Vort Up,’ ‘Bull der Shore Vor,’ ‘Vait Till der Glouts Roll Pie, Shenny,’ ‘Der Oldt Oaken Pocket,’ und such as dose.”

“Oh, do sing ‘The Old Oaken Bucket,’” urged Hattie.

“Yes, do!” cried the others.

“Vale, I ain’d sung dot some dime vor, but id peen my vavorite song. I vill gif him to you, laties.”

“Who will accompany you?”

“I don’d needed nottings dot kindt uf. I can done my own accombanying. Shust kept sdill now, und I vill wable.”

Then Hans took a position in the middle of the room, threw his chest out and his head back, opened his mouth and let out some very remarkable sounds. This is his version of “The Old Oaken Bucket” as he gave it:

By the time he got that far the entire gathering was convulsed with laughter. As he had been singing with his eyes closed, he had not seen them laughing, but now he opened his eyes and caught his breath in preparation for starting in on the next verse.

He did not start. The shout of laughter that went up made him stagger and gasp.

He stared around blankly, and then he looked disgusted.

“Py Chorch!” he muttered, “I pelief they vos laughin’ me at!”

In high indignation he stalked to his seat, and dropped down heavily, dragging a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopping the perspiration off his face.

Frank was laughing as heartily as anyone. Even Jack Diamond was smiling.

“Oh! oh! oh!” cried Hattie Hazle, with her handkerchief over her face.

“Vale,” said Hans, sadly, “I nefer oxbected you vould laugh me at, Miss Hazles!”

“Oh! oh! oh!” gasped Hattie. “I’m—not—laughing.”

“Vot?”

“No.”

“Vot you vos doin’?”

“I—I’m—crying!” she shrieked, with another outburst.

“Dot vos vunny! Vot you vos gryin’ vor?”

“Oh! oh! Because—because I am so—so affected—by—your—singing!”

She managed to utter the words, and then she fell over into the arms of a girl friend and went into another paroxysm.

Hans was in doubt. Somehow it did not seem to him that she was weeping, but she had said so, and he concluded that it might be her way of shedding tears.

“Vot you thinks uf dot, Misder Pruce Prowning?” he demanded. “You nefer made anypody gry your singing py your whole life in.”

“That’s all right, Hans; but this matter is serious. You have broken her all up, and she is liable to have convulsions and die. If she expires, you will be responsible.”

“Shimminy Gristmas!”

“It will be a very sad affair, but you have committed murder already.”

“Vot?” squawked Hans. “Murter? Vot you meant py dot?”

“You just murdered ‘The Old Oaken Bucket’ in the most horrible manner.”

Hans gasped and gurgled, and then he grew red in the face. Leaning toward Bruce, he hoarsely hissed:

“I don’d vant to made any drouble der bresence uf der laties in, but I vill fighted you on der oudside der house uf a minute in uf you dare gone ut mit me!”

But Bruce declined to go out.

Time flew swiftly that evening. ’Mid games, charades, music, refreshments, merry chatter and merry laughter, eleven o’clock came round with amazing speed.

Just as the clock was striking eleven, Hattie Hazle came in from another room to the parlor, where most of the guests were, and hurried straight toward Frank Merriwell. She was seen to whisper something in his ear.

Frank looked surprised and doubtful, and then she appeared to urge him to do something, and he finally smiled and nodded. A moment later, he arose and left the room.

Hattie had fancied that her act was unobserved, for Hans Dunnerwust was attempting to tell a funny story, and he had snarled himself up in such a manner that everyone seemed shouting with laughter and giving their entire attention to him.

But Jack Diamond had not missed the girl’s act, and on his face there was a look of displeasure and anxiety. When Merry started to leave the room, the Virginian reached out a hand as if to stop him, but seemed to change his mind, for he let Frank go.

But Jack watched Hattie closely. He saw her join in with the merry throng and seem as light-hearted and gay as any of them. Indeed, Hattie and Mabel were leaders in their set.

Diamond did not mean to take his eyes off the dark-haired girl, but Browning came up, suppressing a yawn with an effort and said:

“I’m getting bored. When are we to make our escape?”

“Oh, very soon, I think,” said Jack. “It is getting late.”

“The party will not break up before twelve. Are we to remain and see the agony through?”

“I don’t know. Merriwell will settle——”

Diamond paused and began to look around the room, an expression of anxiety on his face.

“She’s gone!” he muttered.

“Eh?” grunted the big Yale man. “What did you say?”

“Do you see Hattie Hazle anywhere?”

“Oho!” laughed Bruce. “So that is the matter! I presume you will not go directly from here to the yacht. Miss Hazle must walk home, and you will——”

“Nothing of the sort, sir!” interrupted Diamond, flushing hotly. “I am not chasing every pretty girl I see!”

“No? Well, you are a rare bird among the rising generation.”

“Besides——”

“I know all about the little girl at Bar Harbor, but she would never know anything about your little flirtations over here.”

“That makes no difference to me,” came haughtily from Jack’s lips. “I should know about it, and my sense of honor——”

“More of your Southern notions.”

“Perhaps so, but I am rather proud of my Southern notions, Mr. Browning. That is all, sir.”

Then, apparently almost at a white heat, Diamond left the big fellow, who sat down wearily on an easy-chair, murmuring to himself:

“Queer chap, that. He drags honor into everything. He’ll not even flirt a little with a pretty girl, for he is in love with a little Boston maiden, Paula Benjamin, who is at Bar Harbor. And I don’t believe there is anything serious between them, either, for I am sure he has not proposed to her. All the same, just as long as he is in love with her, he’ll not look at another girl. I wonder if all Virginians are that way. They can’t be.”

Diamond hurried out of the room. In various parts of the house he looked for Hattie Hazle.

“If I find her,” he thought, “I will ask her where Frank has gone.”

He did not find her.

At last, Jack came hurrying back to the parlor, a troubled look on his face. He saw Hodge, and quickly drew him aside.

“Look here, Bart,” he said, speaking in a low tone and uttering the words swiftly, “something is up.”

“What? How?”

“I’ll tell you. A while ago Miss Hazle came into this room in a hurry, just as Hans was trying to tell that story. I saw her look around till her eyes fell on Frank, then she hurried to him. No one noticed her but Merry and myself. She began speaking to him in a low tone, and I caught a few of her words.”

“Go on.”

“She was urging him to do something. At first he refused, politely, but she insisted, and, after a little, he gave in. I heard him ask, ‘Where is he?’ Then she said something I did not catch, and Frank said, ‘All right, I’ll see him.’ Directly he left this room, and I do not know where he went.”

Hodge looked disappointed.

“What of that?” he asked.

“Something is up,” repeated the Virginian. “I feel it—I know it!”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t see that you heard anything to make you think so.”

“Who did Merry go to see? Everyone of our party was here in this room.”

“I don’t know whom he went to see, and I don’t know that it concerns me. Jove! I never knew you to be so curious before, Diamond. This is a new freak for you.”

Jack flushed.

“I know you think it queer,” he said, swiftly; “but something tells me Frank is in danger. I did not try to hear a word that passed between him and Miss Hazle, but I heard despite myself. I meant to watch her, but she disappeared suddenly, and I could not find her. I thought I would ask her frankly where Merry had gone.”

“Well, I think you are putting yourself to a lot of unnecessary trouble. I don’t understand why you are so disturbed over a little thing like this.”

“I believe Frank is in danger.”

“Why?”

“I have not forgotten that he has enemies in Belfast.”

“He hasn’t any—now.”

“How do you know?”

“Who could they be?”

“Walter Wallace.”

“Oh! he never was very dangerous.”

“Mart Woodock.”

“And he was simply a sort of tool for Wallace. Frank Merriwell is more than a match for those chaps, and they are nothing more than two fellows who were envious of Merry.”

“But they tried to do him up. They aided Parker Flynn in the attack upon you and Merriwell. They were on hand when Flynn struck you down with a stone and nearly split your skull.”

“And they were so frightened that they took to their heels and have not been seen in Belfast since. Oh, those chaps are not to be worried over. If Flynn were alive——”

“Who knows he is dead?”

“Where there is every evidence of his death!”

“There is no evidence of his death that amounts to anything.”

“Merry pursued him far up into the country.”

“Yes.”

“And Flynn went through a broken bridge and was drowned.”

“What proof is there of that?”

“His bicycle was found in the water under the bridge.”

“Is that proof?”

“His cap was floating in an eddy of the river, which must have carried his body down into a pond below.”

“But the body was not recovered, although a search was made for it, and, as yet, there is no absolute proof of his death.”

“If he had not been drowned, he must have been found.”

“I’m not certain of that. He is a crafty fellow, and he may have resorted to a trick to deceive Frank.”

“Why should he?”

“He was hunted, and Merriwell had practically run him down. He knew he could not escape unless he did so by strategy. The bicycle at the bottom of the river and the floating cap made it seem that he had plunged into the river. He knew, if he were not found, that the report of his death would go out. That would give him time to escape. He did not know but he was a murderer. It is probable that he believed he had killed you. He had every reason to resort to trickery, and I am inclined to believe that was his game. I do not think Parker Flynn is dead.”

“You astonish me,” said Hodge, slowly, “but you may be right. However, even though the wretch is alive, I do not fancy we need worry about him.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll not trouble us again.”

“There is where I think you make a mistake. You have not sized up Flynn correctly. That chap is a thorough desperado, and, at the same time, he is cunning.”

“Well, it’s certain he would not venture back into Belfast so soon after what has happened.”

“You think he would not dare, and I believe that is the very thing he would dare. He would reason that no one would expect him to come back here, and back here he would come. If he has returned here, he knows by this time that he did not kill you, Hodge, and once more he is dangerous, for he will try to get another crack at Frank.”

The reasoning of Diamond was beginning to impress Hodge.

“Well, I don’t see how you connect this with anything Hattie Hazle said to Frank,” he spoke.

“Hattie Hazle asked him to meet somebody, and he has gone to meet that person.”

“Well?”

“At first he refused. That showed it was no one he regarded as a friend.”

“It looks that way,” confessed Bart.

“Then he must have gone to meet an enemy. He maybe in danger. Let’s go look for him, Hodge.”

“By Jove! I will do it, Diamond. I don’t want him to think I’d spy on him, but it would be enough to make a man daffy to have Flynn come back here and get at Merry. Come on, Jack!”

The house was surrounded by beautiful grounds. There were hedges, shrubbery, arbors and retreats.

The boys sought Merriwell there. They walked across the grass, avoiding the gravel walks, and their feet made no noise.

Suddenly Jack paused and clutched Bart’s arm.

“Listen!” he whispered.

They could hear the murmur of voices near at hand.

“Come!”

Forward they stole.

“Merry is there,” whispered Hodge.

They could hear him speaking.

“If he is in no danger, we’ll get out in a hurry,” said Jack, whose heart was beginning to misgive him. “I don’t want to be nosing into his business.”

Then they paused close to a clump of fancifully trimmed cedars. They could hear a voice saying:

“I thank you, Mr. Merriwell, for your generosity in promising not to make trouble for me. I know you could do so if you wished, but I give you my word of honor that I had no idea the fellow, Flynn, meant to do anyone serious harm when we attacked you. Wallace got me into it. I’ve got to go home, for they say my mother is nearly crazy over my absence.”

“It’s all right, Woodock,” said the voice of Frank Merriwell. “Go home, and be sure I hold no grudge. I think I can satisfy Hodge. Anyhow, we are going to leave Belfast to-morrow, if everything is favorable.”

“Well, I wish you good luck.”

“Oh, come away!” whispered Diamond, in Bart’s ear, his tone indicating disgust. “I’ve made a fool of myself. It’s only Woodock, and he is harmless.”

“’Sh!” warned Hodge. “Keep still. They are going. We have made asses of ourselves, but we don’t want Merry to know it.”

“Permit me to thank you, too, Mr. Merriwell,” said another voice. “You are very generous. Mart and I were schoolmates, and when he asked me to see you, I was glad to help him.”

It was the voice of Hattie Hazle.

“Everything is all right,” laughed Merriwell, in his jolly way. “I hold no grudge. I must get back to the house, or the fellows will be wondering what has become of me.”

“Remember my warning,” said the voice of Woodock. “You have not seen the last of Parker Flynn. I have reasons to believe he is alive and will trouble you again.”

“It will be the worse for him if he does. I may not see you again, Woodock, so good-by.”

“Good-by.”

A moment later Jack and Bart saw Merry hurrying toward the house.

“Now is our time,” said Bart. “We’ll follow.”

But Diamond held him back.

“Wait,” he whispered. “There go Woodock and Miss Hazle. He is taking her to the house. We’ll have to keep still or be seen.”

They remained quiet till Woodock and the girl reached the house, where she bade him good-night, and he turned away, while she entered.

“Girls are peculiar,” muttered Hodge. “I thought that girl did not care at all for Mart Woodock, but now I know she really thinks a good deal of him. She would not have taken all this trouble otherwise. She is a natural flirt, and she has tormented him till he was jealous. When he saw Merriwell and I with Hattie and Mabel at Northport, he attacked us with the others.”

But Diamond seemed so excited that he did not hear Bart’s words.

“I knew it! I knew it!” he repeated.

“Hey?” said Bart. “Knew what? What are you driving at?”

“Didn’t I tell you Parker Flynn was not dead?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you heard what Woodock told Merriwell. The fellow is alive! That is certain now.”

“How is it certain? Woodock simply said he had reasons to believe Flynn alive.”

“That’s enough. I am sure he did not tell all he knew. He didn’t dare. He wanted to warn Frank, and so he told that. Had he told the whole truth, he would have said that he knew Flynn was alive. I feel sure of it.”

“If he knows it, Flynn must be in Belfast.”

“I told you a short time ago that it would be just like the fellow to come back here.”

“Well, he wants to keep away from me!” growled Hodge, tenderly touching his head. “I have a grudge in store for that whelp, and, if he lives, I’ll settle the score some time.”

“I am thinking about the yacht,” said Jack. “We have left it entirely alone, thinking there was no need to watch it now.”

“That’s so. Flynn claims that the White Wings belongs to him.”

“And he has made more than one attempt to get possession of her.”

“You think——”

“Isn’t it likely that he might make another?”

“It’s more than likely. We must see Frank and talk the matter over. Somebody must be sent to the yacht immediately.”

“Why not all go? It’s late enough.”

“We’ll see about it. Come on.”

They went in and found Frank, and Diamond suggested that they return to the yacht at once.

“I think we have not been careful,” he said. “We should not have left her unguarded.”

“I am beginning to think so myself,” confessed Frank; but he said nothing about Mart Woodock and the warning he had received.

The party was breaking up. Already some of the guests had departed. Frank found Hans and Bruce, and told them it was time to leave.

“Vale,” said Hans, “I haf had der pest time you efer saw!”

They found Mabel Mischief and told her how much they had enjoyed the evening, after which they bade her good-night.

“When do you sail?” she asked.

“By nine o’clock to-morrow morning, if the wind is favorable.”

“Hattie and I will come down to see you off.”

“Yes,” laughed Hattie, who was standing beside Mabel, “we will be there.”

The girls shook hands with them all, one after another. As they started out, Frank began to whistle “Nellie Was a Lady,” and the others, with the exception of Diamond, joined in. This was turned into “Marching Through Georgia,” to which tune they stepped off briskly toward the steamboat wharf.

As they came down the street leading to the wharf the whistling died out, and they walked on in silence.

“The wind is off shore to-night,” said Diamond.

“I hope it will hold that way in the morning,” said Frank.

They reached the wharf. Jack hurried forward and was the first to reach the steps, at the foot of which they had left their boat. He went down the steps quickly, and then a cry came from his lips.

“What’s the matter?” asked Frank.

“Boat is gone!”

“Impossible!”

“It is, all the same. Somebody has stolen her.”

“Well, that is interesting!”

Of a sudden, Frank turned and hurried out upon the wharf till he was where he could look over the water toward the anchored yachts. The moon was down, but the sky was clear and full of stars, so there was sufficient light for him to see the yachts.

He could not distinguish the White Wings among them!

Hodge came hurrying to Frank’s side.

“It was a mistake to leave the small boat there with the oars in her,” he said. “Some of these skulkers around the wharves got away with her.”

“And they have taken the yacht, too!” came hoarsely from Frank’s lips. “The White Wings is gone!”

“What?”

Hodge literally staggered. He clutched Frank’s arm, as if for support.

“It can’t be true!”

“It is!”

“How do you know?”

“Look for yourself. She is not where she was anchored.”

“But the tide has changed since we left her. She must have swung round into another position.”

“That’s all right. I have looked for her in the position she would occupy. She is not there.”

Browning came loafing round the corner, grumbling as he approached.

“Now, this is a great note!” he growled. “How are we to get on board—walk?”

“You would have quite a walk to-night,” said Frank, huskily.

“Eh?”

“The White Wings is gone.”

“What?”

“That is right.”

“Gone? How?”

“Stolen!”

The big fellow leaned against the building, utterly overcome for the time. Diamond and Hans came up, and Frank explained the situation.

“I feared it!” grated the Virginian.

“Shimminy Gristmas!” gurgled Hans. “Did dot yotch valk avay py himseluf alone alretty?”

“How do you know the yacht was stolen, Merry?” asked Browning. “It may have broken from anchorage with the turning of the tide, and drifted away.”

Frank shook his head.

“That was not possible. The small boat went with the White Wings. Both were stolen.”

“Who by?”

“Parker Flynn!” cried Jack Diamond.

“Why, the fellow is dead—drowned,” said Browning.

“Not much! He is alive, and he has that yacht. That drowning business was a trick. Find Parker Flynn, and you will find the White Wings.”

“I will find them both,” declared Merriwell, with quiet determination. “Parker Flynn shall not escape me a second time!”

“How can you follow him?” asked Bart.

“I will follow him if I have to fly!”

All knew Merriwell was in earnest.

Frank determined to make sure the yacht was stolen, and so he searched around till he found a boat that he could use. He and Diamond got in and rowed off into the fleet of yachts. They could see nothing of the White Wings, and, as they were rowing about, they were hailed from another yacht.

“What are you chaps looking for?” asked a voice.

“For my sloop, White Wings,” answered Merry.

“What? Are you the fellow who owns her?”

“I am.”

“Well, she’s gone.”

“I see she is, but I’d like to know where she is gone.”

“I can’t tell you that, but three fellows came off to her two hours ago, got up the anchor, hoisted sail and made down the bay. I watched them, because their actions were suspicious, and it was remarkable that they should start out at such an hour. I hailed them once, but they didn’t pay any attention to me.”

“That settles it!” exclaimed Frank. “The White Wings is stolen! I am much obliged to you for the information.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m sorry I didn’t know those chaps were stealing her. I might have found a way to stop them.”

Frank and Jack rowed ashore.

“She was stolen, fellows,” said Merriwell. “We found a man who saw her when she was taken. I shall start in pursuit of her in the morning.”

“How?” asked Hodge.

“I will find a way.”

They walked up into the city, Frank hurrying forward in advance. The Windsor Hotel had not closed for the night, and they went in there, where Frank registered for them all.

“Now,” he said, “you had better go to sleep, fellows. I have some work to do myself, but you can’t help me.”

“I couldn’t sleep if I tried,” declared Diamond. “Let me go with you.”

“All right; but the others must turn in and try to sleep.”

“What are you going to do, Merry?” asked Hodge.

“I am not certain yet what I shall do. Sleep, as I have told you. I shall try to get some sleep myself before morning.”

He seemed as calm as possible, now. To look at him and hear him speak, a stranger could not have dreamed that he had just met with such a loss.

Diamond asked no questions as he and Merriwell left the Windsor. Jack was confident that Merriwell knew what he was about.

Frank proceeded straight to the home of Howard Dustan, despite the hour, and rang the bell. Ten minutes later he was talking with Howard himself.

“What is this you tell me?” cried Dustan, in amazement. “Your yacht stolen?”

“Yes. It was taken while we were at the party to-night. I suppose it was careless to leave it unguarded, but I fancied Parker Flynn was out of the way, so there was little danger that it would be molested. But Martin Woodock warned me to-night that Flynn was alive and in Belfast.”

“Good gracious! What will you do?”

“Pursue the robbers.”

“How will you do it?”

“I have come to you to help me. I want to hire a small, fast steam launch. Do you know where I can get such a boat, and have it ready to leave at sunrise to-morrow?”

Dustan whistled, and appeared thoughtful.

“I am not certain,” he said, slowly. “My uncle owns such a boat, but I do not think you can get her, for he always goes with her, and he is ill in bed.”

“Does your uncle live in the city?”

“Yes.”

“How far away?”

“About a mile.”

“I know it is asking considerable of you, Dustan, but it will be a great favor if you will go with me to your uncle’s house. I wish to get a boat before morning, for I don’t want the curs who stole my yacht to get too much of a start. Perhaps I can fix it so your uncle will let me have his launch.”

“I doubt it, but I will go with you.”

Howard retired into the house to get his coat and hat, for he had come out in his shirt sleeves. He was not gone more than two minutes.

Twenty minutes later the boys had obtained admission to the home of Howard’s uncle, and Frank was talking to the sick man. At first it seemed that Merry would not be successful, but he produced five hundred dollars in money, which he agreed to leave in the man’s possession to insure him against any damage to the launch, and he offered a remarkable sum per day for her use. Howard used his influence, and, at last, Frank won.

“It will be necessary for Howard to go with you,” said the man, “for he is commissioned to run such a boat, and you are not.”

“I shall be only too glad to go,” declared Dustan.

Frank Merriwell showed his abilities as a hustler, for at sunrise he was on board the steam launch Fox, and ready to start in pursuit of his stolen yacht. The Fox was lying at a wharf some distance above the steamboat wharf. She was coaled for a trip, and steam was up as the sun rose out of the bay beyond the monument in the harbor.

Diamond, Hodge and Dustan were to accompany Frank. As the launch was small, Merriwell did not wish to overload her, so Browning and Dunnerwust were to be left behind.

Bruce and Hans were at the wharf to see the party off. It had cost the big Yale man a mighty effort to get out of bed and come down there at that hour, but now he was angry to think Frank intended to leave him behind.

“What have I done to be left?” he demanded. “I am sure that if there is to be any fighting, I might do my part on this trip.”

“I can take you, Bruce,” said Frank, “and I will, if you are determined to go; but I thought you might be able to help me some by staying home.”

“How?”

“I want you to do a little detective work. It is possible I may not succeed in finding the White Wings. While I am away, I wish you to do your best to learn who had a hand in stealing the yacht. If I do not succeed in running down the rascals who have the yacht, you may be able to put me on the right track when I return.”

“I’ll make a mighty poor detective,” grumbled Bruce.

“I don’t know about that. You can do it as well as any of the others, and this launch is so small that I do not wish to take the whole party.”

“All right,” said the big fellow, somewhat pacified. “I’ll do what I can, but I never was cut out for a detective.”

“Mart Woodock may be able to help you. Find him—watch him.”

“All ready, Mr. Merriwell.”

The call came from Howard Dustan, and Frank stepped aboard the Fox. The lines were cast off, and, with an oar, Browning thrust the prow of the craft away from the wharf.

“Goot-py, Vrankie,” called Hans, sadly. “I vos sorry you vasn’t goin’ mit me. If you catch up mit der vellers vat stole dot yotch, gif them der tyfil.”

The propeller began to churn the water. Dustan was at the wheel, and the Fox soon headed down the harbor. As long as the wharf could be seen, Hans was visible, alternately waving a bandanna handkerchief and blowing his nose.

Out into the morning sunshine that was tinting the rippling water with pink and gold danced the little launch. She ran smoothly and swiftly.

“Which way, Mr. Merriwell?” asked Dustan.

“I believe we had better run over to Searsport first,” said Frank.

Diamond looked surprised.

“Why should we go there?” he asked. “It strikes me that we will be going out of our way by doing so?”

“Why do you think that?”

“Searsport is to the eastward. It is away over in that direction.”

“Yes.”

“We should go directly down the bay.”

“Why?”

“To overtake the yacht, if it was stolen by Parker Flynn.”

“But I fail to understand your reasons.”

“Why, of course Flynn will make an effort to get out of Penobscot waters as soon as possible. He belongs in Boston, and——”

“For that very reason he will not sail that way. If he has the yacht, he is just foxy enough to know we may think he will head for Boston, and so he will choose another course.”

“You may be right,” admitted Diamond, “but still I have my doubts about it. I do not believe Flynn is as shrewd as all that.”

“Well, there is another reason why he would not run down the bay.”

“What is it?”

“The wind shifted about shortly after midnight last night. I observed that. During the first part of the night it was off shore, but it swung round till it was almost in the south. At one o’clock the parties on the White Wings could not have sailed down the bay without beating to windward.”

“I didn’t observe that.”

“I did, for I was taking note of just such things after discovering the yacht was gone. Of course the thieves wished to get as far away as possible before sunrise, and they would not beat against the wind. It is my opinion that they ran over toward the Eastern Bay, which is full of islands, where they might hide the yacht. It is possible they will keep on toward Eastport. Anyway, I am going to look for them in the Eastern Bay.”

Jack did not like to give in, but he saw the logic of Frank’s reasoning.

“All right,” he said. “You are in command. Do as you like.”

They made straight for Searsport, but the White Wings was not in the harbor there.

“Where next?” asked Dustan.

“Islesborough,” answered Merry.

“But that is on the western side of Long Island. If you are going straight into the Eastern Bay, you must go round to the north of Long Island.”

“I am not going directly into the Eastern Bay. If the White Wings is not at Islesborough, I shall run down on this side of Long Island to Pulpit Harbor. The rascals might take her in there, as it would be a good hiding place. If she isn’t there, I shall strike round to the south of the island and over into the Eastern Bay that way. If they have set their course southeast, we may cut them off.”

So for Islesborough they headed and ran into the harbor there, where they made inquiries of some fishermen, but could learn nothing. The missing yacht had not been seen.

From Islesborough to Pulpit Harbor was not a very long run. They crept slowly in at the narrow entrance of the harbor, where it looked as if a vessel would be in danger of rubbing her sides against the rocky shores, but where, at the lowest water, no vessel could touch her keel.

Again they were disappointed. The yacht was not there, and no one at the harbor had seen or heard from her.

They did not waste time, but ran out past the “pulpit” again and were away like hounds seeking a scent.

“We are so near Camden we may as well run down there,” said Diamond. “The White Wings is known there, and, if anybody has seen her, we’ll be likely to hear of it.”

“That’s right,” agreed Frank. “It may be well enough to run in to Camden. We’ll go there, Dustan.”

So the launch was headed toward the distant mountains, under the shadow of which lies the village that hopes some day to rival Bar Harbor.

The mountains were attractive in the sunshine, but Battie looked insignificant in comparison to Megunticook. The Summit House could be seen on the crest of Battie, the sunshine glimmering on its windows and showing the flag that waved in the breeze from the pole on the top of the observation tower.

Round Sherman’s Point rushed the little launch, past the steamboat wharf she ran, and headed straight up into the harbor. She stopped at Adams’ Wharf, and Frank went ashore to make inquiries. Steam was kept up, and the Fox was ready to get away as soon as he returned.

He was gone more than thirty minutes, and he returned, followed by several boys, two of whom were carrying bundles for him.

“What news?” anxiously asked Diamond.

“None,” was the answer. “The yacht has not been seen. I have bought some provisions. Here, boys, is a quarter for each of you.”

One of the boys took the money, but the other drew back, saying:

“If you please, Mr. Merriwell, I’d like something of more value to me than that.”

“What?” exclaimed Merry, astonished. “Aren’t you satisfied with a quarter? Why, I thought it good pay for what you have done.”

“It’s more than the job was worth. I don’t want money, but I’d like to have something as a keepsake—something to remember you by. I’ve read all about you, but I never expected to see you. Won’t you please give me one of those buttons off your coat?”

Frank was touched.

“My boy,” he cried, “you could have the coat if I had another here to put on! A button? Of course! And the quarter, too! Take it—keep it!”

He cut a button off his coat, and gave it to the boy, together with the quarter. The bundles were taken aboard, and soon the Fox was speeding out of the harbor, bound eastward.

“I am well satisfied now,” said Frank, “that the White Wings did not come down the bay.”

It was midday, and they ate on board the launch. As they were passing Lime Island they saw a schooner that was running in from the Eastern Bay. Frank directed Dustan to run close to the schooner, and he hailed the vessel, asking if the captain had seen anything of a sloop yacht named White Wings.

“Ay, ay,” was the answer. “Sighted such a schooner off the southern end of Deer Isle about nine o’clock. Made out her name after she passed.”

“Thunder!” cried Hodge, excitedly. “We’ve struck the trail at last!”

Diamond was excited.

“Which way was she headed, captain?” shouted Frank.

“Sou’ by sou’wes’, sir,” was the answer. “I reckon she was makin’ for Green’s Landing or the Reach.”

“Thank you, captain.”

“Ye’re welcome, sir.”

On sped the launch, but now she bore some passengers who were elated by the piece of news they had learned. At last they were on the right course.

“I believe that is the White Wings!”

Diamond uttered the exclamation, being in a flurry of excitement.

It was sunset on the Eastern Bay, and far in the distance, slowly creeping round an island, was a sail.

Again the boys had heard from the White Wings. She had been seen by some lobster fishermen, and they aided the pursuers in striking the right course.

Green’s Landing had been passed, and they were amid the islands of the Reach, getting well down, however, toward Isle au Haut.

The Fox was under full head of steam, and she was making a pretty wake as she sped through the water.

“Oh, for half an hour more of daylight!” exclaimed Frank.

“I think we have enough of it to overtake them,” said Howard Dustan. “If that is the White Wings, I do not believe they will get away from us to-night.”

“I hope not.”

The sail disappeared beyond the island.

The sun slowly sank from view, and purple shadows began to gather about the wooded islands.

Every eye on the Fox was strained to catch another glimpse of the sail, but it could not be seen. The launch ran round the island, but still nothing of the sloop was visible.

“What has become of her?” asked Diamond, in disappointment.

“It must be she has run into some cove and anchored,” said Hodge. “She has pulled down her sail, and so we can’t see her.”

“But where is the cove?”

“That is for us to find.”

But they could not find it. Darkness came down all too swiftly, and they began to lose hope.

“We are close to them,” said Frank. “That is pretty certain. If they hide from us to-night, we’ll run them down to-morrow.”

“But we must find them to-night!” palpitated Diamond, who was quivering with eagerness. “If we do not, there is no telling what may happen. They may find a way to slip us during the night.”

“That is hardly probable.”

“Why not? They stole the yacht in the night.”

“But they took her in the Western Bay, which is comparatively free from islands and dangerous ledges. This bay is full of islands, ledges, sunken reefs and every kind of danger. They will do no sailing in the night.”

“That’s right,” nodded Howard Dustan. “If they do, ’tis almost certain they will run the yacht on a ledge.”

“But I don’t think much of letting them hide from us when we were so close upon them,” said Jack.

“They must have seen us, and they were crafty enough to hide. But we have the advantage of them, for we can sail almost anywhere, while they depend on the wind. We’ll run them down in the end.”

Dustan was running slowly now, for he knew they were in danger of striking a ledge or rock themselves.

It was growing darker and darker. Toward shore the shadows were black, so that a small vessel might lie close under an island and not be seen.

“What shall we do, Mr. Merriwell?” asked Howard.

“We’ll have to anchor for the night,” said Frank. “The accommodations for sleeping on board are not the best, but we’ll have to get along some way.”

“Let’s find some sheltered spot to anchor,” urged Diamond. “There is a swell here, and it tosses this light boat around too much to suit me.”

“We’ll have to get into the lee of an island somewhere, if we can’t find a cove,” said Frank. “Why not run over to that small island there, Dustan?”

Near at hand an island rose like a black blot on the face of the water. It could be faintly seen through the gloom.

It was agreed that shelter might be found near the smaller island, and so the Fox was headed that way. The run was made slowly, and the launch crept up to the island much as a mouse might creep up to smell a sleeping lion.

Close under the shore the swell was broken, and the light launch rested gently on the water.

“There is a cove,” said Hodge. “Can we get in there?”

“It’s narrow,” came doubtfully from Dustan, who was still at the wheel. “We may strike a sunken rock if we try to get in there in the darkness.”

“Which way is the tide running?” asked Frank.

“It’s coming in.”

“Then, if we go forward slowly enough, we’ll soon float off, if we should happen to hang up on a rock. There is no need to break in the bottom of the launch by running on at full speed.”

“Will you chance it?” asked Howard.

“Yes, I’ll pay all damages.”

“Then here goes.”

So they slowly crept in through a cleft in the rocks, which soon rose black and ugly on both sides of them. Merriwell lighted the small lantern with which the launch was provided and crept out on the bow with it in his hand, so that the light might show Dustan how to steer.

The light shone on the smooth water and against the black sides of the rocks which rose to the right and left. The motion of the screw set the waves lapping up against the rocks with a swishing sound.

“We are all right in here,” said Dustan, “unless the water is so shallow that we’ll be aground at low tide. We’ll have to make a sounding.”

The lead and line was taken out, and Diamond sounded. He found there was enough water so the yacht could not touch bottom at low tide. Indeed, all were astonished by the depth of the water. The launch lay close up against the rocks, and there it was found there was sufficient water.

“We can moor her here,” said Frank. “All that is needed is some bumpers to keep her from rubbing against the rocks, and we may be able to find them on shore. There are two points of rock to which she can be made fast.”

In a very few moments the launch was moored against the rocky wall, and then Frank prepared to go ashore.

“Come, Hodge,” he said, “let’s see if we can find some timbers that will serve as bumpers.”

“I am with you,” said Bart.

“Take the lantern,” advised Dustan. “It may aid you in your search.”

So, linking the lantern chain over his arm, Frank started to climb up the face of the black rocks. The lantern swayed and gave out a changing, uncertain light, but it was better than no light.

Hodge followed Merry, but he took plenty of time to find the clefts in the rock and fasten his fingers there so that his hold was secure.

Reaching the top, Frank turned and gave Bart a hand, aiding him up. Then they leaned out, Frank holding the lantern at arm’s length, and looked down on the boat.

Dustan and Diamond were looking up at them, the light of the lantern showing their upturned faces.

“That would be a nice position for the launch if an enemy took a fancy to drop a few large rocks down on you,” said Merry.

“Don’t mention it!” exclaimed Dustan. “You make me nervous.”

There were cedars and small trees on the island, but Frank began to doubt if they would be able to find what they wanted. They climbed to the crest of the island, where they found themselves amid the thick cedars.

“A fellow might get turned round here so he wouldn’t know how to find his way back to the launch,” said Hodge.

“All he’d have to do would be to circle the island,” assured Frank. “He’d be sure to find it.”

As they were not provided with an ax, they were not able to cut anything to serve for bumpers.

Suddenly, Frank’s hand touched Bart’s wrist, and he whispered:

“Listen!”

They stood still in their tracks, listening intently for some moments. All was still, save for the breaking of the swell against the southern end of the island.

“What was it?” asked Bart.

“I fancied I heard voices.”

“You must have been mistaken.”

“It seems so, but I could have sworn I heard the voices of men.”

They moved on a few steps, and then up before them rose a dozen white objects that fled away into the cedars with a scurrying sound.

“Whew! What were those?”

Hodge was startled; his voice betrayed it.

“Sheep,” laughed Frank. “They gave me a start. The first one jumped out from under my feet.”

“They looked like spooks, but the rattle of their feet was no spookish sound. My heart tried to play leap-frog with itself.”

“There may be a sheep pen of some sort on the island. If so, we’ll be able to find some timbers for bumpers. Let’s look for it.”

They continued their search, passing on over the ridge of the island and making their way through the cedars, where they fancied they might find the sheep pen they sought.

They had not gone far on that side of the island before both halted, and Hodge whispered:

“What’s that light down there?”

“That’s what I’m looking at,” said Frank. “It’s not on the island.”

“No. It’s off shore.”

“Then it must be on some kind of vessel.”

“Sure.”

“Perhaps——”

“The White Wings.”

“Who knows—it may be!”

They were silent as they stood watching the light. It rose and fell with a gentle motion, telling them beyond a doubt that it was on a vessel.

“Let’s go down there,” suggested Hodge. “Perhaps we can get close enough to make out what she is.”

Frank extinguished the lighted lantern.

“It would betray us,” he said. “Now we will go down.”

They made their way slowly down through the cedars. At times they could not see the light, but on coming out from the thick bushes it was plainly in view.

As they approached the shore, they found there was a cove on that side of the island. It was much larger than the one they had run into with the Fox, and it was not so well protected, for the vessel at anchor there felt the swell which was heaving into the Reach from the open sea outside.

They took every precaution not to be seen or heard, and crept down close to the shore.

The light on board the vessel showed them she was small, and the longer they watched her the firmer became their conviction that she was the stolen yacht.

“If we could get off to her without arousing those on board, we’d be able to capture her, Bart,” said Frank.

“Let’s try it!” palpitated Hodge.

“How?”

“Swim!”

“We might do that, but we could not carry any weapons.”

“Don’t need them. We’ll find something after we get on board.”

Hodge was quivering with eagerness. The thought of making such an attempt filled his heart with a fierce longing for the struggle. He felt that he was ready for any sort of adventure, as long as Frank Merriwell was with him.

At first Frank was inclined to take the desperate venture. It would not be difficult to swim out to the vessel, and, in all probability, those on board of her would be asleep. It was possible she could be taken without much of a struggle.

Then came another scheme. Why not return to the launch, back out of the cove on her, creep round the island, lay alongside the yacht, board her and take her that way?

That seemed the better plan, and he whispered it to Hodge.

“What a surprise it would be for Diamond and Dustan if we were to do the job all alone,” said Bart, who seemed reluctant to give up the original scheme.

“That would be very fine, but we know from report that at least three men were concerned in stealing the yacht. What if we boarded her, cramped by the cold of the water, and were overcome by numbers? That would be a bad piece of business. I think we had better use every precaution.”

“Well, you are in charge of this business, and I am ready to do as you say.”

“Then let’s go back to the launch and tell the others what we have discovered.”

“All right.”

They made their way back into the cedars, and climbed to the crest of the island. From that point the light could not be seen, as some of the cedars intercepted their view.

“But we know it is down there,” said Hodge, who was glowing with enthusiasm caused by their discovery. “It’s on the White Wings, too, and we’ll soon have her back, Merry. What will you do to the rascals who stole her?”

“I’ll not decide on that till I recover the yacht,” said Frank. “We have not got her yet.”

“But we shall!”

“In time.”

“To-night.”

“I hope so.”

It was not such an easy thing to go straight to the cove in the rocks where lay the Fox. Frank decided that the light from the lantern might aid them, and, as they were hidden so no one on the vessel could see them, he lighted up again.

After a time they came to the cove, but here a great surprise awaited them. Looking down into the cleft amid the rocks, they could see nothing of the Fox.

The cove was empty!

“This can’t be the place, Frank!” exclaimed Bart. “The launch is not here!”

“It is the place where we left her, just the same,” said Merriwell. “Right here is where we climbed up the rocks, and down there are the points to which she was made fast.”

“It can’t be, for she isn’t here now, and we can see the most of this little cove.”

“She has moved,” said Frank, “but she must be near.”

Then he softly hailed, calling Diamond’s name.

There was no answer!

“Of all the mysterious things that ever happened, I think this is the strangest!” gasped Hodge, bewildered. “I can see now that this is where we left her, but she has vanished.”

“As completely as if the island had swallowed her. Neither Dustan nor Diamond would have thought of leaving this spot till we returned.”

“Of course not.”

They looked into each other’s eyes by the light of the lantern, which Frank held up, and they seemed utterly bewildered. Again and again Frank called.

Behind them there was a sound. They leaped up and turned. In the darkness two black forms loomed. The lantern was dashed from Frank’s hand and shattered on the rocks, from which it bounded, striking with a splash in the water below.

A moment later Frank and Bart were engaged in a desperate struggle with unknown assailants.

The attack came suddenly, and the boys were but poorly prepared for it. However, they promptly grappled with their assailants, who seemed trying to force them over the edge of the rocks into the water.

One of the unknown foes uttered a savage curse, but the other spoke not a word, grappling with Hodge and trying to fasten his hands on Bart’s throat.

“Fight for your life, Frank!” grated Bart. “We are trapped!”

He forced the man off and struck him with his fist. Still not a sound came from the unknown, while fingers seemed to sink into Bart’s shoulder with a grip of iron, drawing him close.

Again Hodge tried to break the hold of the fellow, but he could not succeed. With his left he smote the man in the face, but still those iron fingers held fast.

Bart felt himself forced backward. He realized that his assailant was a person of enormous strength, and it seemed that he had met more than his match.

But Bart was a fighter, and he never gave up while he could breathe. Some lads might have weakened and begged, but the very fact that he seemed pitted against his master made him fight all the more savagely.

Blow followed blow, till Bart could no longer strike with effect. He knew he had left his mark on the face of the man. He was beginning to gasp.

Three times did the unknown try to fasten his fingers on Bart’s throat, and three times was he foiled by the boy, who now felt that he was, indeed, fighting for his life.

There was something terrible and deadly about the manner in which the silent man endeavored to get a crushing hold on Hodge. At last, Bart panted:

“Who are you?”

No reply. The struggle continued with unabated fury.

Bart was forced to his knees, but he got upon his feet again. He wondered how Frank was making out, but could not get breath to call to his friend.

Once his feet slipped and he felt that he was going over the brink into the water below, but he held fast to the man, and the unknown dragged him back.

Then came a time when Bart’s assailant lifted his fist and struck the boy on the temple. Hodge was stunned. He reeled and flung up both hands.

Quick as thought the man caught up the boy and flung him over the brink. Bart whirled through the air, struck the surface of the water with a great splash, and sunk.

In the meantime, Frank had been fighting fiercely, although taken at a disadvantage. Once he flung the stranger fairly over his head, but the man was up instantly, and, as Frank had slipped in doing the trick, it proved a misfortune to Merry, who was caught from behind.

Again Frank’s assailant uttered a sound, but this time it was a laugh of triumph.

“I have you now,” grated a hoarse voice in Merriwell’s ear.

“Oh, I don’t know!” returned Frank. “That’s not so sure.”

He gripped his body with a quick motion, and both rolled on the ground. Over and over they went. When they rose, the unknown was still clinging to Frank, having him at a disadvantage.

But Merriwell did not cease struggling for an instant. He did not seem to need to rest, for he continued to fight as fiercely as at the start, and he succeeded, at last, in breaking the hold of his enemy.

Frank whirled and grappled with the unknown.

“Now it is different!” he half laughed. “It’s not all going your way, my friend.”

“I’m no friend of yours!”

“Excuse the slip.”

Frank forced the man off with his left hand, and then struck him with his right. It was too close, however, for the blow to be effective, and it simply seemed to sting the fellow to greater fury.

Now the unknown began to exhaust himself with his furious efforts to beat Frank down and conquer him. He panted and snarled, but Merry was his match.

Frank was waiting till the time when he could go at the man and do him up. He could see his enemy was exhausting his wind in frantic struggles to win at once.

Thus the battle continued till Merry heard a great splash in the water of the cove, and, a moment later, a man came rushing to the assistance of Frank’s foe.

“I’ve fixed t’other feller!” palpitated the man.

“Then get in and give me a lift!” growled the one who was trying to conquer Merry. “This chap is the Old Nick!”

Frank knew now that he was fighting against desperate odds. They were two against him, and they were determined to destroy him.

The thought that Bart had met with his end infuriated Merriwell. He had heard the splash in the water, and his imagination pictured Hodge flung down from the rocks, stabbed through the heart. Perhaps the water was stained at that moment with the lifeblood of poor Hodge.

Smack!—Frank got in a swinging blow that sent one of the men staggering backward to fall to the ground.

The other leaped upon him, trying to crush him down.

Frank squirmed about, obtained a hold upon the man, and gave him a wrenching twist, jerking him off his feet.

Down upon his back went the fellow, and Merriwell knelt on his breast, dropping heavily to knock the wind out of the man.

The other was up, and he sprang upon Frank’s back. Frank ducked quick as a flash, and the fellow went flying over his head.

Merry felt for a stone. His blood was boiling, and he longed for a weapon with which he could avenge his friend. His hand found one, but it was not large enough. However, he arose with it, and flung it at one of the men who was coming at him.

The stone struck the man in the breast and stopped him for an instant. Then Frank found an opportunity to reach for his revolver. He snapped it out of his pocket, laughing loudly. That laugh had a deadly ring.

The man who had been struck by the stone rushed at him again.

“Keep off!” cried Frank. “I shall shoot!”

“Shoot, hang you!”

Snap!—the hammer fell, but there was no report. The revolver had missed fire.

Then the man closed in with Merry, grappling the weapon. Frank pulled the trigger again in the struggle. There was a report, a spout of fire, and a bullet went whistling skyward.

The man was trying to wrench the revolver from Frank’s grasp, and, for some seconds, they fought over it. Frank had a firm hold, and it could not be taken from him.

Discovering this, the unknown tried to force him down on his knees. Frank knew not a few wrestling tricks, and he used one of them on the man, who clung to the revolver as he dropped.

Merry was dragged down, and, on the ground, the struggle for possession of the revolver continued. Frank felt that to lose it meant sure death, for he was certain his enemies would not stop or hesitate at murder.

Still hanging to the revolver with one hand, the man secured a stone with the other, and then he struck Frank on the head. The blow caused Merry to see stars, but did not rob him of strength so that the ruffian could wrest the revolver from his fingers.

Again the stone descended. This time it was a glancing blow. Frank flopped the fellow over in a moment and sat up astride his body, tearing his fingers from the revolver.

“Now I can shoot you!” cried Merry. “I would be justified in doing it, for you have tried to murder me.”

The man struggled to fling him off, but Frank held him there, pushing the revolver against his head.

“Keep still!”

For the moment Merry had forgotten the other man. Now there was a grating sound behind him, and then he received another blow on the head.

That one was enough. Without a moan or a gasp, he fell over on the ground, stricken senseless!

When Frank recovered consciousness he discovered that he was bound with stout cords and was being carried by two men. One of the men stumbled and swore. The other said:

“It’s not much farther to the boat.”

“This feller is heavy,” said the one who had stumbled. “An’ he’s ther blamedest fighter I ever saw. If I hadn’t cracked him on the head with a stun he’d done you up.”

“I slipped. That was the way he got the best of me.”

“Bah! He was more than a match for you.”

“He is a boy.”

“He’s wuss’n any man I ever tackled. He fit like a tiger.”

“Well we’ve got him now, and I will settle my score with him.”

Frank knew the voice of the last speaker, and he realized that he was in the power of a man who had become his fiercest enemy—Parker Flynn.

As they carried him, Frank strained at the cords that held his wrists, but they held fast, showing that the men had tied him securely. They did not feel him straining, for they were stumbling over the rough ground, slowly picking their way through the darkness. They passed through some cedars, and the branches slapped the captive in the face.

Frank thought of crying for help, but something told him that it would be useless to make an outcry. He remembered that Hodge had been cast from the rocks into the water of the little cove, from which the launch and the two lads left in charge of it had disappeared.

What had become of Diamond and Dustan? Had they been assailed and overcome while Frank and Bart were exploring the island? Merriwell feared so.

The wind rushed through the cedars, and the surf beat against the island with a roar that seemed growing louder and louder. Clouds were in the sky, and the stars were being blotted out.

“Storm comin’,” said one of the men. “We ain’t anchored in a very good place, either.”

“We’ll move,” said Flynn’s voice.

“Not to-night.”

“Yes.”

“Can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you don’t know but a blamed little about this bay, fer ye wouldn’t ask that question if ye did. It’s full of ledges, and I don’t want to take the chance of pilin’ the yacht onter one of ’em.”

“I thought you said you knew every inch of both bays?”

“I did.”

“Then you can sail the yacht out of here to-night.”

“I want daylight to do that.”

“I will chance it. We must get away to-night.”

“Why?”

“The chaps we had the tussle with have friends near.”

“I s’pose so.”

“Those friends will be looking for Merriwell and the other fellow before long.”

“That’s likely.”

“They may find the other fellow floating in the water, but I don’t want them to find Merriwell or know what became of him. He will disappear this night. If the fish do not eat him, his body may be found floating in the bay some time.”

Frank felt a chill run along his spine as he heard the cold-blooded words of his enemy.

“I didn’t hire out to do no killin’, or have any hand in it,” said Flynn’s companion.

“Nor am I going to do any killing, but I think Mr. Merriwell can be disposed of without much trouble. Stand by me, Steve, and I’ll double the sum I agreed to pay you.”

“It’s according to what you are goin’ to do,” muttered the man.

“I’ll tell you my plan after we get on board the yacht.”

Now Frank Merriwell knew the full extent of his danger. He realized that Flynn was a ruffian of the most desperate character, who would not stop at anything in order to put a foe out of the way.

The words of the men had told the captive that Diamond and Dustan were unharmed, but the disappearance of the launch was a mystery still.

As he was carried down the rough slope, Frank saw a light below, and he knew that they were taking him to his own yacht, which lay rolling on the swell that reached into the cove.

The men reached the shore, and there lay a boat, which they quickly launched, leaving Frank on the beach. Then they picked Merry up and unceremoniously tossed him into the bottom of the boat, quickly rowing off toward the yacht.

As they approached the yacht they were hailed by some person on board, and they answered. A few seconds later the boat bumped against the side.

“Give a hand, Wallace,” called Flynn. “Help us hoist this chap on board.”

The fellow on the yacht uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“What have you there?” he asked, and Frank knew it was Walter Wallace, of Belfast, who had become Merry’s enemy because Frank and Bart had dared to carry on a mild sort of flirtation with Mabel Mischief and Hattie Hazle. Wallace was very jealous, and he had been concerned in the attack on Merry and Bart when the latter was knocked out by a blow on the head. Thinking Hodge far more seriously injured than he really was Wallace had disappeared and kept out of sight. Now he was again in company with Parker Flynn, the man who had struck the blow.

Naturally reckless and headstrong, Wallace’s inclinations led him to the bad, and now that his feet were set upon the wrong course, he had no desire to turn back. But he was not yet a hardened ruffian, as he betrayed before the night was over.

Frank was dragged to the deck of his stolen yacht and dropped down as if he were an inanimate thing. As he lay there in the darkness, hearing the men taking care of the small boat, he again struggled to free himself of the cords that held him.

“It’s no use,” was his final decision. “Those knots were tied by a sailor, and they will not slip.”

He was making his wrists sore, and he gave up the struggle.

Pretty soon Flynn came and stood near him.

“Here, Steve,” he called, “we’ll take him below.”

The sailor approached, and Frank was carried down into the cabin, which was lighted.

On getting into the light, Flynn saw that Merriwell was conscious.

“So you’ve come around,” he sneered, with an evil look on his face. “I’m glad of that.”

He, too, was dressed roughly, like a sailor, and on his face was a stubbed beard, showing he had not been shaved for a week.

Frank was placed in a sitting position, and then Flynn stood up before him, showing his hatred by the look on his face.

“You don’t seem tickled to be on board the White Wings again,” he sneered. “Don’t suppose you expected to come aboard in this fashion.”

“Hardly,” admitted Frank, quietly. “But still it’s better than not coming aboard at all.”

“You will not think so before I am done with you,” came threateningly from Flynn’s lips. “You’ll curse the day you ever saw this boat.”

“Don’t talk that way! You frighten me!”

“Oh, you can pretend to be awfully cool about it, but you won’t be so cool when you know what I am going to do with you.”

“I need to be warmed up. Perhaps you had better tell me.”

“You will find out soon enough. You thought me dead. Ha! ha! How I fooled you! But I did get a drop into the river. I was hiding under some bushes which hung over into the water while you were searching for me. As soon as you were gone I crawled out and took to the woods.

“I left the bicycle, for I wanted you to think I was drowned. The trick worked all right, and you left the yacht unguarded. Under any circumstances you did not suppose I would return to Belfast, even though I was not dead; but I came back there, and I didn’t lose any time in getting possession of my property.”

“Excuse me; you mean my property.”

“No! This boat belongs to me. I swore I would have her, and I have kept the oath. You did not know what sort of man you were dealing with when you tried to bluff Parker Flynn.”

“That’s a fact! Had I known, I should have stopped in Boston long enough to put you behind iron bars for attempted fraud. That would have saved me no end of trouble and annoyance on this trip. But you are sure to land behind the bars in time.”

“You will not have the satisfaction of seeing me there.”

“I may.”

“Not much. To-night you will be put where you will trouble no one in the future.”

Having uttered those ominous words, Flynn went on deck, followed by the others.

Being left alone, Frank tried to devise some method of securing his freedom. From the sounds he could hear, it became evident that the anchor was being raised, the sails run up and the yacht gotten under way. This told that Flynn had carried the day in persuading the man he called Steve to run out from the island that night.

At last Merry understood just what sort of ruffian Flynn was, and he could not help feeling uneasiness over the final words of the man as he left the cabin.

Flynn had told Steve that he did not intend to do any killing, but his words had made it evident that he had a plan of disposing of his captive in a manner that would put that captive forever out of the way.

The wind was rising, and the White Wings heeled as soon as she was out of the cove into open water.

Flynn came down the companion way and entered the cabin. His eyes were glittering, and he grinned as he looked his captive over.

“It’s a fine night for my plan,” he said, gleefully. “The wind is northeast, and the tide is turning.”

As Frank knew nothing of the man’s purpose, he remained silent.

Flynn sat down and took out a pipe, which he proceeded to fill and light. He puffed away a short time, and then settled back in a comfortable position, scanning Merriwell.

“It won’t take more than two hours to run down to York Island,” he said. “Then it’s only a short run out past the Eastern Ear and The Horses. Steve says there won’t be anything but the open ocean outside when we get there.”

Frank wondered what the man was driving at, and Flynn grinned when he saw the look of curiosity on Merry’s face.

“Outside The Horses,” he went on, “the wind has a clean rake down across from the Bay of Fundy. It’s rising every minute, and a small boat won’t stand much show in the seas there will be out there, especially without so much as a pair of oars in her.”

Frank began to see a light; he fancied he understood what the man meant.

“You stand a fine show of piling the White Wings on a ledge long before you get out past The Horses,” said Merry, who remembered The Horses as two ledges he had observed on his chart located to the south of York Island.

“Not much danger of that,” said Flynn. “Steve knows every inch of the bay. He can tell where every rock lies.”

“But it is dark.”

“Not so dark but he can run her out to open sea. The tide is high, too, so there’s not much danger of striking a ledge. Oh, don’t worry for the yacht! We’ll take care of her. You can think about yourself a little.”

Frank felt a sensation of rage rising within him.

“I will come out all right,” he declared.

“You won’t think so after a while, young man.”

“I have been in worse scrapes than this.”

“I doubt it.”

“I have, and I’m here now. I’ll tell you something, Mr. Flynn. The time will come, and it is not very far away, when you and I will settle our account.”

“That’s right,” nodded Flynn. “That time will come to-night. I shall put you into an open boat and set you adrift with the tide running out to sea and the wind northeast. You will not see daylight, for the tide and the wind will take care of you.”

There was a look of triumphant satisfaction on the evil face of the man, and Merriwell knew that he would carry out his dastardly plan. He would not kill Frank outright, but he would set him adrift with not one chance in a hundred for him to escape drowning.

It was not a pleasant prospect, but Merriwell kept his nerve and looked his enemy straight in the eye, quietly saying:

“If you want to make a sure thing of it, take my advice and hit me over the head with an ax before putting me into the boat. If you do not, just as sure as fate, I’ll escape, and hunt you down!”

Despite the coolness with which the boy uttered those words, they caused Flynn to pale a bit.

“Anyone would think to hear you that you are a chap whose life is protected by a charm,” he sneered.

“I believe I have passed through too many dangers to have my life snuffed out down here in this part of the world, by such a miserable, worthless creature as you.”

“Be careful!” snarled Flynn, rising. “Better keep that tongue still.”

Frank laughed. It was the old reckless laugh that often came from his lips in times of danger. He did not quail in the least before the threatening man, and the scorn that blazed from his eyes was withering.

“My tongue is my own, and it gives me great satisfaction to be able to use it to tell you just what a miserable cur you are. You are a thorough coward at heart, and you know it. It was a mistake that you were created in the form of a man. You should have been a snake to crawl along the ground.”

With a fierce cry, Flynn struck Merry’s mouth with his clinched fist, cutting Frank’s lips and causing them to bleed a bit.

And Frank laughed again!

“That proves my words true!” he exclaimed, and Flynn shrank away, awed at last by the display of fearlessness.

Snarling like a dog, the man rushed out of the cabin, leaving Frank alone.

And the White Wings raced through the night toward the open sea.

“Good-by, Frank Merriwell!”

Flynn was leaning over the stern of the White Wings, which was tossing on the heavy seas, and looked down into the small boat where Frank, still bound, had been cast.

At the last moment, Walter Wallace had rebelled and tried to prevent Flynn from carrying out his plan. He had been silenced by a blow that knocked him flat upon the deck. Steve, the sailor, had taken no hand in the work, but Flynn had carried it out alone, and now he was preparing to set the small boat adrift.

At times the clouds scudding across the sky broke and showed a few half-smothered stars. Somehow, even when no stars could be seen, it was not intensely dark on the face of the troubled water, which seemed to give out a light of its own.

But it was a bad night, and everything seemed to indicate that a storm was approaching. The wind howled and the sea made a rushing sound. In the distance it could be heard thundering on The Horses.

“Come!” growled the sailor at the wheel; “be lively there, Flynn. We’ve got to git in somewhere before long. This ain’t no place for us to-night.”

“Good-by, Frank Merriwell!” repeated the man who leaned over the stern, holding the painter of the small boat in his hands. “You’ll go out to sea, and that boat will swamp long before morning. This is the last of you.”

“You think so,” said Frank, his voice steady and firm, “but I tell you again that I’ll live to see you punished for this dastardly work. If you want to make a sure job of this, you had better finish me now before you set the boat adrift.”

Flynn seemed to hesitate. At that moment a fear entered his heart that Merriwell would escape in some manner and keep his vow.

“It would be easy to finish you,” said the ruffian, reaching into his hip pocket and pulling out a revolver. “I could fill you full of lead. Perhaps I’d better!”

He lifted the weapon, but Steve caught his arm with a furious exclamation.

“None of that!” shouted the sailor, hoarsely. “You can set the boy adrift, but you can’t murder him before my eyes!”

“It’s murder, anyway,” came huskily from Walter Wallace, who, reckless fellow though he was, was now sick at heart. “I am against it. I didn’t agree to take a hand in anything like this.”

“Shut up!” howled Flynn, who seemed half demented by his fierce desire to destroy Frank Merriwell. “You came along of your own free will, and it won’t be good for you if you squawk now!”

“I didn’t come along to have any hand in such business as this. I wash my hands of it. When the time comes, I’ll swear who did the job. That’s what I’ll do!”

“You will, eh?” shouted the man with the revolver, now raging like a maniac. “What do you think of that, Steve? This young fool will give us away! He threatens us! He was ready enough to come with us——”

“Because I did not like Frank Merriwell,” said Wallace; “but I didn’t suppose you were going to do anything more than take this yacht, which you declared was rightfully yours, anyway. Had I known just what sort of a fellow you were, you can be sure I would not have run into this scrape.”

Wallace was a rascal at heart, but he had no relish for anything like murder, and he was weakening. The thought that he might be concerned in a murder had taken the courage out of him, and now he hoped to force Flynn to give over his bloodthirsty scheme.

Already, in his mind, Wallace was thinking that, if he succeeded, Merriwell would owe him his life. Of course Frank would be grateful, and Wallace would not be held responsible for his share in stealing the yacht.

But the Belfast boy did not know the character of the man with whom he was dealing. A thorough ruffian at heart, Flynn did not pause to count the cost of any rash act. He did not think that some time in the future, if Frank Merriwell was drowned that night, he might be tried for murder and convicted. He did not have imagination enough to fancy himself standing at the bar, securely ironed and charged with the dastardly crime he contemplated committing at that moment.

Some men commit crimes from lack of imagination; some commit them because they have too much imagination.

“Hold this line, Steve!” snarled Flynn, thrusting the end of the painter into the hand of the man at the wheel.

Steve obeyed.

Flynn advanced straight on Wallace, revolver in hand.

“Now,” he grated, lifting the weapon, “you do just as I say, or by the skies! I’ll shoot you in your tracks!”

Wallace realized that the ruffian meant what he said.

“March aft!”

It was Flynn’s command, and Wallace dared not disobey. He marched to the stern of the boat, and the man followed, holding the revolver ready.

“Get over into that boat!” snarled Flynn, savagely. “Be lively, or I’ll sink some lead in you and then throw you over!”

“What do you mean to do?” gasped Wallace, now thoroughly frightened and cowering.

“Get over!” yelled Flynn, furiously. “I am going to shoot!”

The Belfast lad started to obey.

“Please don’t make me get into the boat!” he whimpered, beginning to cry. “I didn’t mean anything! I’ll never tell a word as long as I live—I swear I won’t!”

“If you are not in that boat when I count three, I will shoot you! One!”

Wallace caught hold of the line and drew the boat containing Merriwell nearer to the yacht. Now he was weeping outright, shaking with fear.

“Oh, you can’t mean it, Mr. Flynn——”

“Two!”

Wallace dropped into the boat. Then Flynn caught the painter out of Steve’s hand and cast the small boat with its two human occupants adrift on the tempestuous sea.

The boat drifted away. The yacht swung round, the wind filled her sails, and away she went into the darkness of the night.

Walter Wallace wept and wrung his hands, clinging to the thwarts of the small boat, which was tossed about like a bit of cork. There was a light on the yacht, and he strained his eyes toward it.

“Oh, he can’t mean to leave me this way!” sobbed the Belfast boy. “He will come back for me!”

But the light grew fainter and fainter as the yacht sped away. The wind was beginning to howl now, curling the crest of the rollers up into white caps, now and then tearing great sheets of water from the waves.

Dimmer and dimmer grew the light, which showed at intervals as the little boat rose to the apex of the waves. Sometimes it could not be seen at all, and then Wallace groaned, for he still clung to the desperate hope that Flynn would put about and return to the boat he had cast adrift.

The Belfast boy seemed to forget that he was not alone in the boat. He prayed and he raved. He expressed regret that he had ever had anything to do with Flynn.

At last, he could see the light no more. Several times he rose high in the boat as it rolled to the top of a swell and strained his eyes through the darkness, but was unrewarded. All around was the dark, swirling sea that seemed to hiss at him in scorn.

“Lost!” he groaned, sinking down. “The storm is coming, and this boat must be swamped. It is the end for me! I am beginning to see that this is just punishment. I have been a bad boy. I did not know how bad I really was, but now I can see it all. Oh, if I live I will reform! I swear it! I will lead a different life! And Parker Flynn shall be punished!”

“You seem to forget that there is anyone else in this boat,” said the voice of Frank Merriwell, who had remained quiet so long. “I am in the same box with you.”

Wallace uttered a cry of surprise and joy.

“I did forget!” he exclaimed. “Oh, I was thinking of myself! I am not alone!”

“No. You helped get me into this scrape, and now you are sharing the fun. You do not seem to like it.”

“Oh, Mr. Merriwell, I am sorry I ever had anything to do with that man—sorry I ever helped him in his work against you! It is true, and I hope you will believe me!”

“I do,” said Frank, in a dry way. “Almost anybody in your position would be sorry. But I am tied up here so I can’t wiggle. Set me free, and we will see what can be done.”

“Oh, nothing can be done! We are doomed!”

“Well, you can set me free. You need not be afraid of me now. I’ll not hurt you, for I think you are being punished enough, and we must be companions for each other to the end.”

“To the end!” echoed Wallace, as he set at work freeing Frank. He had a knife, and the task was simple enough.

“Ah!” cried Merry, as he moved his stiffened limbs. “Oh, what pains! Help me. I am numb all over.”

Wallace aided him to sit upon one of the seats in the middle of the boat, and Frank rubbed his arms and legs to start the circulation.

“I am sorry I helped get you into this scrape, Merriwell,” said Wallace, feebly. “I hope you will believe me when I say I had no idea it would come to this.”

“I haven’t a doubt of that,” came dryly from Frank.

“I know what you think, and I do not blame you. You think I am repentant because I am in the scrape with you, but I swear I did not dream Flynn was such a desperado. He said the yacht rightfully belonged to him, and he induced me to help him run away with it. I thought that would be the end of it, and, as I had a grudge against you, I agreed to help him. I was a fool! And I was sorry an hour after we left Belfast harbor. I have felt all along that we should be punished for the job. I hope you will believe me when I say I meant you no bodily harm.”

“I heard your racket with Flynn on the yacht just before he forced you into the boat, and so I believe you. Perhaps this experience will teach you a lesson.”

“Little good it will do me, for I’ll not live to profit by it.”

“Oh, it’s no use to give up. We can’t tell what may happen.”

“Oh, there’s no chance for us. We are drifting out to sea, and a storm is coming. We’ll both be drowned before morning.”

“Perhaps not.”

Then a wave curled over the side of the boat and came near swamping her. Wallace cried out in fear, but Frank ripped out a seat and used it as a paddle to aid in holding the boat steady.

“Take your cap and try to bail out some of that water,” directed Frank. “We must keep afloat as long as we can.”

Wallace obeyed.

Now they could hear a roaring that grew louder and louder with each passing moment. It was an awesome sound, and Wallace shuddered and grew sick at heart.

“What is that?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“It must be the sea beating on a ledge,” answered Frank.

“Great Heaven! Then we are being carried straight upon it!”

“It seems that way. See if you can tear out another seat. We must try to paddle past the ledge.”

Merry’s companion did his best, but he could not get out another seat, and the roaring of the water told that each moment was carrying them nearer and nearer to the fatal ledge.

Frank was paddling with all his strength, but the seat was little better than nothing, and, at times, it took all his skill to hold the boat steady so she would not upset or be swamped.

The waves tossed them high and then fell away beneath them, dropping them down with a sickening sensation. They were drenched with spray and sheets of water. The wind tore the breath from their lips as it hissed along the surface of the sea.

Steadily and surely they were driven toward the ledge that lay out there in the night, roaring like an infuriated wild beast. As they rose on the waves they peered in the direction of the sound, trying to see where the fatal rock lay.

“We must strike her soon!” cried Wallace. “The end will come in a hurry when we do. Oh, dear! oh, dear!”

Not a word from Frank, but he continued to ply his rude paddle, hoping to pull past the point of danger. He knew the frail boat would be smashed like an eggshell if flung on the ledge, but his heart did not fail him. While he lived he would struggle and hope.

“There she is!” screamed Wallace, as they rose high on a great wave.

Near at hand a wall of foam was flung upward into the darkness. They saw it a moment, and then it vanished as they sank into the trough of the sea.

Wallace began to pray.

Toot! toot! toot!

Through the night came the shrill blast of a whistle, electrifying the imperiled lads. The sound was close at hand.

“What’s that?” screamed Wallace.

“A whistle—a signal!” came from Frank. “It’s a signal to us! Answer it! Now—together!”

They shouted as loudly as they could. It seemed that the wind tore the cry from their lips and carried it away into the night. Again they shouted.

Toot! toot! toot!

Nearer yet sounded the whistle, but they were so close upon that dreadful ledge!

Up to the top of a swell they rode, and then they shouted with joy, for, close at hand, a gleaming light danced over the surging sea. They knew succor was near. Could it reach them in time?

They continued their cries, and the relentless waves seemed trying harder than ever to sweep them upon the ledge.

All at once the light seemed to gleam close over them, and they saw the prow of a boat. They also saw the face of Jack Diamond close behind a lighted lantern that he was holding aloft.

“Here we are!” shouted Frank. “Don’t run us down!”

“Make ready!” came back the call. “Jump as we swing alongside.”

A moment later the Fox grazed the small boat, and both lads leaped for their lives. They reached the launch, clung to her, and she turned and raced away from the fatal ledge, upon which the waves flung the deserted boat.

The storm that had risen in the night passed swiftly with the coming of morning. In the Reach there were no heavy swells, for the wind had been in the wrong direction to send a heavy sea rolling in there.

The sun rose clear just as a small steam launch rounded the northern end of the Isle au Haut. A mile away to the northwest a yacht under full sail was making toward Deer Island.

“That is the White Wings,” said Frank Merriwell, who was at the wheel of the Fox, grim determination expressed on his handsome face. “Those lobster fishermen told us the truth when they said they had seen her leaving the island with the first peep of day.”

“There is a clear course between us,” declared Howard Dustan, who was studying a chart of the bay. “Hold straight for her, Merriwell.”

Hodge, Diamond and Wallace were also on the launch. Bart had not been seriously injured in the encounter the previous night, and he had found a rock to which he could cling after being flung from the bank into the cove.

While Bart was clinging there, the Fox came creeping back into the cove, and he was taken on board. But Merriwell had been overcome, and when the boys went to his rescue they were too late. They saw through the darkness the boat that was carrying Frank off to the White Wings. Then they hurried back to the Fox, and backed out of the cove without delay.

Dustan explained the disappearance of the launch by saying that, after Bart and Frank went ashore, they heard some men talking and knew they were looking for the launch by circling the shore of the island. As quietly as possible he and Diamond had pushed the Fox out of the cove.

Knowing Frank was a captive and had been taken on board the White Wings, the boys ran round the island in the launch, intending to try to board the yacht and attempt to rescue Merriwell.

They were surprised to find the yacht under sail. Then they followed her in the little launch, the light that she carried enabling them to do so. As they carried no light, they were not discovered.

When Frank and Wallace were cast adrift the launch was lying at a distance. It started to follow the yacht, but Diamond discovered the small boat was gone, and then he felt certain Frank had been put adrift in her.

Thus it came about that the launch ran out to search for the small boat, which it found just in time to save two lives.

And now the boys were again after the stolen yacht, having been aided by some lobster catchers who had seen the White Wings.

Frank Merriwell was determined to have revenge and recover his yacht. He stood at the wheel as Dustan tended the fire, and the smoke poured from the funnel of the flying launch.

As the wind was light, the launch came up to the White Wings hand over hand. As they drew near, the sailor, Steve, was seen at the wheel, while Flynn was watching them closely.

When Flynn could see beyond a doubt that Frank Merriwell was at the wheel of the pursuing launch, he grew wildly excited, rushing about the deck and flourishing his arms.

“He’s not pleased to see you, Merry,” observed Hodge.

“I didn’t expect he would be,” said Frank.

Flynn was seen to rush down the companion way. Pretty soon he came running on deck, carrying a rifle in his hands.

“One of my own guns,” muttered Frank.

“What is he going to do?” asked Hodge. “Try to scare us?”

“He is desperado enough to attempt anything,” said Merry.

All at once Flynn shouted:

“Go back! If you don’t, I’ll fill you full of bullets!”

The threat was not heeded, and the man dropped beside the rail close to the stern of the White Wings. He took aim with the rifle. Then there was a puff of smoke, and with a cry Frank dropped.

Before Dustan could grasp the wheel, however, Merry was up again.

“I got down just in time, then,” he said, coolly. “I saw the puff of smoke, and the bullet whistled within an inch of my head as I fell.”

“Look out! He may shoot again!”

“No! Look! look! The other man is trying to take the gun away from him! They are fighting!”

It was true. On the White Wings a struggle was taking place between the two men. The sailor had deserted the wheel, and the yacht soon came up into the wind with her sails fluttering. The main boom swung over and struck Flynn on the head, knocking him overboard.

“Pick the fellow up, somebody,” cried Frank, as the launch ran alongside the White Wings.

In vain they looked for Parker Flynn. It seemed that he sank as soon as he struck the water, and his body was not recovered.

The other man made no resistance as they came on board the yacht.

“I kept the critter from doin’ any more shootin’,” he said. “I’ve had enough of his style of business. I s’pose I’ll have to go to the jug for havin’ anything at all ter do with him, but I’ll take my med’cine.”

At sunset that very day the White Wings sailed into Belfast harbor and reached her old anchorage. Browning had been on the watch, and, with Hans, he put off in a boat before the yacht was abreast the steamboat wharf.

“I don’t think you need any shore detectives, Merriwell,” he said. “You have robbed me of the fun of taking part in the chase, and I’ll have to lay that up against you.”

“Yaw,” cried Hans, “he vill haf to laid dot up against you, Vrankie. You vos glat I got pack, ain’d id? Der Pelfast girls vos afrait they vould nefer seen you some more.”

Dustan had allowed the yacht to precede him into the harbor, but now he came running in with Wallace and Steve, the sailor, on board. When he reached the wharf the latter made a break for liberty, and he succeeded in getting away. It is possible that Merriwell did not push the pursuit as closely as he might. He had other plans afoot, anyway, for he intended to go on a fishing trip to Lake Sebasticook, and the preparations for this took up all his time.

The morning sunshine lay like shining silver on the placid bosom of beautiful Lake Sebasticook. Not a cloud hung in the blue sky, and it was a perfect summer morning, for the sun was not yet high enough to make the air uncomfortably warm.

Near the mouth of a stream that empties into the northern end of the lake floated a canoe that contained two persons who were fishing. The occupants of the canoe were Frank Merriwell and Bart Hodge. In the bottom of the canoe lay more than a dozen large white perch, glittering in the sunlight. That they were a fresh catch was evident, for they had not lost their silvery luster, and occasionally some of them flopped about in a frantic endeavor to get back into the water.

“Well, they are beauties!” cried Hodge, as he gazed at them in admiration; “and we did rope them in fast for a few minutes.”

“That’s what we did,” nodded Frank. “I wonder why they stopped biting so suddenly.”

“Don’t know. What are those splashes on the water over that way?”

“I know!” exclaimed Frank, suddenly beginning to reel in his line with great swiftness. “Pull in, Hodge—pull in!”

“What for?”

“Don’t ask questions! Pull in!”

Bart obeyed, and the boys quickly reeled their lines.

“Now,” said Frank, catching a paddle, “to get on the farther side of those splashes.”

“All right,” came from Hodge, as he got into position for using his paddle, kneeling in the canoe. “Here we go!”

The thin blades dipped and rose from the water, flashing in the sunshine. They plied the paddles with regularity and skill, making not the least splashing.

Frank steered, and he set a course that surprised Bart, who asked:

“Where are we going?”

“Round that splashing,” was the answer. “We want to get on the farther side.”

“Why are we going round?”

“To get ahead of those fish.”

“Why not go straight through?”

“We might divide the school, or cause the fish to sink. Those are the perch we struck a short time ago. A few of them were jumping then, and now the whole school is near the surface. Those fish are making for a feeding ground.”

In a short time they passed round the school and lay before them.

With great haste, Frank unreeled his line, baited his hook and flung it far from him. Hodge followed his example, but did not let the hook sink far before, seeing a great splashing in another direction, he began to pull in. He had not drawn the hook far before something took it with a jerk and darted away.

“Great Scott!” cried Hodge, excitedly. “What a bite!”

“Pull him in!” said Frank.

Hodge obeyed, and the fish darted from side to side, the line cutting into Bart’s fingers with the fierce plunges of the finny fellow.

Up to the side of the canoe Hodge pulled the fish. The bright sunshine showed something white that darted and plunged in a mad endeavor to break away, and then, at the last moment, seemed to give up exhausted.

Then, being able to see the fish plainly, Hodge stopped, uttering a gasp of astonishment.

“What is it, Merry?” he asked, in a flutter. “It can’t be a white perch, for it’s too big.”

“Pull it in, and then we’ll see.”

But Bart had slackened at the wrong time, and now the great fish gave a flop and escaped from the hook. There was a flash of silver plunging downward, and the fish was gone.

Bart was exasperated.

“What a stupid fellow I am!” he growled. “But that fish was so big! He was too large for a perch, and——”

Frank was drawing in his line to give it another throw. All at once, it gave a jerk and slipped through his fingers, then he began to pull away hand over hand, while the line cut here and there through the water.

“You have one!” cried Bart, excitedly. “Don’t let him get away as I did, Merry! Jingoes! but he is doing some fancy dodging!”

Up to the surface darted the fish and up into the air he leaped like a flash of light out of the water.

“Oh!” shouted Hodge, starting to rise in his excitement. “What a dandy!”

“Get down!” commanded Frank, quickly. “You will have this canoe bottom up if you do that again! It’s a wonder you didn’t turn her over then!”

“That’s so,” agreed Bart, who was familiar with the cranky tricks of canoes; “but I couldn’t keep still.”

Into the canoe Frank pulled his catch, and both lads stared at the fish, for it was larger than four of the large ones of their first lot.

“Can that be a white perch?” gurgled Hodge, amazed. “It doesn’t look just like the others.”

“Whatever it is, there are more out there,” said Frank. “Get after them, Bart. We’ll daze the fellows when we bring in a mess of these dandies.”

Hodge had arranged a tempting bait on his hook, and now he made a fancy throw that carried the whole length of the line out of the boat. The hook struck far away on the water and sank, while the fish Frank had caught flopped in the bottom of the canoe, stirring up the others to a merry, pattering dance.

“Pull in by the time your hook sinks three or four feet,” said Frank, looking after his own bait. “These big fellows are on the surface.”

Bart obeyed, and he had not drawn his hook a third of the way to the canoe before it was snapped up, bringing a little cry of satisfaction from his lips.

“Oh, this is sport!” he exclaimed. “I thought we had fun with those little fellows.”

“Those little fellows!” laughed Frank. “A short time ago you were calling them beauties.”

“They seemed so then, but these are so much larger—no you don’t, old chap!—and they are so much whiter! I hope we can get a big mess of them!”

Then Bart snapped into the boat a fish quite as large as the one Merriwell had caught. He held the shining beauty up and feasted his eyes on the spectacle a moment. Then the hook was removed, and the fish was tossed down to help stir up his gasping comrades.

By this time Frank had hooked another, and for fifteen minutes the fun was fast and furious. Once they were forced to pick up the paddles and get ahead of the school again; but finally, with amazing suddenness, the fish ceased biting.

“Where have they gone?” asked Bart. “I can’t see them jumping anywhere.”

“Nor I,” said Frank. “They have sunk. Let your line drop deeper before starting to pull in.”

But, although they tried various methods of fishing, they caught but two or three more, and those were not large ones.

“They are gone,” said Frank, regretfully; “but we have made a fine haul, Hodge. Won’t Browning kick himself, to think he did not get up and come with me when I awoke him this morning!”

“He won’t get over it all day, for he’d rather fish than do anything else—unless it’s sleep. It’s wonderful how lazy that fellow is.”

“But he can fight. He’s got so he wants to fight my battles now. Why, he was going to dip in over at Camp Benson last night when that fellow, Welch, from Newport, took a fancy to punch me for dancing with his girl.”

“He told me about it, and he said Welch was backed by a big, bewhiskered ruffian who was all ready to hit you from behind. That was why he got into the game. It was a plain case of a crooked attempt to do you up, but Browning spoiled the trick.”

“I saw the man, and I was on guard for him. Welch swore he’d do me, and he’s just the kind of fellow who will try to keep his word. He is a ruffian, but is cowardly. I do not believe he would hesitate to kill a man if he was in a rage and thought he might escape punishment for——”

The report of a gun reached their ears, and, at the same moment, something came rattling against the side of the canoe.

Hodge uttered a cry of pain.

“I’m shot!” he exclaimed.

A curl of white smoke was rising above some water reeds, plainly showing where the gun had been fired.

Hodge held up his hand, and there was blood on his wrist. He wiped it away, and then picked a shot from under the skin.

Frank had felt several shot strike his clothes, but evidently they were too far spent to penetrate far.

“Of all infernal carelessness!” grated Hodge, his face dark with anger. “I never heard of anything like it.”

“It could not have been carelessness!” cried Frank. “Here we are in plain view out in the open water. The person who fired that shot must have seen us. If it was carelessness, it was criminal.”

“Are you hit, Merry?”

“Some of the shot struck my clothes, but none of them reached my body, I think. How much are you hurt, Bart?”

“Not much, but I’m mad enough to thump the chump who fired that shot! I’d like the job!”

Merriwell had reeled in his line, and now he swiftly drew in Bart’s. Then he caught up his paddle and sent the head of the canoe round toward the point where the puff of smoke had been seen rising above the water reeds.

“We’ll soon find out who did the shooting,” came grimly from his lips, as he sent the light craft forward.

Bart caught up his paddle, and soon the canoe was literally skimming along the silvery surface of the lake.

As they approached the rushes there were signs of commotion behind them. A head bobbed up and disappeared from view, and then a boat was thrust slowly out. It contained two persons, who seemed inclined to row away, but changed their minds when they beheld how close upon them the canoe was. They turned about and desperately faced the boys.

One was a man of middle age, roughly dressed, with a wide-brimmed hat set upon one side of his head and long-legged rubber boots on his feet. He wore a full beard, and his hair was long enough to fall on the collar of his coat. The face was that of a hard-drinking man, and his manner indicated that he was a reckless ruffian.

The other was a youth of eighteen or nineteen, with square shoulders and a sullen face. He, also, looked like a desperado, and yet, there was something about him that might prove attractive and fascinating for a thoughtless, romantic girl. He was dressed in a careless manner, in plain clothes, but somehow those clothes seemed to set upon him in a way that showed him to advantage. In fact, they actually made him look more attractive than better and more fashionable garments could.

As soon as Merriwell saw these two persons, he softly exclaimed:

“Hello! So those are the chaps?”

“Do you know them?” asked Hodge, quickly.

“I should guess yes!”

“Who are they?”

“Welch and his backer.”

“What—the fellow who wanted to thrash you over at Camp Benson?”

“Yes. And the man is the one who was looking for a chance to dip into the row. Now, I am beginning to think this shooting was not accidental.”

The man and the boy glared at Frank and Bart, but said not a word.

“Who fired that shot?” demanded Merriwell, holding his paddle in the water so that it would slacken the forward motion of the canoe.

“Who are you talkin’ to?” demanded Welch, surlily.

“I am talking to you, sir! Who fired that shot?”

“What shot?”

“The one a few moments ago.”

“Oh! what are you drivin’ at? We don’t know nothin’ about no shot. You make me tired!”

“That kind of bluff will not go. One of you fired a shot from behind these reeds a few minutes ago. Who did it?”

The man regarded the boys with the utmost contempt, seemingly quite indifferent, but Welch grew red with anger.

“Say!” he cried; “you’re too fresh, Mr. Frank Merriwell! I know you! Because you are a college chap and have had your name printed in the papers, you think you can come down here into Maine and run over the countrymen you find here. Well, you will find out the countrymen won’t be run over. I don’t believe you are such a much, anyway. What you really need is a good thumping, and I’d like the job to give it to you. I’d done it yesterday if it hadn’t been for that big lummuxing chum of yours who meddled in. I’ll do it yet when I get the chance! I promise you that I will thump you, and Jim Welch always keeps his promises. Now, you chaps had better git!”

Frank laughed outright.

“You are very amusing, Mr. Jim Welch,” he declared. “It is evident that you think yourself a dangerous sort of individual, but you are dangerous only when you have a shotgun in your hands and are hidden behind some reeds. It would be just like you to try to shoot somebody in the back. Your face shows that.”

“I didn’t shoot at all, and you don’t want to say I did.”

“Then your friend did!” cried Hodge, who was fairly quivering for trouble. “His face shows he wouldn’t hesitate to——”

“Look here, confound you!” growled the man, scowling at Hodge; “you want to go slow! Neither of us did any shooting, for we ain’t got anything to shoot with.”

“No guns?”

“Of course not.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Well, it don’t make a bit of difference whether you believe it or not. You’re nothing but kids, and we can’t fool with you. Come, Welch, if we’re going to get any fishing this morning we must get started. Come on.”

He placed the oars in the rowlocks and got into position for rowing.

“What were you doing in there behind those reeds?” asked Frank.

“That is none of your business!” shouted Welch. “Now, you chaps want to get out of the way, or you’ll get into trouble, for we won’t fool with ye!”

He lifted an oar threateningly, but the canoe was beyond his reach, and so he sat down, after half rising to his feet.

“Take your paddle out of the water, Bart,” whispered Frank. “I’m going to have a look into their boat.”

Hodge obeyed, and then, with a single, long, quick stroke, Merriwell whirled the canoe up beside the boat.

“What are you doing?” growled the startled man.

“We want to see your guns,” said Hodge.

“To blazes with you! I told you we had no guns, and you can see for yourselves. Do you see any guns?”

To Bart’s surprise, not a gun was to be seen in the boat. In the bottom, at one end, however, lay a pile of rushes, such as are sometimes bound on the front end of a boat when it creeps upon water birds, for the occupants of the boat to obtain a shot. Of a sudden, Frank leaned over and gave those reeds a yank.

Two shotguns were exposed to view!

Hodge gave a cry of triumph and anger, and Frank, with another sudden twist of his paddle, tried to back the canoe away from the boat.

The man uttered a cry of anger, and Welch leaped to his feet, catching up an oar.

“Oh, I’ll fix you!” he shouted, swinging the oar over his head and striking straight at Frank’s head.

Merry saw he could not get out of reach, and so, in a moment, he swung his paddle out of water and used it to divert the oar.

Crack!—the oar struck the paddle and was turned aside. Frank had saved his skull from being cracked by his swift move.

With a great splash, the oar struck in the water, and Welch was given a yank that set him toppling, in a frantic effort not to plunge headlong out of the boat. He let go of the oar and flung up his hands, waving them wildly, and then, finding he must go over, he dropped and caught at the side of the boat, overturning that in a twinkling.

It happened in a moment. Both Welch and his companion were precipitated into the water. The man disappeared a few seconds, and then came up and grasped the end of the boat.

Welch went down, came to the surface, thrust his hands up into the air, cried out gurglingly, splashed a moment, and went down again.

The commotion in the water caused the canoe to rock, but Bart Hodge laughed shortly. His face showed triumph and satisfaction at the misfortune that had befallen the man and boy. With his paddle, he moved the canoe yet farther away.

Merriwell looked somewhat anxious and waited for Welch to come to the surface again.

The man, clinging to the overturned boat, poured forth a torrent of angry abuse at the boys in the canoe, neither of whom paid any attention to him. Had they done so, they would have observed that he felt of his beard and hair in a singular manner, as if doubtful about something.

Welch came up again, splashed about, strangled, coughed, cried out and sank.

Immediately Frank began to take off some of his clothing. He flung his cap into the bottom of the canoe, his coat followed it, and then he pulled off his shoes, keeping low down, so that he would not overturn the birch-bark craft.

“What are you going to do, Frank?” asked Bart, surprised.

“Save that fellow from drowning, if I can. He can’t swim.”

“But what is the use to jump into the water and get wet? We can get near him as he comes up, and one of us can catch hold of him.”

“It won’t do.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you see, he is drowning! He would clutch the canoe—try to drag himself out of the water—overturn it instantly! We’d both get a wetting, when one can——There he is!”

Welch came up again. His struggles were feebler, and he gasped for breath with a painful sound.

Merriwell half lifted himself. The canoe began to rock, and Bart exclaimed:

“You can’t dive over without upsetting me!”

Taking hold of the frail craft in a certain manner, Merry lifted himself with both hands, and swung himself fairly over the stern end. Had he gone over the side, he must have overturned the canoe, but he dropped into the water with a splash, and the light craft remained upright. It was a skillful trick, and it astonished Hodge, who was more than half expecting to be capsized.

As Frank struck the water, Welch sank again.

“He’s gone down, Merry!” cried Bart.

Frank struck out with powerful strokes, reached the spot where Welch had disappeared, and then dived beneath the surface.

The man who was clinging to the overturned boat had begun to swim, pushing it toward the shore, some distance below the mass of water reeds behind which they had been concealed.

Hodge paid no attention to boat or man, but he waited with the greatest anxiety for Frank to come to the surface. With the paddle, he moved the canoe somewhat nearer the spot where Merry had dived beneath the water.

Frank came up directly, and he had a hold upon the drowning lad, but Welch had twisted his legs about Frank with a grip that hampered Frank’s movements. In vain Merry tried to break away. It seemed that Welch had fastened upon him with a death grip.

“Can I help you?” asked Hodge, anxiously, as he saw Merry struggling in the water, sometimes sinking beneath the surface. “What’s the matter?”

“This fellow—has—his legs—twisted about mine!” panted Frank. “Confound him! He wants to drown us both!”

Bart worked nearer with the canoe.

“Hit him on the head, Frank!” he cried. “Hit him quick and hard! Don’t let him pull you under like that!”

But Merry fought till he broke away from the half-unconscious Welch, which caused him to utter an exclamation of satisfaction.

“I’m all right now,” he said.

“Can you get him ashore?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I will keep close, so that I can give you some help, if you need it. Don’t drown yourself trying to save him.”

“We must save him, Hodge,” said Frank, as he swam toward the distant beach, supporting Welch. “It would not do for us to let him drown after——”

“After he tried to shoot us!” grated Bart. “Oh, that is like you, Merriwell! You are ready to risk your own life for an enemy who has done you any kind of injury! I’m not built that way! My enemies can look out for themselves!”

Frank said nothing, for he was thoroughly occupied in the task of reaching the shore, and he could make but slow progress, burdened as he was.

Hodge paddled along, watching Frank anxiously.

“Let me hold the fellow’s head above the surface a few moments, while you rest, Frank,” he urged.

“No,” said Merry. “Can’t take chances of his overturning you. I’m all right. Keep on.”

The man with the boat was now so close to the shore that he could touch bottom. He stood up and waded out, pushing the boat along and dragging it up on the beach.

Having done this, the fellow turned and looked at the approaching lads. He seemed undecided for a moment, but suddenly wheeled about and plunged into the swampy woods, vanishing from view.

Hodge saw this movement, and wondered at it, but said nothing to Merriwell, feeling that Frank needed to give his entire attention to the task of getting ashore with Welch.

Nearer and nearer to the shore Merriwell struggled. He moved slower and slower, and it was plain that the task was a heavy drain upon his energy and endurance. Bart feared that Frank would give out, but this did not happen. Finally Hodge said:

“I think you can stand up here, Merry. Try it—see if your feet will touch bottom.”

Frank did so, and found he could touch the bottom and have his head out of the water, which enabled him to walk ashore.

Bart got out upon the beach and helped Frank drag Welch upon the sand. Merriwell was panting, but he regarded with the greatest anxiety the lad he had brought to land.

“He’s drowned!” cried Hodge. “He is done for, Frank!”

“Off with your coat!” exclaimed Merriwell, panting. “Give me my coat and shoes from the canoe. Quick! We must hustle if we bring him round!”

Taking the shoes, Frank wrapped the coat about them, making a hard roll or bundle. Then he placed the bundle on the beach, and, aided by Bart, lay Welch, face down, upon it so it pressed upon his stomach. Having placed the unconscious lad in this position, with the collar of his shirt ripped open, Merriwell began pressing upon his back just below his shoulder blades, and with each pressure water spurted from the lad’s mouth.

“If we can get him to breathing after we get this water out of him, he’ll come round,” said Frank, anxiously.

They did not work more than a minute before Welch choked and groaned, causing Frank to express relief.

“He’s coming round so quick,” said Merry. “We’ll have him all right in short order.”

Now Welch groaned and choked in a most distressing manner. The boys knew he was suffering fearful tortures, but they kept at work till he ceased to expel water. Then Frank placed him in a position to breathe easily, and they saw him staring up at them with wide-open eyes.

“You are all right,” said Merry; “but it was a close shave.”

“Oh!” groaned Welch; “I’d rather die than go through that again! How did I get here?”

“You got here by being brought by Frank Merriwell,” said Hodge, scowling at Welch. “He risked his life to save you from drowning, and you didn’t deserve it.”

Welch said nothing for some moments, but seemed trying to collect his scattered wits. At last he asked:

“Where is Bunker?”

“The man you were with?”

“Yes.”

“He skipped into the swamp somewhere.”

“And left me?”

“Yes. He got ashore first, and he——”

“That will do!” growled a hoarse voice, and there was a grating step on the sand. “Bunker is here. He don’t run away from kids like you.”

The man approached, carrying a heavy club in his hand. He looked ugly enough at that moment, and it was plain he was not in a pleasant mood.

“Look out for him, Frank!” whispered Hodge. “He is up to something.”

Bunker halted and glared at the boys. His clothes were dripping wet, and his long hair clung about his neck. At that moment he was an ugly looking individual.

“You youngsters have had lots of sport this morning, haven’t you!” he snarled. “Well, you shall pay for it, and pay dearly, too!”

“You or your friend here started the ball rolling,” said Frank, quietly. “You filled the side of our canoe with shot, and wounded Mr. Hodge in the wrist. It was fortunate for us that you did not do greater damage. And it is fortunate for you that, after what you did do, you have got off so easily.”

Hodge was not saying a word, but he was watching the man closely. The look on Bart’s face told that he thoroughly despised Bunker.

“Oh, you crow pretty loud for kids!” grated the fellow. “What you need is to have some of the conceit taken out of you. Welch says you have had your name in print so often and been talked about so much that you’ve got the swelled head. You think yourself the smartest chap alive.”

“No matter what I think, that is no excuse for your criminal carelessness in shooting toward us.”

“It wasn’t carelessness, Merry!” exclaimed Bart, unable to keep still longer. “It was criminal design!”

“If one of us shot toward you, it was an accident,” growled the man. “But now you have an account to settle with us.”

“Well, what is it?” asked Frank, quietly.

“You upset us.”

“That’s not true.”

“And you caused us to lose our guns.”

“You denied that you had any guns in the boat.”

“That makes no difference. Now, I want you to pay for those guns.”

“Oh, you do?”

“You bet I do!”

“Well, that is nerve!” laughed Merry, his eyes flashing. “After you overturned your own boat in the attempt to break my head, you expect us to pay for the guns you lost.”

“You are responsible, and you’ll have to pay.”

“There is another opinion about that. You and Mr. Welch are responsible for everything that has occurred between us. Had not Welch tried to break my head with an oar, you would not have capsized and lost your guns. That being the case, you cannot expect us to pay for them.”

To the man, Frank seemed very mild and quiet, and this encouraged Bunker, who fancied it would not be difficult to scare him.

“We do expect you to pay for them!” shouted the man, fiercely; “and you will, too!”

“No, we will not.”

Still, Merriwell was not in the least excited. He even smiled serenely into the face of the water-soaked, angry man. As he did so, he unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and began to roll them back. Two round, white arms, shining with dampness, were exposed.

Bunker gave a snarl of anger.

“Why, you fool!” he cried. “Do you think you can scare me by rolling up your sleeves? I’ll take you over my knee and spank you!”

This caused Merriwell’s smile to broaden and break into a ringing laugh.

“Just toss aside that club,” he said, “and I’ll soon show you who will be spanked.”

“Don’t do it, Bill!” came from Welch, who had recovered in a remarkable manner. “He is the greatest athlete in Yale College, if what the papers say about him is true.”

“I ain’t going to fool with him,” declared Bunker, advancing a step and half lifting the club. “Pay for those guns, Mr. Frank Merriwell, or I’ll thump the life out of you!”

Frank stood his ground, looking the man straight in the eyes; but Hodge retreated to the canoe, the prow of which had been drawn up on the sand.

“Keep back!” commanded Merriwell. “We are not going to fool with you any longer.”

“And I am not going to fool with you, either!”

“You have tried to fill us with shot and break our heads this morning. That you have received the worst of it so far is simple retribution. Welch would have drowned if I hadn’t saved him, for you made no move to help him. You owe me something for that.”

“Bah! You saved him because you were afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That, if he died, you would be held responsible. It was cowardice, not bravery, that led you to get him out of the water.”

“You are at liberty to think that, if you like; it makes no difference to me.”

“I know it.”

“All right. I pulled him out, just the same, and we pumped the water out of him after getting him ashore. You were not on hand to help, and he would be dead past resuscitation at this moment had he depended on you.”

Bunker advanced another step.

“It makes no difference,” he grated; “you’ll pay for the guns, just the same—and for the oars, too. I want twenty dollars for my gun, and Jim’s was worth fifteen. The oars bring it up to—well, you can cough up fifty dollars, and we’ll call it square.”

“How kind!” laughed Merriwell. “My dear sir, we could not think of accommodating you.”

“You’ll have to, or I’ll crack your skull sure this time!”

Now the club was flourished threateningly, and the face of the man showed he really meant it. Frank grew grave, but did not take his eyes from the ruffian.

“Look here, Mr. Bunker,” he said, swiftly, “you are getting yourself into a bad scrape. If you don’t drop it, I’ll take the trouble to swear out a warrant for you at the earliest opportunity and place an officer on your track. It will not be difficult to put you behind iron bars.”

“Bah!” again cried the man. “You can’t save yourself that way. Cough up.”

“Not a cent!”

“Then you get it!”

“Come on!”

Frank fell into a defensive attitude, and Bunker swung the club aloft, starting to make a spring.

“Stop!”

The word rang out like a shot. It came from the lips of Bart Hodge, who was standing just behind Frank, having picked a small rifle out of the canoe. The weapon was at Bart’s shoulder, and its muzzle covered Bunker.

“Stop!” repeated Hodge. “If you make another move, I’ll send a twenty-two into your head! It won’t make a large hole, but it will do some damage, even to a wooden head, like yours.”

Bunker halted, for he saw that Hodge was in deadly earnest, and the rifle, small though it was, was not exactly pleasant to look upon just then.

“You fool!” panted the man. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, yes, I would!” grated Hodge. “I’d like to do it! It would give me great satisfaction, but I thought it best to give you fair warning first. Drop that club!”

Bunker hesitated.

“Drop it!” flashed Bart. “Drop it, or I’ll drop you!”

The man let the club fall on the sand, and then he laughed.

“Well, you chaps have more sand than I thought,” he said. “I was trying you—that’s all. Of course, I didn’t mean to do you any harm.”

“Oh! of course not,” said Merriwell, with sarcasm. “You are one of the most harmless chaps in the world.”

“Don’t think we’re fools,” snapped Hodge. “We stopped your little game, that’s all. Now, git.”

“Yes, go,” cried Frank.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“But the boat—Welch——”

“The boat is all right. Take a walk along the shore—lively. Don’t turn round till you are out of range of this rifle, for you may encounter a bullet if you do. That’s all. Go on!”

“But—but——”

“There are no buts about it. Go this instant, or Hodge will salt you. Get a move on!”

The man turned about and walked away.

“Now,” said Frank, speaking to Welch, “I advise you to have nothing more to do with that chap. He’ll get you into some bad scrape if you do. You are lucky to get off this time so easily. I have no particular grudge against you, even though you did want to thump me for dancing with a certain young lady at Camp Benson yesterday. But don’t monkey round me in the future, for I don’t always overlook things this way. That’s all.”

Hodge had pushed the canoe into the water, and now they entered it and pushed off from the shore.

“It’s lucky I brought this rifle along,” said Hodge, as he placed it in the bow and picked up his paddle.

“I had forgotten you had it,” confessed Frank. “It did come in handy, that is a fact.”

By the time Bunker knew what had happened behind him, they were a long distance from the shore, skimming swiftly away.

A column of blue smoke was rising above the trees on Sandy Point as the canoe containing Merriwell and Hodge drew up to the wide beach, on which lay three more inverted canoes.

Just as the canoe touched the sand there was a whoop from the woods, and Hans Dunnerwust, stripped of the last rag of clothing, came bursting into view, made a wild run for the water, as if he were to plunge in headlong, stopped short when his toes were wet, and backed off, lifting his feet into the air and shaking them.

“Shimminy Gristmas!” he gurgled. “Dot peen a narrow escapes. Dot vawter peen too vet vor you to took a path indo, ain’d id? Vot peen der use to took a path, anyvay? Id gits a veller all ofer vet, und id vos drouple to dry yourseluf. Yaw. I dook a path ven I vos ad Vardale, for der horneds shased me der prook indo. Dot peen goot enough to last you till next summer. Oxcuse me.”

And then, with great gravity, not even looking at Frank and Bart, he turned about, walked up the beach and disappeared into the bushes.

“Well,” laughed Merry, “Hans certainly came very near taking a voluntary bath that time. He stopped just in time.”

“Browning has been guying him again,” said Bart. “I heard him ask Hans yesterday if this was not his year to take a bath.”

Frank cut some forked branches from the bushes near, and soon the white perch were strung upon them. The large fish were arranged on the outside of the strings, so they made a handsome showing. Taking care of the canoe and dipping the fish in the water, so they again glistened like silver, the boys started toward the cottage, which they were occupying on the point.

There was a path to the cottage, and this they followed. As they approached, the door of the cottage was seen standing wide open, and Bruce Browning was heard laughing heartily within. Diamond was carrying in an armful of wood.

“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Bruce. “You are in danger, Hans, for you say you got your toes wet. You’ll be ill, sure. Just think what a horrible thing it is to put wet water right onto a person’s skin.”

“Vot’s der madder mit you!” squawked the voice of Hans. “You und Shack peen oud und done dot a liddle vile ago, don’d id? You kept bokin’ vun ad me till I got me my glothing oudt und vent oudt to took a path, but I vound der vawter too vet this mornings.”

“Oh, yes; the water is wet. I never saw a Dutchman who wasn’t afraid of real wet water. They don’t even want to drink it.”

“Vale, dot vasn’t no skin off you somevere, vos id? Vot peen der madder?”

Then Frank and Bart mounted the steps and walked into the cottage, carrying the handsome fish they had caught.

There were cries of astonishment and surprise from the three lads.

“Ye gods!” burst from Browning. “What have you been doing, fellows?”

“Catching fish,” laughed Frank.

“Veesh?” squawked Hans, who was putting on his shirt. “Vale, I should said so! Vere vos dose veesh caught you?”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Diamond, his eyes shining. “Those are beauties! I didn’t suppose there were such fish in this lake.”

“Nor I,” groaned Browning. “If I had, I’d turned out when Merriwell called me this morning. What sport you must have had!”

“We caught them,” said Merry; “now, if you want some for breakfast, clean them and cook them.”

“I don’t know much about cleaning fish,” said the big Yale man. “I’d rather catch them.”

“So had I,” nodded Diamond; “but I didn’t catch them, so I am willing to clean my share.”

“Und I vill cook them,” said Hans. “I pet more as eight or nine uf dose veesh can ead me this morning. I vos awful hongry since I took dot path.”

Some of the fish were taken from the string and laid out to be admired.

“There is a fellow that will weigh more than two pounds,” said Jack, pointing out a handsome perch.

“And here is one larger than that,” said Merry.

“It’s simply wonderful!” grunted Bruce. “Look at the difference between that big fellow and this one.”

He picked up one of the smallest fish.

Hans could not keep his eyes off the perch, although he was hastening to dress. He crowded in with the others as he drew on his trousers and drew his suspenders up over his shoulders.

“Oh! I do lofe peautiful veesh,” he gurgled. “They vos goot food to ead your prain vor. I alvays ead veesh ven I can got them.”

“That explains why you have such a remarkable brain,” observed Browning, as he dropped the small perch down the Dutch lad’s back, thrusting it inside the collar of his shirt, which was not buttoned.

As the cold, clammy fish slipped down his back, Hans gave a wild howl and leaped into the air, giving a twist of his body and making a frantic effort to reach over his shoulder and catch hold of the perch.

“Wow!” he whooped. “Vot id vos, aind id? Hellup. Vos I struck lightnin’s py? Ye-e-e-ow! Got dot out uf my pack off! Kvick! Shimminy Gristmas! I pet zwei tollars dot vos a snake grawlin’ your pack down! Take it avay!”

He nearly turned himself wrongside out in his convulsive efforts. The fish slipped still farther down his back and finally got into the left leg of his trousers.

“Ye-e-e-eh!” squealed the fat Dutch lad, dancing around the room on his right foot and kicking out with the other. “Dot snake peen comin’ down your drowsers legs! Got a club und kill me kvick! Don’d let me got avay!”

The boys had seen Browning’s act, and they were convulsed with laughter at the antics of the frightened Dutch lad.

“Keep still, Hans,” said Frank. “If it is a snake, you will make him bite you all the quicker by hopping around that way.”

“You can’t kept still!” shouted Hans. “Dot snake is grawling der leg uf my drowsers town alretty! I vos so coldt efry dime I touch myseluf to him dot it gives you der shifers! Oh? Wow! Ye-ow!”

Then Hans gave a great wiggle and kick, and out dropped the little fish onto the floor. The Dutch lad gasped in astonishment and stared at the fish.

“Vos dot der snake?” he muttered, huskily, his face very pale, despite his exertions. “Vale, dot peen der vunniest snake you efer seen!”

“It must be a water snake,” said Merriwell, laughing.

“Vot you vant to knew is how dot veesh got down der pack uf my neck. I don’t seen some vings on heem.”

“He was trying to hide, so you wouldn’t cook him,” said Browning. “That’s all, Hans. Don’t blame the poor fish.”

“Vale, he don’d blay dot me onto again. He near scat uf me der life out. Yaw!”

Diamond took some of the finest perch outside, and, finding a board, carried them down to the water, where he cleaned them. In a short time they were frying in the pan, giving out a delicious odor.

It was a jolly party that gathered about the breakfast table in that little cottage on Sandy Point. The fish were cooked brown and crisp, the coffee was delicious, and everything tasted good. They laughed and joked as they ate.

Merriwell and Hodge had told all about their encounter with Bunker and Welch.

“We must look out for those fellows,” said Diamond.

“I don’t believe they will trouble us again,” declared Browning. “Welch would have no sense of gratitude if he did after Merriwell saved him from drowning.”

“I don’t think he is a fellow who has any sense of gratitude,” came from Hodge; “and his face shows he is a hard drinker. I believe the man can lead him into anything.”

“Oh! I don’t know about that,” said Frank. “He did not take any part in Bunker’s attempted attack on us after I got him out of the water. That shows——”

“Nothing,” cut in Bart. “He was pretty well used up, and he did not have the nerve to take any part in that little affair. I think that fellow is thoroughly bad.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, old man,” said Frank.

“Well, see if I am not right. You’re always trying to discover good qualities in everybody. You do not seem to believe any person can be thoroughly bad.”

“That is right,” nodded Frank; “I do not believe anybody can be entirely bad. I am firmly convinced that even the worst ruffian has some redeeming qualities.”

“That’s all right, but it makes me tired when you put so much confidence in rascals who are doing everything possible to injure you. Some time you will get done up for keeps by some ruffian you are trying to befriend.”

“Perhaps so. I’ll chance it.”

Breakfast over, Browning threw himself down on one of the beds and lighted a cigarette.

“There,” he said, with a sigh of satisfaction, “now I could go to sleep again, and I wouldn’t need any rocking.”

“Gif me a shiggerette, Pruce,” said Hans. “Id makes you vant to smoke ven I haf von.”

“Confound your cigarettes!” cried Diamond. “I wish you wouldn’t smoke them! When a fellow had such a hard time to leave off as I did, it’s a big temptation to see others smoking and to smell them.”

“You’re not obliged to see me,” grunted Bruce. “You can go outside. There’s nobody round to bother you out——”

There was a sound of feet on the steps, and two men entered the cottage. They were large, determined-looking fellows, plainly dressed. They stopped just inside the door and looked the party over, without speaking a word.

“How do you do, gentlemen,” said Merriwell. “This visit is something of a surprise. You’re a little late for breakfast.”

The larger of the two men nodded shortly, then he turned to the other and said something in a low tone. Their actions aroused Bart’s suspicions, and he took a step toward the corner, where two shotguns stood.

“Is this the whole of your party?” asked the large man.

“It is,” answered Frank. “What can we do for you?”

The man did not answer at once, but he was heard to say to the other:

“He ain’t here.”

“Perhaps they’re lyin’,” muttered the other.

“Look here,” came grimly from the big man; “we’re looking for a certain person, and we have been told he was camping out over this way with a lot of boys.”

Frank flushed a bit and stepped forward promptly.

“There is no person camping here besides the ones you see,” came rather sharply from his lips.

More words passed between the two men, and then the larger one said aloud:

“If you’re lyin’, you’ll get yourselves inter trouble. I am Ben Bowers, the sheriff from Newport. This is John Nason, one of my deputies. We are here looking after a certain chap who has been passing in this section under the name of Joe Tweed.”

“We know nothing of Mr. Joe Tweed. We never heard of him, sir.”

“That’s all right. You look as if you was honest, but, perhaps, you don’t know what this Tweed has done.”

“We do not.”

“Well, he’s robbed an old miser, over in North Newport, of thirty thousand dollars, and hit the old man a crack on the head that may kill him. Now, if you’ve seen Tweed, or know anything about him, the best thing you can do is to tell everything. You’ll git in a bad scrape if you don’t, that’s all.”

By this time Frank was thoroughly angry, but he held himself in check, seeming perfectly cool, although he spoke firmly.

“We are not robbers, Mr. Sheriff, and we do not associate with robbers. Such an insinuation is decidedly unpleasant.”

“Perhaps they’ve seen him,” said the deputy.

Bart strode to Frank’s side and said, in a low tone:

“Who knows—this chap who calls himself Bunker may be the fellow they are looking after.”

Frank gave a start. Then he asked:

“What does this Joe Tweed look like, Mr. Bowers? Will you describe him, please.”

“He’s a large man, dresses pretty well, smooth-faced, looks like an actor. He is a very smooth talker. Has a small, blue scar under his left ear.”

Bart was disappointed.

“Bunker’s not the man,” he said, regretfully.

“We have seen no such man as you describe,” declared Merriwell. “He has not been here.”

“It’s strange,” declared the sheriff. “Proctor said he saw him around here yesterday afternoon. Proctor was coming over from Turner’s about the middle of the afternoon, and, as he was running past this point, he said he saw Tweed come out of the woods. When Tweed saw Proctor’s boat, he turned round and made into the bushes in a hurry. That looks as if he had some sort of hiding place round here.”

“With the exception of Hans, we were all over to Camp Benson yesterday afternoon. Hans was here alone. Did you see anybody prowling around here yesterday, Hans?”

“Shimminy Gristmas!” gurgled Hans, turning pale. “You pet I didn’d seen nopodys! Uf I knew nopodys vos browling around here, I vould been so scat dot you vould had heart vailure! Und id vos a roppers? Py Chorch! you don’d got me to stayed here some more all alone myseluf by!”

The Dutch lad’s fear and excitement was genuine, and it impressed the men more than anything Merriwell had said.

“Well,” observed the sheriff, “if you know nothing about him, you will not be able to help us in any way. We thought it possible he had managed to get you to take him in with you some way, even if he was not one of your party originally. Keep your eyes open for him. There is a reward of five hundred dollars offered for his capture already. If you could help us nab him, it would be worth your while. That’s all. Sorry to have disturbed you. Must be going. Good-morning.”

Then he turned and, followed by the deputy, left the cottage.

Merriwell was interested now, and he followed the officers out, asking them several questions about Joe Tweed, the robber. He learned that Tweed had been hanging around Newport for some time, but had not been seen there for several days. He had made many acquaintances in the village at the foot of the lake, and had found out all about Peter Small, the miser. It was thought in Newport that Tweed had been assisted by some person who lived in that vicinity, for the manner in which he had entered Small’s house and found the old man’s hidden hoard of money, after half killing the miser, showed he was well informed.

Frank, Bart and Jack accompanied the officers down to the shore, where a small sailboat lay. With the boat they had run over from Turner’s, and they said they were going on to Proctor’s, the wind being favorable.

The boys saw them depart, and then returned to the cottage, discussing the events of the morning.

They found Hans savagely at work cleaning the guns. He was sweating and hurrying as if his life depended on what he was doing. Browning was snoring on the bed.

“Here, here, what are you doing?” asked Frank.

“Gitting retty to met dot roppers!” shouted the Dutch lad, fiercely ramming a swab stick down the barrel of a gun. “You shust let dot roppers come fooling arount here some more und seen how kvick he vill shoot me. Oh, I peen goin’ to gatch heem und got der fife hundret tollars!”

It was the week of the annual muster of the Grand Army at Camp Benson, on Lake Sebasticook. Every cottage was occupied and a large number of tents were pitched. Gray-headed veterans, heroes of the war, had gathered there from all over the State of Maine. Every day there were parades, a band concert, and a dance in the large hall that had been built for that purpose. The cottages and tents were decorated with bunting and flags. Yellow-eyed beans, baked in a “bean hole,” were on every bill of fare. Excursion trains stopped at the little platform station, bringing large numbers of visitors from Pittsfield, Newport, Corinna, Dexter and other towns. The lake steamer was making regular trips between the camp and Newport, and crowds came to the grounds in teams, on foot and on bicycles.

Each day in the afternoon there was a ball game and other sports of a nature to interest all. The band played “The Star-Spangled Banner,” “Marching Through Georgia,” “Yankee Doodle,” and other patriotic airs. The old vets got together and fought over the battles of long ago.

Hundreds of young people flocked to the ground and enjoyed the pleasures of the occasion. The country girls were red-cheeked and pretty, and the country lads were sturdy, manly-looking young fellows, such as make the best soldiers when in time of trouble the country calls her loyal sons to arms.

Not a few fashionable people visited Camp Benson and enjoyed themselves thoroughly.

They were not all countrymen there.

Merriwell and his friends had heard there was “fun” at Camp Benson, and that was one reason why they stopped at Lake Sebasticook. They had not been able to hire a cottage anywhere near the camp, and so they took the one on Sandy Point, although it was several miles away. Hearing there were to be canoe races at the camp, Frank looked about to obtain some canoes, and he was fortunate enough to secure four, although he was forced to pay an exorbitant price for the use of them that week. Three of them were single canoes, for racing purposes. The fourth was the birch in which Merry and Hodge had gone out fishing.

On the following day Frank’s entire party was at Camp Benson, for this afternoon the canoe races were to take place. Merry, Hodge and Diamond had resolved to enter the races.

First, however, there was a sailing race, and this they did not enter. They took pains to get into the following race.

There were nine starters, of which our friends made three. Two were from Newport, one from Pittsfield, one from Corinna, one from Foxcroft and one from Greenville, on Moosehead Lake. It was generally believed that the Greenville man would win, although it was said that Jim Welch, of Newport, would give him a hot pull.

The race was set to take place at three o’clock in the afternoon, but it was twenty minutes later when all the contestants lined up at the starting point.

The shore of the lake was thronged with spectators, and the band was playing a lively air near the dance hall, the music floating over the water on the gentle breeze.

In the lineup Merriwell and his friends had formed together. They were stripped to trousers, shirts and caps. Frank was laughing and joking, but Hodge and Diamond looked grim and determined.

The man from Greenville was a long-haired, weather-tanned chap, with a hard, knotty arm and broad shoulders. Certainly he did look like a formidable antagonist.

Some of the contestants were inclined to guy Merry and his friends. They cautioned them not to capsize, asked them if they could swim, told them they might do better to get out and push their canoes, and tried to have sport with them generally.

Diamond did not relish this sort of chaffing, and the hot flush on his cheeks showed he was irritated. Hodge held his anger down, while Frank seemed to regard it as part of the fun.

“One of us must win this race!” grated the Virginian, sullenly. “They take us for a lot of flubs. I paddled a canoe almost as soon as I learned to walk.”

“Keep cool,” cautioned Merry. “It won’t do any good to get angry, and it may cause you to lose the race.”

“How can a fellow keep cool, when these chumps are blowing their wind at him! I feel like punching a few of them!”

“Never mind. If you win, it will make them feel cheap enough.”

“Welch is in the line,” said Hodge, in a low tone.

“I see him.”

“Wonder if he is any good?”

“Somebody said he’d be the one to give the Greenville chap a hard pull.”

“Then look out for him, Merriwell.”

“How?”

“You are bound to be in the van at the finish. He may try some kind of a trick.”

“Oh! I guess not. He won’t have a chance.”

“Fellows like him make chances.”

“You are expecting too much from him. I think he’ll keep his place. He recovered pretty quick from his ducking this morning.”

“Get ready!” exclaimed Diamond, poising his paddle; “the starter is going to give the signal.”

There was some further delay about getting all the canoes in line, and then the starter stood up in his boat and lifted his pistol in the air.

“Ready!” he cried.

The paddles were poised.

Crack!

When the pistol spoke, they were off in a bunch.

Almost immediately, however, Jack Diamond began to forge ahead, fairly sending his canoe flying over the surface of the lake. He handled his paddle with strength and skill, and he proved a surprise at the very start.

There was a cheer from shore and the fluttering of handkerchiefs and waving of hats. The band played its liveliest air.

Merriwell paddled steadily and easily from the start, keeping well up with the body of the contestants, but not making any great effort to gain thus early in the race.

Hodge worked steadily, but was not particularly graceful in his movements. He was a stout, sturdy fellow, but no one had picked him out as a possible winner.

The Greenville man paddled in a style that was the poetry of motion, and sent his canoe darting along without any apparent trouble. There seemed every reason why he should be regarded as an almost certain victor.

Welch showed his skill, and he did not let the man from Greenville gain an inch on him. Early in the race he regarded that man as his only dangerous rival; but there was to come a time before long when he would see there were others in the race.

Frank saw, at the very outset, that Diamond had allowed his anger to get the better of his judgment, and he felt that the Virginian could not hold out as he had started.

When half of the course had been covered three of the contestants were falling behind. Diamond still held the lead, but now Welch began to press him, with the Greenville man hot after Welch. Merriwell was fourth, although but slightly in advance of Hodge.

Suddenly Frank was surprised to discover that Bart was at his side—was passing him. Hodge was putting in his best work at that point, and the way he forged ahead brought faint cheers from the shore. He overtook the Greenville man, passed him, and then he and Welch raced for the lead.

Diamond began to fail. He had started out too hard, and the strain was beginning to tell on him. He held the lead as long as possible, but Welch and Hodge finally passed him. Then he dropped behind the man from Greenville.

Jack found Merriwell at his side.

“Get into it, Frank!” he panted. “I’m out! Can’t keep it up! Push them, Merry!”

“It’s time,” were the only words that came from Frank.

Steadily and surely he crept up on those in advance. He passed the man from the Lake region, and then the only ones ahead of him were Hodge and Welch.

The end of the race was near, and Welch was leading Bart by nearly half a length. It looked as if he was a sure winner.

But now Merriwell came up with amazing speed. Soon he was pressing those in advance, and still he continued to gain, although both Welch and Hodge seemed straining every nerve.

For one moment Welch glanced over his shoulder. He saw Merriwell coming, with the Greenville man working like a Trojan to hold close to him.

At that moment Jim Welch began to realize that Merriwell stood a good chance of winning. Welch knew that he was doing his level best, and yet Frank was gaining.

Anger flamed in the fellow’s heart.

“He shan’t win!” he grated.

He made a final spurt that carried him ahead of Hodge, but still Merriwell came on. Welch saw that Frank must pass him just before the end of the course was reached. A determination seized upon him. He would foul Merriwell. Hodge was behind and would be stopped by them. That would give the race to the man from Greenville.

Having decided on this treacherous course, Welch was not long in putting the plan into operation. Frank was passing when, with a sharp swoop of the paddle, Welch whirled his canoe to cut Merriwell off.

But Bart Hodge was watching for that trick, and he had reserved a certain amount of strength for the critical moment. Now he seemed to cause his canoe to leap forward, and its sharp prow struck the side of the one Welch occupied, smashing it like an eggshell. A second later Jim Welch was in the water, and Merriwell sped on to victory, a sure winner at the last moment!

There was a faint cheer from the shore. Merriwell had won the race, and the man from Greenville was second. Welch had received a merited ducking, but was rescued from the water without much trouble.

Welch was furious. Over and over he declared he would have won the race had not Hodge fouled him, but the judges decided it was his own fault, as he was seen to deliberately get in Bart’s way.

This silenced him, but he looked sullen and revengeful, and continued to mutter to himself.

The canoe occupied by Hodge had not been injured by the collision, and Bart slowly paddled toward shore at Merriwell’s side when the race was over.

“Well, what do you think about it now?” he asked.

“I think I had the pull of my life to win,” admitted Frank. “I came near waiting too long before getting down to business.”

“Oh! I felt that one of us stood a good show to win,” said Bart; “but that was not what I meant.”

“Eh? Then what did you mean?”

“What do you think about Mr. Jim Welch?”

“I think he tried to foul me.”

“Sure.”

“And you prevented it, although I don’t know how you did it, for you were on the other side of him a few moments before. I was paying attention strictly to business, and supposed I was passing with Welch between us. How did you get in there?”

“I will tell you,” said Hodge, in a low tone. “I saw you were coming up at wonderful speed, for I took the chance of looking round. I realized that you would be a winner if not interfered with, and that you were going to pass on the other side of Welch. The moment I realized that, into my mind flashed the conviction that he would try to keep you from winning. The man from Greenville was hanging close to you, and there was a chance that he would beat all of us, unless you had a free course to the finish. I felt that I had a slim show of winning, so I permitted my canoe to drop back till I could cross behind Welch just when you were forging alongside of him. I reserved a certain amount of strength for a great spurt, and I needed it the moment I got into position. When I saw him try to foul you, I used every ounce of energy and drove my canoe into his. That’s all.”

“Well, you did a good job, old man; but I don’t know what the judges will say about it.”

“I don’t care what they say about it. What I want to know is what you say about Mr. Jim Welch now. Yesterday he tried to hammer you, to-day he tried to shoot you, and now, although you saved him from drowning this morning, he did his best to knock you out of this race. Is he thoroughly bad or not?”

“He is a rascal, that I will admit, but I do not believe him thoroughly bad, Bart.”

“Well, you are hard to convince!” cried Hodge, in disgust. “I think you are stubborn—you will not give up when you know you are wrong.”

“You do not think that, Hodge,” said Merry, reproachfully; “you must know better.”

Not another word would Bart say about it. He paddled along in sulky silence, not even giving heed when Frank thanked him for his act in preventing Welch from fouling.

From their boat the judges announced that Frank Merriwell was the winner. When Welch protested, they told him he deliberately turned his canoe in front of Hodge. The fellow could have claimed that Bart was off his course, but he was cautioned to let it drop, being told that it would be better to do that, as his attempt at crooked play would be shown up if he made a fuss about it. So the report went out that the collision came about because Welch got in Hodge’s course; but those who saw everything plainly knew this was not the real cause.

For two days Frank Merriwell had kept his identity secret as far as possible, being led to do so because of his experiences in Camden, Rockland and Belfast. Now, however, everybody was asking the name of the winner, and it passed from one to another that it was the great Yale athlete, Frank Merriwell.

Two baseball teams had watched the race from the shore. They were the Newports and the M. C. I.’s, of Pittsfield, and the most of them had heard of Merriwell. When they knew he was there at Camp Benson they were eager to get a close look at him. Hundreds of others experienced the same eagerness, and thus it came about that there was a rush of people toward that point of shore that Frank approached.

Some one proposed a cheer for Frank Merriwell, and it was given with a hearty will. Then a man cried:

“Why, he’s one of them Sandy Point dudes that everybody said wouldn’t cut no ice in the race.”

“Mebbe he didn’t cut no ice,” cried another, “but he cut water enough to win first purse.”

This caused a laugh.

There were scores of pretty girls in the throng, and they regarded the handsome victor admiringly. Merriwell could have flirted with almost any of them had he chosen, although he would have needed a proper introduction to not a few before they would have recognized him.

At Camp Benson, however, there seemed to be an unusual freedom, and it was not difficult to get acquainted with almost anyone. Young ladies who would not have thought of such impropriety elsewhere often ventured to flirt mildly with strangers.

Bruce Browning was lounging in the shade beneath a tree, with Dunnerwust at his side, awaiting Frank.

“Well, Merry,” he called, “you did the trick, but I had begun to think you were not in it.”

“Yaw,” nodded Hans, “you hat pegun to think I vos nod in id, but ven you got der sdart der odder veller on I seen how der peesness peen goin’ to end. You vos a lulu, Vrankie!”

Hans’ dialect caused those in his vicinity to smile or laugh outright.

Frank came ashore, and immediately he was surrounded by the ball players.

“Mr. Merriwell,” said the captain of the Newport team, “we would like to have you umpire the game for us this afternoon. It begins right away.”

“It will be a great favor, Mr. Merriwell,” declared the captain of the M. C. I.’s, with more politeness. “I assure you we shall regard it as a great favor.”

“The position is not a pleasant one,” said Frank. “I’d much rather look on and see the game.”

“We will pay you if you——” began the Newport captain.

Frank stopped him.

“You cannot hire me for money to umpire,” he said, promptly. “If I did so——”

“Will you?” cried several.

“Go ahead, Merry,” said Hodge.

“Well,” laughed Frank, “I’ll do it.”

One minute later criers were running over the ground announcing that the ball game that afternoon would be umpired by the great Yale pitcher, Frank Merriwell.

Frank was given time to change his clothes, and then, still accompanied by Hodge, he went onto the ball ground.

The ground was not fenced, and it was completely surrounded by a throng of spectators. The M. C. I.’s were practicing.

As Frank appeared, somebody shouted:

“Here comes Merriwell!”

There was a great clapping of hands.

Frank was dressed in a spotless white flannel suit, and he made a handsome appearance.

The captains of the two teams approached him, and he asked them about ground rules. They gave him the desired information, and then he was provided with a fresh Spaulding in an unbroken box.

The Newports had practiced already, and the time for the game to begin was past, so Merriwell stepped out behind the plate and called:

“Play ball!”

It had been decided that the M. C. I.’s should take the field, so they remained in their positions, and the game began with a sharp two-bagger from Newport’s first batter. To the astonishment of everybody, although he had been behind the plate when the ball was hit, Frank was down to second base ahead of the runner, standing in just the proper position to see the play perfectly, and he pronounced the man safe on a close play, a decision that might have been disputed had he remained near the plate. In fact, the second baseman opened his mouth to dispute the ruling, but closed up immediately on seeing that Frank was not more than ten feet away.

Then followed an exhibition of umpiring such as no one present had ever witnessed before. Frank was all over the diamond, and he always seemed on exactly the best spot to see any play to advantage. How he covered so much ground was a mystery, but he did it without seeming to exert himself remarkably, and he kept the game hustling from the very start.

Newport scored twice in their half of the first inning, and were prevented from making a third tally by a beautiful throw from deep left to the plate.

Then Newport went into the field. They filled the box with Burton, of Corinna, a Colby man, and a puzzling “south-paw” pitcher. Burton’s greatest fault was his slow delivery, but, being in good form, he more than made up for it by his tricks in “working the batter.”

Newport had not beaten the Institute team in two years, and the M. C. I.’s fancied they had a snap. They had been against Burton before, and hit him pretty hard, and they believed they could do it again. But Burton, who was a determined chap, with a bulldog disposition to never give up, was there to redeem himself that day. He proceeded to strike out the first two men with great ease, and then he caused the third man to pop up a light fly that he gathered himself without getting out of his tracks.

The Institute boys laughed at this.

“We’ll fall on him and hammer him out of the box the next inning,” they said.

But they did not, for neither side scored in the following inning. There were, however, three close plays, one at second, one at third, and one at the home plate. Frank Merriwell was on hand to witness every play from the most advantageous point and his decisions could not be disputed with reason.

Both players and spectators began to see that the umpiring was making it a remarkably lively and interesting game at the very start off.

In the fourth inning the M. C. I. team tied the score, and in the fifth it took a lead of three.

Newport had not been able to score thus far after the first, and the Institute lads declared it was “all over but the shouting.” That did not disturb Burton, who continued to work in the same cool, deliberate manner.

In the seventh inning Newport got a tally, but M. C. I. made two more, giving them a lead of four.

In the eighth Newport cut it down by two in their half, and then Burton “pitched for his life.” In vain the Institute lads tried to get a safe hit off him. One man fanned and the others were “killed at first.” As both of these decisions were close, a M. C. I. player started a vigorous kick on the last one, but Frank, who had made every ruling promptly and firmly, quickly closed the kicker up.

Then came the “fatal ninth.” Newport needed two to tie and three to win. If they made three and white-washed their opponents the game was theirs.

They started in by getting two men out in a hurry, and the boys from Pittsfield were laughing over the “snap.” Then a weak hit landed a runner on first. The next man was not a heavy hitter, and so, instead of trying to stop the runner, the pitcher attempted to end it by striking the batter out. That gave the man on first a chance to steal second without danger, and he did so. Then the batter rapped out a light one that was fumbled, and crossed first ahead of the ball.

Burton came to the plate. He had been hitting poorly, but now there was a look of grim determination on his dark face.

“Get old ‘south-paw,’ Winnie,” called one of the players to the pitcher.

The twirler grinned and nodded. He was confident, for he had been fooling Burton all day on a slow drop. To start off, he sent a straight whistler over the plate so near to the batter that Burton was forced to jump back. Then the pitcher fancied he had his man unnerved. The spectators were shouting and cheering, trying to rattle both pitcher and batter.

The second ball was a slow drop. Burton waited for it, got under it, hit it, lifted it into the air with awful force. Away it flew over the ground and down among the cottages, and, when last seen, it was bounding merrily among the trees, making for the lake, which showed blue in the distance.

Round the bases sped the runners, and three scores came in before the ball was overtaken and returned. It was a “homer” for Burton, and he had placed Newport one score in the lead.

The crowd cheered itself hoarse, and the boys from Pittsfield looked disgusted.

The next batter sent up an easy one for the shortstop, and Newport was out.

The M. C. I.’s came in growling. They were determined to win the game by hard batting in the ninth.

“Get onto Burton, fellows,” said the captain. “We must do it right here. We can if we try.”

They did try, but Burton was doing great work just about that time. He had won the game by his hit, and now he did not propose to lose it by his work in the box.

The bases filled up, however, with only one man out. A good hit meant two runs.

Then came two decisions on a rattling double play, and Merriwell got both of them right by swift work. Both were declared out, and the game was over—Newport had won!

Some of the Institute men started to growl, but the captain cut them off sharply.

“It was the best umpiring I ever saw!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically. “Mr. Merriwell, we owe you our thanks. You did a beautiful job, and I believe you made this game one of the best ever played on this ground. There were any amount of close decisions, and I think you had all of them right. Newport beat us to-day, but I am not raising a growl.”

He shook hands with Frank, and the Newport captain came up and did the same. The pitchers of both teams stated that never before had they been so well satisfied concerning the rules on balls and strikes.

The Newport captain proposed three cheers for the M. C. I.’s, which were given. Then he proposed three more for the umpire, and there was an almost universal response.

“Well,” said Hodge, coming up to Frank, “that was a better game than I expected to see here, but I know your work had something to do with it. Poor umpiring would have set half these fellows kicking, and ruined the game.”

“It’s new work for me,” laughed Frank; “and I am not particularly stuck on it. Now, I’m hungry enough to eat anything. I want some of those ‘army beans.’”

“Yaw,” grunted Hans, waddling up, “I vos so hongry dot you can veel id at der bit uf my stomachs. Id vos awful ven you felt all gone ad der bit uf my stomachs.”

“Where are Browning and Diamond?” asked Frank.

“Don’t know,” answered Bart. “Think they must be taking in the dance. I reckon we’ll find them there.”

“Then we’ll go down to the hall.”

On their way, however, Browning was seen coming toward them hurriedly, much to the astonishment of all.

“He’s really hurrying!” exclaimed Frank. “What does it mean?”

“Something is up,” declared Hodge.

“Something has gone wrong! Diamond isn’t with him.”

Bruce came up, breathing heavily.

“Come on, fellows!” he exclaimed. “We are needed.”

“Where?” asked Frank.

“Up the shore.”

“What’s the matter? Diamond in trouble?”

“Not yet, but he is in the toughest sort of a crowd, and I knew I would have no influence to get him out of it. That’s why I came for you, Merriwell. He will do as you say.”

“What sort of a crowd is Diamond in?” asked Merriwell, somewhat puzzled by the big Yale man’s words.

“A poker gang.”

“Oh! that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“How did he get into it?”

“Don’t know. I saw him talking with two fellows, and then they walked away, and he went with them. Something made me follow them, and that’s the way I got onto it. You know there is nothing Jack had rather do than play poker.”

“But he quit.”

“At college, yes; you induced him to do that. That’s why I came for you now. I might have waded into the whole crowd and taken him out by force. Was tempted to do it, but my reason told me it was not a good plan.”

“It is strange to me that he should play poker with strangers. It’s not like Jack.”

“Well, I suppose he thought he might as well have some sport while he was away down here, and I don’t believe he is looking for sharpers in this part of the country. It’s more likely he thinks himself as sharp as these people. Besides that, they are playing a very small game.”

“How small?”

“Five-cent ante, twenty-five limit.”

“Well, I have seen a man lose ten or fifteen dollars at that. He can lose more if he is playing against crooks. But what made you think Diamond is in a gang of sharpers?”

“Mr. Jim Welch is playing with them.”

“And Jack Diamond is playing at the table with Jim Welch? Well, this is a surprise! I can hardly believe it.”

“I’ll show you.”

Hodge was not saying anything now, but he did not miss a word. He was no less astonished than Merriwell to learn that Jack was playing with Welch.

“Vait!” gurgled Hans, who was getting out of breath. “You can’t kept oop mit me uf I hurry so, can I?”

“You had better keep back, anyway,” said Bruce. “They will hear you if you come lumbering up to the cottage they are in.”

“Who toldt you so?” squawked the Dutch boy. “How vos id I knew so much apout your pusiness? You make me haf dot tired veelings, Misder Prowning!”

“Bruce is right,” said Frank. “You had better keep back, Hans. There may be a fight, and you will get in the way.”

“A vight!” gasped Hans. “Oxcuse me! I vos nod a scrappers! I vill sot down und vait dill you got pack here.”

Then he proceeded to sit down at the foot of a tree, leaning against it. The others hurried on. They left Camp Benson and continued up the shore to a small cove.

“There is the cottage,” said Bruce, pointing out one that stood back by itself amid the trees.

“It looks deserted,” observed Frank.

“That is because they have closed the door, and put the shutters to the windows.”

“But how are we to look in?”

“I know a way. Come.”

They followed him round behind the cottage, and then approached it with great caution, stepping lightly, so that they would not be heard.

As they came near, they could hear a humming of voices within. They crept up to the back of the cottage, which was not shingled on that end, and Browning applied his eye to a knot hole. After a moment he drew back, showing astonishment.

“You can’t guess who is trying to get into the game now?” he whispered.

Frank shook his head.

“Look and see,” said Bruce.

Merry did so. Applying his eye to the knot hole, he was able to look into the cottage. He also could hear the talk of the men around the table.

Six of them were seated, Diamond and Welch being two of the party. Another man, evidently a late comer, was standing. He it was who was trying to get into the game.

It was Bill Bunker!

“Why can’t I come in?” he was demanding, in a half-drunken manner. “Mr. Welch will speak for me.”

“Yes,” said Welch, “he is a friend of mine, and he is all right, gentlemen. I will speak for him.”

“It makes too many players at one table,” said one, who seemed to be something of a stranger to the others. “We have enough here now.”

“He isn’t one of the gang,” thought Frank, immediately. “He and Jack are the birds they are plucking.”

“Do the others object?” demanded Bunker, aggressively. “Look here; I’ve got money to burn, and I’m looking for an open grate to burn it in.”

Then he took out a roll of bills with one hand and jingled some bright yellow pieces with the other.

“Gold!” exclaimed a player. “Where did you get so much of that stuff? Gold isn’t plenty in these parts.”

“Well, I’ve got this, and you may have it—if you can win it,” said Bunker, with drunken swagger. “Shall I come in?”

“What do you say, Mr. Diamond?” asked Welch, speaking to Jack.

“Dunno’s I care a rap,” said the Virginian, thickly. “His money’s good’s anybody’s.”

Frank started, astounded.

“Diamond has been drinking!” was his first thought. “By Jove! the fellow is half drunk!”

Nothing could have astonished Merriwell more, for Diamond was not a hard drinker; in fact, was not a steady drinker, although he sometimes took a little beer or wine. Now, however, he was somewhat intoxicated, which explained how he happened to be playing poker with a lot of strangers.

It was growing dark. Welch got up and lighted a lamp within the cottage, saying:

“I don’t think there is any real objection to letting you into the game, Mr. Bunker; but the size of it may not suit you.”

“What’s the limit?” asked Bunker.

“A dollar—ten cents ante.”

This was another surprise for Frank. It was evident the limit and the ante had been raised since Browning left.

“Five dollars would be better,” said Bunker. “Let’s make it that. Tell you I’ve got money to burn. You fellers may as well have some of it for kindling. What say?”

“We’ll have a drink all round,” said Welch, producing a bottle and glasses.

The drinks were poured and taken, and then, after a brief discussion, it was decided to raise the limit to five dollars and let Bunker into the game. The fellow who had raised the first objection stood out the longest, but he finally gave in.

Diamond lighted a cigar. He had a pile of money before him, as they were not playing with chips.

Soon the game was running again.

Back of the cottage a brief consultation was held by Jack’s three friends, and then Merriwell again peered through the knot hole. He quickly grew interested, for a large jack pot was on the table, and there was brisk betting before the draw. Four of the seven remained “in.” They were the stranger who had objected to Bunker, Diamond, Welch and Bunker himself. Bunker was dealing.

Frank watched every move, and he quickly detected the fact that Bunker was “clever.” The man was holding back the top cards as the proper ones came up, and he gave three thus held back to Welch, who was drawing to a pair.

“That is enough!” whispered Merriwell, grimly, as he drew back. “It’s a skin game! We must get in before this hand is played out.”

Round the cottage to the door they went.

“We won’t stop to knock,” said Browning. “Stand aside!”

With a rush, he hurled himself against the door, which flew open with a smash and a slam.

Into the room went the big college man, followed by Merriwell and Hodge. The front room was empty. As Bruce paused a moment, Frank sprang past him, crying:

“Come on!”

He rushed into the back room, where the game was taking place.

The gamblers were hastily rising to their feet and gathering up their money, thinking they were raided by officers. They were filled with consternation.

Into the room came Merriwell, Browning and Hodge. Frank was at Jack Diamond’s side in a moment. He spoke swiftly:

“You’re in a skin game, old man! There’s a job to rob you here! I’ve seen proof of it.”

The Virginian was somewhat bewildered by the sudden and unexpected appearance of his friends. He did not move, but Frank gathered up the money before him, scooping it off the board in a twinkling.

The card players were amazed when they saw a lot of beardless young fellows come in upon them. At first they did not understand what it meant, but Welch quickly took in the situation. He saw that Diamond’s friends had followed him there to save him from the trap.

“These are not officers!” he shouted. “They have no right in here!”

“No!” cried Bunker, furiously. “They broke in without right! Give them blazes! Punch them!”

“Try it!” growled the big Yale man, squaring his shoulders and lifting his “dukes.” “It will be sport!”

“At them!” howled Welch.

He leaped forward, but Browning reached out a hand and seemed to catch the fellow in mid air. With a swing, he flung Welch fairly across the table.

“Come up, gentlemen!” he thundered. “I’ll take care of the whole of you if you walk up one at a time.”

One of the gamblers caught up a chair and flung it at the head of the big man. Bruce did not dodge, but he caught the chair and flung it back promptly, knocking the fellow down.

By this time Merriwell had succeeded in pulling Diamond to his feet, and he was trying to impress the Virginian with a sense of the situation. Jack started to protest that he was all right and had not needed assistance, but just then one of the gamblers tried to hit Frank. Diamond saw the movement, and that, more than anything else, awakened him. Like a flash, he whirled and let the fellow have it with his left, striking him under the ear. It was a savage blow, and it knocked Merriwell’s would-be assailant spinning into a corner.

“Don’t try to strike a friend of mine!” rang out the Virginian’s voice, now clear as a bell. “You can’t do that while I am around!”

“At them!” snarled Bunker. “Knock ’em out!”

Then there was a general charge on Merriwell and his friends. The gamblers caught up any kind of a weapon and started in to lay out the intruders in short order.

But they had started in on a hard job, as they were soon to discover, for the four Yale men were fighters. Now that he was aroused, there was nothing slow about Browning’s movements, and he actually enjoyed the fight.

During the next five minutes there was a pitched battle in that room, and a savage one at that. At the outset, the gamblers fought furiously, and some of the intruders were not to escape without small injuries.

Frank Merriwell singled out Bunker, who had caught up a stick of wood and was trying to get a crack at Browning that would lay the big man out. Merry lit on the ruffian and wrenched the club from his hand, at the same time giving him a jab that sent him reeling up against the wall.

Bunker turned, snarling like a wounded animal. With a leap he was upon Frank, and he attempted to crush Merriwell down with the fury of his assault.

But he had struck a lad who would not be crushed so easily. Frank met his rush, grappled with him, gave him a wrestler’s trip and hurled the man over his hip.

Bunker shook the cottage when he fell, but he was up again quickly.

“I’ll fix you!” he grated.

Frank laughed outright.

“Come on,” was his invitation. “You don’t seem to be doing very well so far.”

Then they met again, but this time Frank dodged and gave the man a body blow that brought a grunt from his lips.

Bunker was a fighter, and he was not awkward in his movements, although he was astonished by the work of the lad he had expected to knock out so easily. He whirled again, and this time he struck so quickly that Merry was hit a glancing blow on the cheek.

“That’s not so bad,” admitted Frank, cheerfully. “Come again.”

Bunker accepted the invitation, but the blow was parried and returned with interest. Then there was some “in-fighting” that would have set a crowd of spectators wild had it been at a boxing match. Merry was rapped several times before he got in another good one, but he got it in at last.

Panting, Bunker dropped to his knees. He did not go down, however, but made a forward plunge in rising, trying to come up under Frank’s guard.

Merry leaped back, and so was not caught about the body and lifted, that being the trick Bunker had attempted.

Browning’s heavy voice was heard urging the whole crowd to “come and see him.” Now and then he would grab a man and fling him bodily through the air. Thus it happened that he threw one of them against Frank, and Merriwell was knocked flat upon the floor. Bunker fancied he saw his opportunity, and he leaped up with the intention of planting both heels in Frank’s face. It was a wicked, almost murderous, attempt, but it did not succeed.

Browning saw him, and, being within reach at that moment, thrust out a hand, caught him in mid air before he could drop on Frank, and gave him a fling.

Browning’s wonderful strength saved Frank Merriwell from disfigurement for life, possibly from a fatal injury. Bunker was hurled across the room, and Merry leaped up.

“Good trick, old man!” he exclaimed, appreciatingly. “Dead lucky for me that you did it.”

Diamond and Hodge were doing their level best, and now there was a bellowing sound in the other room, and Hans Dunnerwust, armed with two clubs, one in each hand, came plunging in.

“Oxcuse me!” he cried. “Berhaps you vant me to lick myseluf! Vale, I vos a vighter from Vighterville! Whoop! Shoost seen how I got der game indo! I pet der whole crowdt vill lick me pefore der vun is ofer!”

Then he lay about him blindly with those clubs, being nearly as dangerous to his friends as to his foes.

Browning caught Hans by the collar and a convenient part of his trousers, and flung him out into the other room, closing the door.

“There!” grunted the big fellow; “now we will proceed with the festivities. Let the band play on!”

The gamblers were astounded, for they were beginning to believe that the intruders all enjoyed fighting. Many of the rascals were bruised and bleeding, and they were beginning to weaken. Welch urged them on.

Bunker waded into it again, and, aided by Welch, he led the gang to another assault.

Frank singled out the man who had tried to stamp upon him. He forced his way toward Bunker, reached him, went at him again.

“You are the one I am looking after?” he cried. “I have a score to settle with you, and I am going to settle it!”

Then they went at it again, but now Merriwell showed himself the man’s superior. He hit Bunker repeatedly.

One of his blows brought about a remarkable result. The beard on Bunker’s face was knocked away and nearly came off.

“It’s false!” thought Frank.

At that moment the hanging lamp came down with a crash and went out, leaving the room in absolute darkness. Browning caught hold of Merriwell and Diamond and forced them out through the door, Hodge following instantly. All four rushed out to the open air, where Hans Dunnerwust joined them.

“It’s all over,” said Frank. “Let’s get away quickly. This row will bring a crowd to this spot, for it must have been heard.”

Now it was quite dark in the woods, and they hastened away into the thick shadows.

The following morning the campers on Sandy Point were astir at an early hour. Browning did not carry a mark of the conflict, but Merriwell and Hodge showed slight bruises.

Diamond was thoroughly ashamed of having been found in such a gang. Naturally distant toward strangers, it was difficult for him to explain how he had been led into the trap. Seeing this, Frank did not press him for an explanation. The real truth was, however, that, overcome by mortification because of the poor showing he had made in the canoe race, the Virginian had decided to take a drink. Being in a prohibition State, he had found it difficult to obtain anything. However, he had found an individual who claimed to know where there was something, and Jack had been led to the cottage up the shore. After taking two or three drinks, the Virginian did not notice that the party that gathered was composed of persons who seemed to have a secret understanding, one with another. Jack was looking for excitement, and a game of poker promised to provide what he sought. Thus he was drawn into the game. After it began Welch appeared and was taken in. Then came Bunker. The reader knows what followed.

Dunnerwust turned out early and built a fire. Then he wandered away from the cottage, going out to the shore.

Twenty minutes later, he came panting and stumbling into the cottage, showing symptoms of great excitement.

“Kvick!” he gurgled. “Somepody gone oudt und drife him avay!”

“What’s the matter, Hans?” asked Frank.

“He vill got avay uf you don’d hurry oop!” spluttered the Dutch boy.

“Who will get away? What’s the matter with you?”

“Der man mit der viskers.”

“What man?”

“Der one vot seen me ad der gottage vere der vight peen last nighd. I shust seen him oudt here.”

“The man with the whiskers?” repeated Frank. “There was but one man with whiskers at the cottage last night. That was Bunker. He can’t be here.”

“Yaw; he vos oudt there.”

“Then he is up to some crookedness!” exclaimed Merry, leaping to his feet and catching up a shotgun. “Where is he, Hans?”

“Oudt towart der ganoes.”

Frank sprang through the doorway, and Diamond followed. Seeing this, Hans ran after them, directing them by shouting loudly, much to Merriwell’s disgust.

“If there’s anybody out here, he’ll know we are coming,” thought Frank.

Straight out toward the beach on which the canoes lay Frank ran. He was not long in coming in sight of the shore. When he did so, he saw something that made his blood leap in his veins.

Bill Bunker was pushing off from the shore in one of the single canoes. The man could hear the voice of Hans, and it was plain he knew some one was coming, for he started to paddle away as swiftly as possible.

Frank broke out of the woods and ran down to the very water’s edge. Then he threw the gun to his shoulder and took aim toward the man in the canoe, shouting:

“Stop! Come back here, or I will shoot!”

Bunker cast a look over his shoulder and saw Merriwell. He hesitated, with the paddle poised in the air. It was plain that he was in doubt.

“I mean business!” declared Frank. “You are stealing one of our canoes, and I shall be justified in shooting you. As true as there is a gun in my hand, I’ll shoot if you do not turn about at once and paddle back here!”

No one could doubt his earnestness. Bunker did not hesitate longer, but promptly turned about and sullenly paddled to the shore.

“What were you doing with that canoe?” asked Frank.

“Well,” said the man, “I did mean to take all of them as payment for the guns you lost for Welch and I yesterday morning, but I heard you coming before I was ready to take them in tow. You will have to pay for those guns before I am done with you.”

“So that was your trick? Well, it was just what I should expect from you.”

“Well, I don’t know as I want your old canoes, anyway.”

Bunker turned to walk away, but Frank stopped him.

“Not so fast,” said Merry, grimly. “I am not through with you.”

“What do you want?”

Again Frank covered the man with the muzzle of the shotgun.

“Up with your hands!” he commanded.

Bunker turned pale.

“What for?” he asked.

“Because I command you to put them up. Be lively about it! I know I am dealing with a desperado, and I shall not hesitate to shoot if you try to fool with me.”

The man tried to palaver, but that did not go with Frank, and he was forced to obey. He held his hands above his head, and then Merry directed Diamond to search and disarm him. This Jack did, taking a revolver and knife from the man.

Following this, the painter was taken from one of the canoes, and the man’s hands were bound behind his back, despite his protestations and threats. Then he was marched to the cottage.

Browning and Hodge were just coming out to see what was going on when the trio appeared with the prisoner.

“He was stealing one of our canoes,” explained Frank.

“Well, what are you going to do with him?” asked Bruce.

“Don’t know yet. I’ll decide on that point later.”

Bunker was marched into the cottage, and then Frank observed:

“There is one little point I mean to settle without delay. There is a certain mystery about this gentleman. If I am not mistaken, it does not require a razor to give him a clean shave.”

Then he took hold of the captive’s whiskers and gave them a sharp jerk. They came off in his hands, showing they were false.

“Just what I thought!” exclaimed Merry, triumphantly. “Now, how about this long hair?”

It did not take long to establish the fact that Bunker wore a wig and his face was stained with paint that made it look coarse and repulsive.

“Fellows,” cried Merriwell, “see that scar under his ear! I have made a big catch this morning, for this is the gentleman Ben Bowers, the sheriff, wants to see. This is Joe Tweed, who robbed and nearly killed Peter Small!”

Frank’s words gave the others a shock, but they saw that, with his disguise removed, the man answered the description Bowers had given of the robber.

Of course the captive denied that he was Tweed, but that made no difference with Frank.

“Mr. Bowers will decide that point,” he said. “I shall take you over to see him to-day.”

The prisoner resorted to threats, pleading and attempted bribery. Everything was unavailing. Frank was determined, and that very day, before noon, the man stood before the sheriff and was identified as Joe Tweed.

“Young man,” said Bowers, “you done a big job when you caught him! The reward is your’n, and I’ll see that you git it. I was afraid the blamed critter had got clean away.”

“And so I would,” said Tweed, sullenly, “if I had not been a fool. I might have skipped yesterday, but I stayed to get a crack at Frank Merriwell, and he has landed me here. I made my mistake in not letting him rip, even if he was responsible for my ducking in the lake. But I never robbed old Small, and I defy you to prove that I did.”

This did not prove so hard, however, for Jim Welch turned out to be Tweed’s accomplice, and he gave the whole thing away when he was accused. Almost every dollar of the stolen money was recovered, and both Welch and Tweed were indicted and held for trial.

Merriwell actually received the reward that had been offered for the capture of the robber.

“Fellows,” he said, “that was a great catch, for this money will go a long distance toward defraying the expenses of our trip. We are having lots of sport, and it is not costing us much.”

“But you must acknowledge one thing,” said Hodge, with a show of triumph.

“What’s that?” asked Frank.

“That you failed to find a redeeming quality in one rascal, and that one was Jim Welch.”

“Well,” laughed Frank, “Welch did not turn out very well, but still I do not believe he is all bad. He has not been given much of a show to exhibit the better side of his nature.”

This line has become famous for its excellent stories of the detection of crime. Of late, it has taken truly remarkable strides in the public’s favor. The reason for this is, that every book is a marvel of its kind. They are high-class tales, not of the “blood and thunder” order, but with plausible plots which hold the reader fairly captivated with breathless expectation. Among these are the stories of the adventures of Nick Carter and his clever assistants; of “Old Spicer,” the clever private detective, whose exploits are among the most remarkable ever performed by any detective. If you are in search of good, interesting matter, a decided change from that to which you have been accustomed, purchase a few of these titles. They will not only please and interest you, but will give you a clear insight into the methods of the various classes of criminals.

Every boy will rejoice to know that at last the adventures of the famous Jack Harkaway are published in cheap paper edition.

Bracebridge Hemyng, the author of these tales, has established an enviable reputation as a writer of stories for boys. No better tales of thrilling adventures, in school and out, on land and sea, have ever been written. The boy reader at once feels a most lively interest in Jack’s welfare and will not miss following him through all the ups and downs of his interesting life.