PUR. JSHERS NEW. YORK, Issued Weekly. No. 774. The Race for a By subscription $2.80 per year. Entered as Second-class Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Ave., N. Y. Copyright, 1911, y STREET & SMITH. NEW YORK, February 11, 1911. Price Five Cents, FRANK MERRIWELL'S DARING DEED: OR, 2 > Hundred Lives. =— ° es: ‘ | By BURT L. STANDISH. % CHAPTER I. ‘A VOICE QUT OF THE STORM. It was snowing. Not in any light, intermittent, hap- . ss hazard manner, but in a determined, persistent fash- ion as if the dull, leaden clouds were charged to their fullest capacity with the icy\particles and. weré de- termined to get rid of them in the shortest eee time. and let out a veritable avalanche of white flakes which the raucous wind seized upon and carried before it in an impenetrable veil, shifting a little now and then, _ but as a rule making it impossible to see more than | a dozen feet ahead. ? That same bitter wind had a playful habit of ceasing _ once in a while for a brief moment, apparently’ for the sole purpose of inveigling the shivering horseman to raise his head and peer through the rapidly gathering dusk; and then, before he could lower it again, it would come at him with renewed vigor, casting straight into his face a mass of biting particles which cut like - sharp sand, sending a handful of them down his neck, To this end they seemed siniply to have esses up 2 and searching out every crack and crevice in his clothes with a cleverness which was positively diabolical. After one of these periodic onslaughts Frank Mer- riwell shook the banked-up weight from his hat and from his broad shoulders, and then hunched down again with a long sigh of discomfort. “By Jove!” he muttered. “I certainly ought to have stayed at Gilson’s. I should have known I could never reach the T-Bar before this started. This blessed slicker is about the coldest thing I ever had on. ‘Feels’ like a sieve.” ; He had ridden over that morning to see Ralph Gil- son, whose ranch, the 3“B, he had lately purchased, * and, having finished his business, started to return about three o'clock. = _ At-that time, though the weather was threatening, it had not yet begun to snow, and, being anxious to reach the T-Bar by nightfall, Frank declined the pressing in- vitation of the old ranchman to stay, trusting to luck that he would get through before the storm settled down in earnest. In order to make better time he had left the main eat 2 TIP TOP road and struck off across country on a narrow, wind- ing trail which would cut off at least six miles of the distance, but-which was decidedly more difficult to travel than the regular thoroughfare. - Barely half an hour later the snow had come, With almost no preliminary flurries, it decended upon -him in an impenetrable cloud which made him wish, too late, that he had kept on the safer, if longer, road. But it was too late to repine. He could not well turn back now, even if he wished to, so he settled him- self down in the saddle, the collar of his slicker turned up and tightly. buttoned around his neck, the skirts tucked around his legs as well as he could, and his broad hat brim pulled down so that only a scrap of his mouth and the tip of his nose was visible from the front, had there been any one to see them, which, of course, there was not. _In this way he had gone several miles, doing his best to keep from straying off into the rocky wastes which bordered the trailon either side, and trusting a good deal to the instinct of his horse, which could usually be counted on in such a case of emergency. But progress against the full force of the wind was necessarily slow, and ‘presently Merriwell began to wonder whether he was going to get anywhere before _ he was quite congealed by the cold. “T certainly was a fool, * he murmured, in a tone of whimsical annoyance, “Bruce will have the laugh on me, all right, if I go milling around the country until - daylight.” : rine _ Under such. conditions, Bruce Browning, Merri- well’s friend who had charge of the ranch, was rather more likely to spend the night worrying. Though Frank made light of it, even to himself, the prospect of spending the night exposed to such a storm as this was far from being a joke, and most men ! would have been ‘seriously alarmed at the possibility. a ~Merriwell, however, never believed in looking at _ things in their worst light. His position was unpleas- ant and decidedly uncomfortable. He had rarely been “colder in all his experience in Wyoming ; ‘but he was. not worried. He had already traversed more than half the distance to the T-Bar, and it would be ex- ‘traordinary if he could not: manage the other fifteen miles inside of three or four hours, even if the snow ~ continued. | Me _ So he Kept on inflexibly, encottaging the Hodding horse now and then with a brisk word or soothing pat. on the neck; and presently the animal turned abruptly , : Rar the ight, meamnble through — a drift which to pierce the opaqueness in front. WEEKLY. reached to his knees, and then stopped apparently to get his breath. Frank raised his head and peered through the shift- ing veil of white. : “By Jove, Monte!” he exclaimed, after a moment of keen scrutiny. “I believe we’re back on the road again. You've got more sense than I thought.” At that moment the wind lifted the curtain of snow for an instant, revealing a curious formation of rocks, topped by a tall, lonely pine tree which was unmistak- able. Frank had often noticed that same tree on his trips from the railroad at ‘Alcona to the ranch, and: knew that it stood on the main road little more than — halfway to the T-Bar ranch house. . Left more or less to himself, Monte had evidently taken one of the several bridle paths which linked this road and the narrow trail between Gilson’s ranch and the point where they finally merged. Though he knew _ | ; of the existence of these paths, Merriwell doubted very =| much whether he could have found them just now, and = he was more than pleased at the sAgacity the horse had shown. From now on the journey to the ranch might be tiresome, but it would be a pre ‘ simple, straight-ahead ride. ms “Good boy,” he murmured. “You've got a head, all right. Got your breath again? Well, let’s go ahead.” He twitched the bridle and Monte responded by starting on at a: shuffling walk. Frank pulled down his hat brim again, dug the snow from his eyes and ears, and settled down for another spell of discomfort. ; Perhaps half an hour passed in this slow, silent — progress. Then suddenly the bay.stopped, and, throw- 3 ing up his. head, sniffed eagerly, with pricked-up ears, — for an instant. The next moment he whinnied shrilly, and started on again with quickening step. : From under his broad hat brim Frank was striving yi As he looked a dim, | shadowy shape appeared slowly out of the mist, a shapeless bulk, from which issued an answering nite to the bay’s challenge. Ea Frank reined in Monte abruptly. Hello!” he called’cheerily. “Didn't think thers wat ~ another unfortunate like myself i in the county, You’ re -not bound for town, I hope?” There was no answer. By this time the strange horse had become fairly definite through the cloud 0: flying particles, and Merriwell could make out the mufiled rider on its back. It seemed Seas 0 the Pisa a made no st to his Bees TIP TOP WEEKLY. The other horse stopped abruptly, moved thereto by a sharp twitching of the reins. There was a momen- tary pause, and then a voice, soft, quavering, and dis- tinctly feminine, broke the silence: “N-o. I—I Who are you?” CHAPTER II. THE LIGHT FROM A WINDOW. Merriwell gasped with astonishment. A woman was the last person he had expected to meet out in such a blizzard, and for a moment it quite took his breath away. Then he recovered his presence of mind. “I beg your pardon,” he said apologetically. “I took you for a man. My name is Merriwell—Frank Merriwell of the T-Bar Ranch.” . “Oh!” she said rather tremulously, but with a dis- tinct note of relief in her voice. ‘“I’ve—I’ve heard of you. Are you lost, too?” Frank smiled a little at the naive inquiry. “Why, not exactly,” he returned quickly. “I’m on my way to the T-Bar, which is about a dozen qniles to the westward. The storm has held me up, but I ought Pe get there by nine o'clock.” The girl did not answer at once. - advantage of this opportunity to walk forward and nose Merriwell’s bay. Frank was then conscious of a pair of dark eyes regarding him from under the edge of a fur-lined hood with an expression of incredulous astonishment. “Westward!” she gasped the next instant. can’t mean ward?” — Merriwell nodded quietly. ad “Yes, I happen to be sure of that, because I recog- “nized an unmistakable~ landmark a couple of miles back. ioe \ ie “And is this the road heres ‘Alcona and Gfay- town’ >” the stranger faltered. : “Exactly,” Frank assured her ; toward Alcona.” _ The girl sighed despondently. | — “Tsn’t that” perfectly dreadful!” she exclaimed. “I left Alcona right after lunch for my uncle’s ranch. rdinarily it’s not more than four hours ride, but» somehow in this horrid storm I’ve turned completely round. I suppose city say that’s just like a _ won ‘t ee rs Yo ects It isn’t possible you are headed west- £ “and you're headed Her-tight grip on™ the reins was loosened, and the horse promptly took - ceasMessly. , Merriwell smiled. “It’s something any one not thoroughly familiar with the country might do,” he returned. “But I should have thought your horse——” “So he would, if he’d been mine,” the girl explained quickly. “Mine went lame riding in yesterday, so I borrowed this one from my friend. That accounts for all the trouble, doesn’t it? Of course, he wanted to go.home, and when I loosened rein a little he started out to do it.” She actually laughed. “Tsn’t it funny how much better you feel when you can put the blame on somebody or something else?” she went on. “It does help, doesn’t it?” Frank replied. , “But you haven’t told me who your uncle is or where the ranch is located.” 3 “Of course! How stupid of me!” she exclaimed. “His name is Charles Lawrence, and the ranch is the Turtleback.” Merry was puzzled. He had never heard of either the man or the ranch. “Is the outfit a new one?” he asked presently. “I’m afraid I don’t know it.” “We've only been here six months,” his companion explained. “And it isn’t really an outfit. That means just cattle, doesk’t it? We have a few sheep and do some farming; but it isn’t.far from the T-Bar, and I thought you might have heard She broke off, evidently a little piqued at his lack of knowledge. Frank hastened to explain. “I only arrived at the ranch last week after \being away more than six months,’ he said quickly. “That accounts for my ignorance of what has\happened since . I was here in the spring. My foreman did tell me that some one had bought land to the north of us and was cultivating it, but I don’t think he mentioned the name. It must be part of the old Jessup tract.” “Yes, that’s it,’ she nodded. “We have one of the valleys to the north of the trail, and dad’s built the house there. new and nice.’ . Frank knew the country to which she referred, Hee knew also, evidently much better than she did, the Not very big, you ae but everyting “difficulty of traveling through*it in such weather as ‘this. The chain of fertile valleys strung along through _ the foothills were, in themselves, sheltered and pro-_ tected, but the way to them was over rough, rocky ground where the full blast of the winter storms swept What was more, ®, Merriwell had no notion on 4 TIP TOP whatever just which of these valleys contained the _ newly erected dwelling of Charles Lawrence. It was rather an unpleasant situation, and Frank wished devoutly that his new acquaintance were a man. Then he would have come straight to the T-Bar and spent the night there, going on in the morning. course, were it a case of the utmost emergency, this girl could have done the same thing. But Merriwell felt that she would be uncomfortable and embarrassed to stay in a strange house, and, besides, her family would probably be worrying; so he decided to make the effort, at least, to get her safely home. “Don’t you think we’d better get started?” he asked quietly. “It’s quite a ride from here, you know.” She glanced at him quickly. “Oh, but I don’t want you to feel ’ she began. “You hardly thought I'd let you go alone, did your” | he put in, with a smile. te ‘““Well—perhaps not,’ Betty Lawrence acknowl- edged. “It seems rather an imposition, though.” “Not a bit of it,” Frank returned cheerfully. “I’m. a little afraid I shan’t be much use as a guide, for I _haven’t a notion just where your place is located. ‘There are so many valleys, you know. But it will be better than being alone.” pe “Oh, lots better——” _* J She broke off with a shivering gasp as she turned ~ and felt the full blast of the storm, and for a few mo- - ments they rode slowly on in silence. | “You leave this road just before the T-Bar fence begins,” she explained presently. “Surely you remem- ber'the trail which leads over the shoulder of the moun- tain?’ “Oh, yes, I know that much,” “Tt’s the rest of it that bothers me. ' Frank said quickly. There are two or three different tracks leading | off it, and I haven’t _ a notion which is the right one,’ Miss Lawrence was quite confident on that point. “Once we're off the main road, I know the way perfectly,” she declared. “T couldn’t miss it after all the times I’ve gone ‘hack and forth. You ae wait. ! and see if I don’t.” ? . Merriwell was not so sure of her ability, Tt is one’ thing to follow a familiar trail in daylight, or even on van ordinary night wit the bright stars overhead, and ‘quite another to make one’s way thr ough a blinding” | storm with every familiar landmark obliterated in the thick covering of white which ipaites the whole world look strange. GA oar ne eh : But there was = nothing for him to do but trust © her Of. WEEKLY. ability, and°to ride with every sense alert for possible mistakes. | There was little chance for conversation. Riding into the teeth of the storm as they did, every word ut- tered had to be shouted at the tops of their voices; and the girl, at least, needed every ounce of breath she possessed to battle with the tempest. . Frank felt very sorry for her. She seemed so plucky and so absolutely determined not to give in or to utter a single complaint; and yet he knew from the trouble he himself was having that she must be actu- ally. suffering. | Fe was very glad, therefore, when they reached the , trail at last and turned into it from the main road. Here he was able, by placing himself between her and the wind, to shield her from its full force, and, though _ she made no comment, she noticed it and was grateful. Then followed a slow upward climb, gradual at — ‘first, but growing distinctly steeper as they went on. Merriwell could see that every now and then his com-— panion glanced about keenly as if searching for some — familiar feature, but she never wavered or hesitate — as if in doubt. : 4 On they climbed like snails, beaten and buffeted by the shri€king wind which swept down upon them across _ the open ranges of rock, penetrating to their very mat- f _row, and making the tired horses stagger. if: Frank was beginning to be puzzled. Several times - he had ridden oyer the old Jessup tract, but somehow — he never remembered doing quite so much climbing. Perhaps, though, the difficulty of making any head- way at all exaggerated the thing; and Betty Lawrence seemed to be perfectly sure of herself. : Another quarter of an hour went by and still they climbed. The snow had long since not only covered every sign of track or path, but it had transformed everything. Rocks, low-growing bushes and scru oak, or deep, drifts, all looked alike in the brief, infre- quent. moments when one could see more than a dozen feet in any direction. They were just great, heaped ‘up masses of soft white. Even the taller pines and hemlocks were distorted out of all likeness to a customary shapes.‘ ny - Presently Frank ventured a question. an “Are you sure you're right, Miss Lawrence: o t asked. “Seems as if we'd been climbing ane te e than we should.” | a ' “But you do have to climb a lot before you go do into the valley,” she returned. ‘Tm pretty oe Gis, the way.” Just ny g gue was sure was iio quite plain to. e ; es otk TIP TOP WEEKLY. well. He relapsed into silence again, but he was doing a lot of thinking. rt. So, apparently, was Betty Lawrence. It almost a seemed as if his question had sown a doubt in her mind : as to her own correctness. For a little way she went on without a pause, but with quick glances to right and left. Presently she pulled her tired horse up and sat - still, a puzzled furrow on her forehead. - “T_don’t know,” she faltered. “I’m, afraid | There doesn’t seem to be anything here that ought "aR to be.” | -Merriwell’s heart sank a little at this confession. | The prospect of being marooned in the mountains alone was bad enough; but with this young girl to share the hardship and danger——~ “What sort of signs have you been following right along?” he asked quickly. ; The girl sighed. . “Tt all looked just as it did when we had that last . Sean,” she explained. “At least it did until you spoke - just now. Since then everything seems wrong.” —« to keep back a stnile. It was plain now that she had been simply going at random, quite oblivious to the fact that, under a thick blanket of snow, most things - do look alike. He wished he had known this before; _ he would never have attempted the thing, but ae straight for the T- ane “Pm afraid— abruptly. ) - His quick eye had caught an ieerasstalesble flash of light a little ahead and to their left. It must have come from some house, for no light could have lived an instant in this storm. But what house could it be? Was it possible that they had found the Lawrence . place after all? That was in a valley while this—— _ It shone again through the lifting veil of snowy : flakes, and this time the girl saw it. : - “There! A light!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Why, io e must be there and never knew it,. Isn’t it sttange low a storm upsets one’s notion of direction. oe let’s « wurry. They'll be dreadfully worried about me.” Without comment, Frank urged his horse Kindard.: He was not at all sure that this was the Lawrence ’ he began, and "the broke ,off, fore going on again. silence they went foriinelt the short distance » hich intervened. The light, twinkling intermittently os snow lifted and ot again, was Bercy In spite of his anxiety, Frank had to bite his lips , ABS blocked the opening. , house, but at least it meant shelter and a little rest be- | a pant ihe ae heres were che ak geen, whil 5 window. A mofnent later the house, small, low, and nestling against a background of rock, bulked dimly through the swirling flakes, and, as it did so, Miss Lawrence stopped. “Why, that isn’t our house at all,” she said, in a be- wildered tone. ‘‘Whose can it be? Where are we?’ Frank noticed that insensibly her voice was lowered so that he could barely hear her. He wondered whether it was possible she had an inkling of the truth. AlI- ready a suspicion, which was growing rapidly to a certainty, was in his own mind. The thing seemed in- credible, and yet For a moment he was strongly tempted to turn away from that lighted window without advancing a step nearer. If the explanation of the puzzle was what he thought, that would be infinitely the best course to take; for there could be no shelter there for a woman. ' Then he remembered that, even though he did not stay, he might possibly obtain the right direction to the Lawrence place, and that was worth trying for. He slipped his hand inside his slicker and drew the holster containing his Colt around toward the front. Then he leaned toward his companion. he said tersely. “Stay where you are,” “Don’t come any nearer the door.” _ She made no answer, nor did he wait for one. Leaping out of the saddle, he advanced and knocked sharply on the sagging planking of the door, through the chinks of which came briglit gleanis of light, the. unmistakable crackling of a fire and the murmur of voices. CHAPTER II. ‘ROBBER’S ROOST.” The voices ceased the netant his hand touched the door, and for a long time utter silence prevailed. Frank had just lifted his gloved fist to knock 4gain when the — latch clicked suddenly and a shaft of light shot out — across the heaped-up snow. The next ae a tall “Waal, what d’y’u want ?” rasped a voice suspi ciously. a: Merriwell calmly looked the fellow over before re- plying. He was tall and ungainly, with stooping shoul. ders, and his face, p| inly visible in the lamplight, was | not prepossessing. t was abnormally long, an cfféat which was heightened by the fact that he was. almost poo ‘TIP TOP the eyes were close set and so sunken that they looked like twin pools of darkness. His expression was far from being one of hospitality. There was, in fact, a look of annoyance which was almost fear on his face as he watched Frank keenly from under beetling brows. “What d’y’u want?” he repeated tartly. “Can't y'u speak?” a “T want to get to Lawrence’s place,” Merriwell ex- plained calmly; “and I’ve lost my way. Can you put me right?” The fellow gazed at him in astonishment. “Lawrence?” he exclaimed. “Charlié Lawrence, you mean?” j Frank nodded. “Exactly.” “Humph!” grunted the tall fellow noncommittally. He hesitated an instant and shot a quick glance back into the room. : “I don’t rightly know,” he admitted grudgingly. “Wait a second. Say, fellers, how d’y’u git to Law- rence’s from hyer?”’ There was an indistinct murmur of another voice: within, at the sound of which Merriwell gave a slight start and his eyes narrowed. Then the tall man turned back to him again. “You're a stranger around ances parts, ain’t yu?” he asked curiously. “T’ve never been to Lawrence’s before,’ Merriwell _ returned, “or I shouldn’t have to ask the way.” “Humph! I thought so. Waal,'you’re about as far off as y’u c’d git. He’s down in the valleys. Second trail to th’ left after y’u leave th’ road, but I don’t reckon y’u c’d find it now if y’u hunted all night.” “I can try,” Merriwell returned decidedly. - “Second to the left it is? Much obliged.” He was turning away when the — peered after him through the swirling flakes. ° “Y’u ain’t alone, be y’u?” he asked Sify. Merriwell looked back at him. There was a strange and not altogether pleasant expression on the ugly face which made Frank very thankful that he had not ventured inside the tumble-down shack. “No,” he returned quietly. me.” i Say | He knew quite well that the fellow would be unable to distinguish his companion clearly enough to see of - which sex his friend was, and he had reasons enough 3 of his own for wishing the fnan to know that he was not alone. — | if to close the door. fie pean a nm WEEKLY. ‘table. dle, he reached Miss Lawrence’s side. oe “T have a friend with Roost? oN : ae “Humph!” grunted the fellow again, and moved a 7 It chanced that a sudden gust of wind, swooping around the edge of the rocky cliff behind the house, _—_| found the door conveniently ajar and darted into the °+| room, tearing the door from the man’s grasp and throwing it wide open with a bang which shook the whole frail structure. ‘ With a curse, the fellow reached forward and slammed it shut, but not before Merriwell had had a momentary glimpse of the whole interior. It was bare and squalid and quite unfurnished save for two rick-- ety chairs and a dilapidated table drawn up close to the fire. Seated in one of these chairs, his back to the door, was the man whose voice had so aroused Frank’s interest a few minutes ago. The latter had but the briefest glimpse before the whole picture was blotted out, but even in that single instant he realized that there was something vaguely familiar about the back of the person seated at the Where had he seen him before? Where, and under | what conditions? More than once during the stren- — uous, disagreeable hours which followed that question — recurred to him, always with the same unsatisfactory — result. The answer seemed to be just at the back of his mind; another moment and it would come to him. — But somehow it did not come. | | Naturally at first he did not waste time over the mat- ' ter. There were other, vastly more important, things — to be looked after; and, swinging hintself into the sad or “We'll have to go back,” he said quietly. “We've i come too far.” Without a word she turned, and they rode slowly — down the incline. It seemed a little odd that she asked no questions. Most women, and a good many men, would have expressed some curiosity as to why they : had not stopped at the cabin, at least for a little while, to rest. She could not have failed to see the fire, and _ it must have been amazingly hard, chilled through as she was, to turn her back upon it. Frank found | himself wondering whether she knew. The unvoiced ‘ question was: swiftly answered. oan The light had vanished and. they were once ‘more in the grip. of the storm when she turned toward f Frank, . or, “Mr. Merriwell,” she ‘aslled suddenly, in a voi which was not quite steady, ‘ ‘is that—the—Robber -There was an odd look in Frank’s face as he giancec at the wide eyes which rae from under the shadoy f 2b TOP v of the hood. She knew, then. No wonder she had “| "kept puent and asked no questions. . st _ “Yes,” he answered quietly. ‘How did you know?” j oShe Wide a little. “Dad told me about it,” she returned. “He said I must never ride into the mountains to the north of the house. Of course, I asked him Why, and then he told me about this place where sometimes—bad men lived. _. I couldn’t understand why they were allowed to stay * there, but he saidinothing had ever been proved against them, money people were pretty sure they were up to “nd good.” Te ee she caught her nea and her mouth quivered a lit- ono. ‘tle. “It’s dreadful to think of what—might have—hap- pened, if you hadn’t met me,” she faltered. ‘What should I have done alone?” ° “We won't think about that,” Frank said reassur- ingly. “We’ve got to decide what we are going to do, and do it quick. I’m very much afraid we won’t be able to find your house to-night. Everything is so coy- ered up and obliterated by the snow that it would be - almost impossible, so I think we’d better go straight to _ the T-Bar. That’s in a perfectly straight line, and, even if I got’ mixed, my horse would take us there “without any delay. Aunt Ruth, my combination cook and housekeeper, will make you comfortable for the “night, “and rll take you home the first thing in the : _ morning.” ‘The girl did not answer at once. She was tealiie at Frank with a keen scrutiny which seemed to search out his very soul. ‘Apparently, what she saw in his candid, open face, was satisfactory; for when she ; spoke there was a touch of worry in her voice, but no fear or hesitation. , cana do just as you say,” she said itty: “Pye made such a mess of it so far it’s about time I let you take charge.. I don’t see yet, though, how I could pos- ace is up in the mountains.” > Merriwell returned. ica I suppose we btrayed onto the old trail over : T hope your father wont ’t be very much wi orried shed you don’t show up.” : oe ney think I’ve stayed at Alcona. ‘Anyway, if WEEKLY. 7 wind, which seemed to penetrate into every crevice far from being comfortable. a _ sibly go so many miles. out, of the Miles Wess that | ay easy enough to go wrong in such. a. storm as. “Everything looks differ-~ - furniture he could find. _ deep furrow of anxiety on his forehead and his eyes naust have PET pines, but at this moment they emerged onto the bare mountainside and the full blast of the tempest struck them. For the girl, at least, the remainder of that journey was like a nightmare. Tossed and. buffetted by the of her garments, carrying with it the bitter cold which froze the very marrow in her bones, stinging particles of snow beating her in the face and almost blinding her, it was only by sheer force of will that she kept her seat. Her hands were numb and gripped the reins with difficulty; her lips were blue. Merriwell helped her in every possible way, shield- ing her as well as he could: from the wind, and now and then leading her horse so that she could draw her hands inside the sleeves of the fur-lined coat to warm them. She knew he was doing his best, and not one, word of complaint issued from her, lips, though more than once she had a desperate, agonized feeling that she simply could not go on. But, somehow, she did go on; and at last. the wel- come lights of the T-Bar ranch Rouse flickered faintly = through the swirl. A moment later, when they rode a up to the door and stopped, she was quite helpless, and Frank had to lift her from the saddle and ¢arry her inside. \ CHAPTER IV. THE T-BAR RANCH HOUSE. The big hall of the ranch house presented a marked contrast to the raging storm outside. Lighted by lamps and warmed by the great fire of logs which blazed on the mammoth hearth, it: WAS a picture of luxurious comfort. In spite of all this, however, Bruce Browning was He sat bolt upright on an easy-chair to one side of the crackling logs, and that in itself was a sure indication of an unusual stress of mind; for Bruce loved his comforts and generally sprawled his hugh bulk on a he softest, easiest piece of To-night, however, he sat ‘aeibht There was a were worried as he glanced now and then at the win- dows, against which the- snow beat furiously. | “I wish I knew whether, he stayed at Gilson’s,” hee murmured, for about the hundredth time. “Surely he 3 TIP TOP But, though he tried to make himself believe it, he was very far from being sure. Frank had said dis- tinctly (that he would leave the 3-B Ranch directly after dinner, and he was a man who always kept his word? Browning remembered with an uneasy qualm that the snow had not started for an hour or more after that time. Where, then, was he? What had been keeping him all this time? The blizzard would delay him, to be sure, but he certainly ought to have shown up by eight or nine o'clock. oo Bruce glanced at the clock which stood on the man- tel. It was after eleven. The frown deepened on his face. \ : Presently he turned and glanced at the tawny-haired youth with a bandaged shoulder, who lay at full length ona sofa which had been ee up to the other side of the blaze. “Say, Park,” he expostulated, ‘ yew ought to be go- ing to bed.” Park Davis raised his eyebrows whimsically. He was a nice-looking fellow in the very early twenties, with clean-cut features and steady gray eyes. ‘Two weeks hefore he had deliberately stolen a horse that was being brutally tortured by one Hunter, a cow- puncher on the neighboring Lazy X outfit, and had made off with it. .\ The horse, a beautiful sorrel, had formally been in ‘Davis’ mount, but Hunter, taking a dislike to the ani- mal, had bought him from Johnson, the owner of the ranch, for the sole purpose of breaking his spirit or killing him in the attempt. Park, having tried in vain every other means of saving the.animal, was reduced to desperation, and one night he quietly cepatie tak- _ ing the sorrel along with him. He was overtaken some days later by the irate cow- punchers led by Hunter, who at that time was passing ‘under the name of Hawkins, and who had an intense dislike for Davis. The latter would have been sum- marily strung up but for the opportune arrival of Frank, who not. only saved the boy, bt denounced Hunter as a horse thief himself who was wanted at that very moment in New Mexico. | The natural result was that the big black-browed -ruffian conceived a malignant hatred for Merriwell, and, in an interview at the ranch house, tried to kill , him. That he did not succeed was due to the swift- ness with which Davis threw himself between the two, thus receiving the bullet in his shoulder. _ Hunter, though hotly pursued, had escaped and had : Bruce gave a start and looked toward the door. ‘Davis, ‘ WEEKLY. i? de » 4 ty} not been heard from since, while Park was rapidly re-, covering from his wound, happy in/the knowledge that , he had squared a little of his debt.to Frank and also : in the bright future before him as foreman of ‘the lately acquired 3-B Ranch. , oe He smiled back at Bruce engagingly. The latter's words were emphatic enough, but there was an under- current. of “hesitancy in them which did not escape Davis. “Why?” he asked calmly. Bruce shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, you’re an invalid,” he returned vaguely. “You ought not sit up so late or you'll injure your health. Z “Shucks!” exclaimed Davis emphatically. T + wouldn’t be any better off in bed than I am here. Not — 2 half so well, for I couldn’t go to sleep wondering — ey whether he’d got back or not.” E a Bruce grunted indistinctly and shrugged his shoul-_ ? a ders again. Truth to tell, he had made the suggestion more from a sense of duty than from any desire that | it should be followed. He was not at all keen to be left without company, and the tawny-haired fellow hada distinctly cheering optimism about him, bred by his perfect faith in Frank’s ability to take care of him- = | self under any condition, which kept Browning’s spirits — u from dropping quite to zero. om “He'll show up all right,” after a moment’s pause. delay him, very likely. downed, even by a blizzard like this. talk, old fellow!” The words were scarcely oie of his Park went on confidently,. “Something’s turned up to | He’s not the man to be ~ You hear me — uth when — unable to move his body without an effort, watched | the big fellow’s face keenly. A ee “What i is it?” he asked presently, as Browning con tinued to stare intently across the room. 2 “T thought I heard— ~ By Jove! I did ee it's% him, all right pr He sprang up and took a quick step Are his | eyes gleaming brightly. The latch clicked, and, with a crash, the door was burst open by a howling gust of * wind which surged into the room, causing the lamps : to flare smokily and sending a shower of sparks up chimney with a great roaring sound. (4 “Frank!” Browning exclaimed joyfully. 7 “Thank Heaven you're here at-———” pg He broke off abruptly, with eyes ‘and ako open os their widest extent, as Merriwell advanced into the Ee oy he attractive. for actual beauty, but there was something saucily fascinating about it and the small up-tilted chin. looked like a young person who was accustomed to TLR 4T OP room with the muffled figure of Betty Lawrence in his arms. “Close the door, Bruce,” he said quietly, “and call Aunt Ruth. We’ve had a pretty hard tussle.” Without question, the big fellow flung the door to and shot the bolt. Then he hastened out to the kitchen to rouse the middle-aged, motherly woman who cooked, kept house, and made things generally comfortable about the ranch house. Her room was off the kitchen, and,.as she was a _ sound sleeper, it was some time before Browning could make her understand that she was to get up and dress at once. When he returned to the hall he found that Frank had placed the girl in a big chair a little away from the fire, where she lay, quite conscious, oes utterly exhausted. “Tust let yourself go and don’t try to think of any- thing,’ Merriwell was saying gently. “You've been going on your nerve until you’re simply worn-out.” ’ She nodded with a tremulous little smile, and, rest- _ing her head against the back of the chair, closed her eyes. The Hood of her coat was thrown back, gnd ss _ for the first time Frank saw her face clearly. She was somewhat younger than he had supposed —not more than eighteen, in fact—and was decidedly Perhaps the nose was a little too retroussé She having her own way and who might make things de- _ cidedly lively if she did not have it. “And she’s certainly got grit,” Frank murmured to himself, as he turned to Bruce. “Well, old man,” he said chaffingly, ‘ ‘you t didn’t ex- _ pech to have company on a night like this, did ‘you? We ran into each other on the Alcona road, and since we couldn’t find the Lawrence He broke off abruptly as his eyes happened to fall on Park Davis. The youngster had struggled to a sitting posture and was leaning forward, staring at the _ girl opposite him. His face was a picture of amazed, —ingredulous recognition; and then, before Merriwell could say a word, the young woman raised her lids, es ‘slowly. 7 For a moment not a sound broke the stillrfess ds the ? two sat gazing at one another. Then a rush of color stained the girl’s face and she made a curious little motion with her hands. aa " she cried swiftly, her ies brightening ae WEEKLY. ° The tawny-haired youngster seemed to emerge from his trance. « 7 “Tt is Betty!” he exclaimed. think of that!” “Well, what do you CHAPTER V,.2" 72 WHO WAS THE SECOND MAN? With a quick, instinctive motion, Miss Lawrence put up one hand to her wavy chestnut hair, which, to tell the truth, was in the most tumultuous disorder. Find- ing the task of rearrangement hopeless, she gave it up as a bad job. Had it been straight instead of curly, she might not have been quite so philosophical; but even in disorder it was very becoming, as she, no doubt, very well knew. So she dropped her Mata back into her lap and smiled. “Why, Park Davis!” she exclaimed. “To think of ausine you here! I can — believe ’m not dream- ing.” The tawny-haired youngster Sts oa broadly. “Same here, Betty,” he returned, “only more so. You belonged in the East, while I was only there for | a few weeks’ visit. I no more expected to see you out here than Well, a great sight less than flying, cause these days a fellow has some show of going up in the air if he chums up to an aviator.” - “You people ’seem to be pretty well acquainted,” F rank remarked, as he wriggled out of his slicker and threw it in a corner. } “We are!” both cried together. It then appeared that, three years before the date of this story, Park had visited a cousin in\ Massachu- setts for a few weeks, during which time he and Miss Lawrence, who lived in the same town, had become great chums. After his return’to Colorado, they had kept up a more or less regular correspondence, “ had lapsed, however, when the young fellow’s home was broken up by the death cf his father. He was astonished and’ chagrined to learn that his friend had been living within twenty-five miles ‘of the Lazy X outfit ever since the past summer. But he’ said: “Olt man Johnson was so confounded stingy about letting A fellow off ‘that it would only have been an aggravation to know and not be able to run over for a visit.”” ce ey . While the story was being told Frank stepped to the telephone, which ran to. the bunk house, and asked TIP TOP Staver to send some one up to take the horses to the barn and feed them. As he turned away from the in- strument, Aunt Ruth bustled in, full of curiosity and excitement at the unusual events of the evening. “Don’t that beat all!’ she exclaimed, when an abridged account of the day’s doings had been given her. “Think of being out in the storm all this time. Land sakes alive! You poor dear! You must be clean tuckered out.” She paused to take breath, but not long enough to admit of a reply from Betty Lawrence; for Aunt Ruth loved nothing better than to hear herself talk, and _ Frank used to say that she could keep it up for twenty- four hours at a stretch if she only got some one to listen to her. “I might have known somethin’ like this was goin’ to happen,’ she resumed at lightning speed, “All the while I was doing the dishes this mornin’ my left eye- brow was a-twitchin’ like sin, an’ you know what that means. An’ I says to BS ‘I wonder what Rost mortal’s in trouble now,’ never thinkin’ it was goin’ to hit so near home. Land sakes alive, Mr, Frank! If that slicker 0’ yours ain't makin’ a great puddle on the floor.” ) ® Before Frank could move she had darted over to it and hung it on a hook. She would, moreover, have gone for a cloth to,sop up the melted snow had not Frank suggested that a little something to eat would be far more to thé point. . +, “I don’t believe either a us have had anything for at least twelve hours,” he smiled; “and I know I’m so ravenous that I could fall to on any chaps if you Haven. oy got anything else in the house.’ “The idea!” cried Aunt Ruth indignantly. “As if I didn’t allus have somethin’, even if it ain’t but a pie or two or some doughnuts! You jest hold your hosses an’ [ll pick up a nice gittte supper in a jiffy. It won’t take no longer than jest to git the coffee bilin’.” She bustled out into the kitchen, whither they: pres- ently followed her to do full justice to the: very excel- lent cooking. Aunt Ruth looked on beaming, and ; when everything had. been consumed she ‘promptly. Ps hustled Miss Lawrence off to bed, at the same time up- _ braiding Park for not having gone long before. “Nice thing for a sick boy sitting up to all hours!” % she scolded from the doorway. “What you need is a _nuss bia look after we: ae re no betters na child i in kilts.”, : Davis simply, thaatib dia promised to go extra early oe next ee upon which ae aipaties and was pec light in. the window.” i WEEKLY. * Frank dropped down in a chair by the fire, his face thoughtful and his forehead crinkled with a dozen tiny wrinkles. Presently he glanced at Bruce. : “I left out a rather interesting part of our adven- tures, old fellow,” he remarked significantly, “I knew : it would only disturb Miss Lawrerice to talk about it, and, besides, I wanted to discuss it with you.’ Browning made no reply, but his eyes were fixed in- quiringly on Frank’s fate as he sat down hear him. Park, instead of departing for bed, lowered himself onto the couch and prepared to listen; for there was an, accent of gravity in Merriwell’s voice which was an. parent to both of them. “What do you know about the Robber’s Roost Bruce?” Frank asked quietly. : Browning gave a sudden start, and his eyes widened. “Great Scott, man!” he gasped. to say os Merriwell nodded. _ “Exactly.. That is, I’m pretty sure we ran across — that. You see I’ve never seen the shack, but I’ve heard | enough about it not to make a mistake. It’s a little © tymble-down, one-room affair, tucked aoe the side © of a high cliff, isn’t it?” / “Yes, with a window on each side of the door and ws rough stone chimney. But how in blazes did you come — tovbe there? Why, the place is way up in the moun- _ tains—miles past the trail which leads to Lawrence’s’ property.” oes “So I supposed,” Metsiwelt put in. “How we ever. ; wandered there is a puzzle. You see, I had never heard of Lawrence until-to-night. Stover was telling me about some of that Jessup'land being sold, but he | didn’t mention the name. The girl couldn’t describe it | very well, but she was dead sure she could find: the way.’ It turned out she couldn't. _ Everything is oe covered up and altered in a snowstorm that she go lost. And I, thinking that she was all right—she never hesitated for a minute, you know—didn’t butt in until we'd: gone so far upgrade that it seemed to me we must be away off. A little while alter enn saw oe ‘ “Then there vas i “A light!” Bruce exclaimed.. 9 one——” . fi “Yes; two some ones, to be exact. One was a big fe Teter man with a long face, hardly any a Fae var eyes set close. together.” ie eae sail “Hagin, for a dollar!” Brownilg exclaimed. Frank raised his ee rieus Saute aie “You don’t mean | TIP TOP knocking Johnson down,” explained Browning. “I forget you're not onto all these little particulars. Ever since then he’s been living up at the Roost off and on. Nobody knows just how he manages it, but its pretty certain he’s up to no good. There’s a couple of other guys hanging out with him that you can’t ever catch sight of. What did the other fellow look like?” “Couldn’t tell. I only saw his back, but there was something familiar about it. His voice, too, I could have sworn to. But just where I’ve seen him, I don’t know.” Bruce looked thoughtful. - “By thunder!” he boomed presently. | that girl striking a bunch like that alone. It’s certainly a lucky thing you ran into her.” Frank nodded without speaking. “There used to be a pretty tough gang hanging out _ there at one time, I believe ?’’-he said the next moment, in a questioning tone. “Sure thing,” Bruce returned emphatically. “Worst lot of cutthroats in the country. That’s why they gave -it the name. They were all cleaned out, though, ten or twelve years ago, and since then the place has been pretty muchedeserted untif Hagin went there. Looks a little now as if.things were starting up again.” “Tt does look a little that way, SaREKE it?’ Merri- well mused. _ He gazed thoughtfully into the fire for a few min- utes and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, stood up. “It’s high time you were hitting the downy, kid,” — he smiled, glancing at Park’s serioms face. “You _haven’t sat up this late for over a week.” He stepped ovet to the sofa,and, slipping one arm “Just think of Whew! ‘ 4 say > 4 \ +e _ Bruce attended to the fire, “and then, blowing out all the lamps but one, took that up and went before them , into Frank’s bedroom, where, owing to his rather help- less condition, Park occupied one of the twin beds. “JT wish you could remember the name of that other fellow you saw’to-night,” he said, setting the lamp | eS on a table and leaning against the doorcasing. i Soda, 1,” Merry returned lightly ; “but T'm not sa ens about it. It'll come to me in time.” o e / f CHAPTER VI. MOSTLY PRINKING. “Say, Frank, would eens tying ms neck- tie for me?” about the youngster’s shoulders, helped him to his feet. — - ingly. WEEKLY. II glass to find the tawny-haired youngster standing be- side him, a brilliant scarlet necktie in his good hand and an expression of much self-consciousness on his tanned face. It was morning and the sun streamed brightly through the two windows. The storm had ceased, and the snow lay thick over everything outside, a glaring, glittering,» blinding expanse of white. It filled the veranda to the top of the three-foot railing, reached quite to the level of the’ bedroom windows, and all about the ranch house were great drifts and hummocks and ridges carved, smoothed, and polished by the force of the erratic wind. , The latter had almost entirely died down. Only now and then.a little gust raised a spiral of light flakes or sent a cloud of them scurrying before it, glittering in the sunlight with a thousand prismatic shades of color, like powdered glass. To one who had not strug- gled against it for many weary hours the terrible force of last night’s tempest seemed almost beyond belief. Frank bit his lips as he glanced at Park Davis’ face. During his stay at the T-Bar the youth had proved most indifferent about neckties or any other personal adornment. A cotton handkerchief carelessly knotted around his throat had amply sufficed, and this morn- ing was the first time he had shaved in a week. The prospect ofa girl, and a very attractive one at that, at the breakfast table, seemed to make a vast difference on his point of view. ¢ “Why, certainly, kid,” Merriwell résporded. taking ‘the silken atrocity from the other’s hakd. “T’ll say crany, though, that 7H look a great sight better with- out it, “Tt seems sort of. igdreaied \with only a handker- chief,” Park objected. | “Rather odd you haven’t discovered that before, isn’t it?” Frank remarked slyly. Park flushed. “Well, a woman, you know——” he said hesitat- “Sort of seems like a fellow ought to spruce up a bit when they’re about.” | “Perhaps so,” Merriwell agreed, with perfect se- rigusness. “But haven't you got one that’s not quite so —er—striking ? shirt.” Davis shook hishead. ~ “Tt’s all I’ve got,” he returned cae disappointedly. “I thought it was a pretty sporty one.” “Tt is,’ Frank hastened to assure him; “very sporty Laying down his brushes, Merriwell turned from the indeed. Bat somehow it doesn’t seem to become ee : A blue one, say, to go with your paras aa 12 TIP “TOF style of beauty. kerchief. Park laid down the necktie with a sigh and sur- veyed the cotton handkerchief with distinct disap- proval. “It’s awful shabby,” he commented ; a silk one.” Merriwell smiled. “Tf that’s all that’s worrying you, take one of mine,” he said quickly, opening a drawer of the bureau. “There, choose your choice, son.” ‘Park’s eyes brightened’ as they fell upon the pile of variegated silken squares, and a somewhat prolonged inspection resulted in the choice of a dark-blue one with a neat border of white. When this had ‘been swiftly adjusted by Frank, the youngster took his place before the glass and endeavored to reduce his unruly mop of tawny hair to a state of glistening smoothness by the aid of copious applications of water to the brush. ; | o The operation took some time and in the end was not wholly satisfactory, but Frank waited pa- tiently, He knew the signs and sympathized with the youngster, for he was far from forgetting the occa- sions when he, too, had spent anxious moments over the set of a coat or the color of a scarf. At length Park laid aside the brushes, and, with a last searching look into the mirror, turned to Frank. Pe om We do,. the) latter commented approvingly. “You look positively fetching.” 6 " And so he did. There was a sparkle in the gray eyes which had not always been there, and which gave life and animation to the rather serious face. The tawny hair had a painfully slicked-dowh appearance, but time would remedy that. They went through the hall together, and in the din- ing room they found Bruce dawdling by the window. The murmur of voices from the kitchen apprised them of the fact that Aunt Ruth was letting off steam. “Say, you two certainly took your time,” “he com- If I were you, I’d stick to the hand- That looks more like you.”’ “and isn’t even mented. “‘Ah-ha! Prinking, eh?” he chuckled, look- ing Park over critically. ay oe re real loy ely, | kid,” ‘Park flushed with embarrassment, and Frank has- i tened to intervene. »* “Who's Aunt Ruth. talking to?” he sided “Miss Lawrence,” Browning explained. “She’s been fe for half an hour helping with breakfast,” u _) “The girl appeared at that moment, carrying a dish sa ham and eggs, and greeted them with a disapproy- ng shake: of the head. WEEKLY. “You two lazybones!”’ she smiled. you usually breakfast ? lovely morning as this.’ “It takes some time to dress a fellow with only one useful arm,” Frank returned. “Besides, we both of | | us did‘sleep rather late.”’ : a Her eyes twinkled as she glanced at Park. ot “You did very well,” she commented approvingly. 4 “Til have to forgive you, considering the result. You if never told me, Park, how you got hurt. I’m crazy to — know all about it.” | ~ Aunt Ruth bustling in-at that moment with the rest _ of the breakfast, they all sat down, and when things te were well under way Frank told Betty the story of the | — young fellow’s heroism. She was intensely interested, and Davis correspondingly embarrassed. He protested | that it was nothing at all, and hastened to give an ac- : a 3 count of what Merriwelt had done for him. ee In this way the time was passed swiftly, though somewhat to the annoyance of Aunt Ruth, who could scarcely get in a word edgewise, and was decidedly => chafed by that infliction. a # Directly breakfast wasjover, Betty Lawrence ex- = + pressed a desire to start fon ice as soon @s Sere che “Dad will be worrying, I’m sure,’ she said; “and I’d like to get over there ue morning if the snow isn’t — too deep.” “I think we can manage it,” Frank assured her. “It'll be slow riding and rather tiresome, I’m afraid; but nothing like last night. I’ll have a couple ef horses sent up right aWay. You'd better take a fresh one and give yours a rest. Hecan be sent back to-morrow.” Half an hour later the girl said good-by to Bruce — and Park, expressing the hope that she would see them both very soon again. Though she used the plural, i her eyes happened to be resting on the younger man’s face as she spoke. Perhaps it was merely accidental, but somehow Park derived much satisfaction from it and hastened to promise that he would ride over the moment he could mount a horse. Then, with a parting embrace from Aunt Ruth, who at such’ times took upon herself the duties of hostess, she joined F Pract Ovtsides: (os ise ae aw ell !”” remarked. ne Ruth decidedly, 3 as “she watched the departure from the window, “as pleasant- spoken, sensible a young lady as I ever see. Comes right out to the kitchen and helps with the breakfast like as if she’d done it all her life—as maybe she has. Pretty, too, though a wee bit flyaway. Some of these days ee : make some man a a precious good wife, t tell Mptcet | | ete “Is this the time I’m surprised at you, such a vee Pie ie ‘ways,’ TIP ‘TOP _ Turning from the window, she happened to surprise a slight flush on the face of Park Dayis, and the sight seemed to please her beyond description. “Humph!” she commented, her bright eyes traveling, over him from top to toe., “A silk neckerchief, I see. One of Mr. Frank’s. Shaved, too. Fust time in a week. Hair brushed with water. Humph!’ . She laughed cacklingly and shook a warning finger. “You're beginning right soon, young man,” she chuckled; “but y’u can’t begin too soon for sich as her. As I says to myself this very mornin’, ‘It’s a wonder yu ain't been snapped up before, my young miss.’ Rollin’ stones gather no moss, they say; but I ain’t never yet seen any excitement in a rock that stays put , an’ ain’t got the sense to git up an’ hustle, an’ when y’u come to it whdt’s the good of moss, anyhow? - Y’u want to git busy, young man, an’ do it quick, or Pi _ you'll git left.” _ With which pearls of wisdom, she Sains, still Geiiling leaving Davis with scarlet face afd. twitcli- . ing lips, gazing into the grinning countenance of Bruce ~ Browning. atte old girl’s got a heap of sense, for all her fussy ’ the latter remarked, still grinning. “But she’s sure got a tongue that’s hung in the middle.” (| Park made. no reply, but, as he picked up a ‘book and settled himself gingerly on the sofa, there was a firm set to his lips and a determined tilt to his square chin which looked rather as if he fully expected to fol- . low the gratuitous advice. For a long time he seemed .to be ahubihed in hi reading, but had Browning been at all observing. he WEEKLY. 13 ing him to have a far higher opinion of her abilities than before, and to wonder how it was possible that a boy like Davis, once he had come to know her well, could briag himself to neglect such a friendship. Apparently Park had already realized his folly and was doing his best to make up for it, and Frank was more and more inclined to wish him success in the un- dertaking. As for Betty Lawrence, it was impossible to tell just what was her attitude in the matter. She asked a good many questions about the young fellow, but they were so apparently casual and so intermixed with other mat- ters that it was difficult to know whether they were pronfpted by idle curiosity or a deeper interest. Thus the time passed pleasantly until they reached the: point where the track to her home led away from the mountain trail. . Nothing in the nature of a road was visible, but Betty recognized a number of land- marks which had escaped her the night before. “How perfectly idiotig of me to have missed them!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know where in the world my wits could have been. Why, that big dead pine is as plain As the nose on your face; and so is the funny- shaped rock on the other side, which I always said looked just like a turtle.” ° a Merriwell smiled ; “but It’s not at all “They’re plain enough now,” this is quite different from last night. ‘surprising that you shouldn't have’seen them then. I was the stupid one, letting you go on up the mountain so far when I knew it couldn’t haye been right.” Miss Lawrence was unconvinced. She continued to — \upbraid herself as quite the sttipidest individual in would have noted the rather odd fast, that the book Wyoming, and the amicabJe dispute went-on ds they: was upside down. } § x — i CHAPTER VIL THE EMPTY CABIN. “Meanwhile, the eject of all this comment ea at-. tention «was pursuing her way through the deep snow,. chatting blithely and merrily with Frank as if she had no other thought in the world but making her- self entertaining to the man who had done so. much for her. oF he latter found her distinctly interesting and at- ractive, Underneath her saucy gayety was a vein of olid common sense which A TOnOHICS ont shige now, and mounted a little farther and then started GoWwA the gen tle, easy slope into the valley. on ep | Half a mile farther they came in sight ioe the small _ _trim-looking house tucked away under the shelter of — -gome great pines and banked up on all sides with the a drifted snow. | Twenty minutes later they reached the door week they were welcomed by the rather astonished Mr. Law- fence, upon whom Betty flung herself in an ecstasy of _ affection.. Her enthusiasm was somewhat tempered 4 when she found that he had not been worrying at all, _ having | made sure that she would never. try to reach home With a storm ited ce would remain ‘fee in Alcona, | 7 His gratitude to Frank, when he learned the wale was.overwhelming. He insisted that the owner of th as -Bar ey for op which we fatter + was oe g 14 wit ator to do. Merry liked the looks of this newcomer to the neighborhood, and by the time he was ready to depart they had become almost chummy and were full of plans for further meetings in the future. Charles Lawrence had lived most of his life'in“Mas- sachusetts, where he had farmed to a greater or less extent. The move to Wyoming had been made be- cause of his belief in the greater opportunities the West offered, and he was most enthusiastic about the place and his own prospects. He was a man of rather more than the usual amount of education, and Frank at once saw from whom Betty had inherited her shrewdness and good sense. “A! very good sort,” he said to himself, as he rode up the trail leading from the valley. “I shall be sur- prised if he doesn’t make good here. He’s got the pick of land, without any doubt whateyer.” Still thinking over the, same stibject, he reached the mountain trail, and there he stopped. “I wonder,” he mused, glancing keenly up toward the snowy heights. e There were no traces of the footprints they had* made last night. The wind had quite obliterated them, and everything was a smooth, unbroken expanse of white. Evidently no one had passed that way to-day. With ot eyes, Merriwell hesitated a ‘little -longer. Then he the reins. ; '. “T believe I’ll risk it,’ he murmured. “I certainly ,should like to make sure about it.” | In answer to the movement of his arm, ‘the horse turned into the trail and began the upward climb. The way varied considerably. At one moment the animal would have to struggle through drifts’ which were almost impassable, only to emerge the next in- stant on a bare shoulder of the mountain which had tugged his shoulders and loosened ad been swept clear as if with a broom. Now and then groups of pines ranged along the trail, but for the most part there was nothing but rock piled up in great masses, ranged in fantastic shapes as if some giant _ had been playing with the bowlders and then grown tired before his design had made any progress. Frank looked about him with much interest, wonder=, ing more and more how they could possibly have gone _ so far out of their way. The trail was fairly easy, con- sidering where it led, but the ascent was far greater than the way into the Lawrence valley. oe At length, just as he was beginning to think that the | cabin had been quité buried by the snow and that he had, already passed it, he suddenly pies a ledge and saw it before him. ; WEEKLY. f “ Instantly stopping the horse, he gazed at it in keen, speculative silence. A more lonely, desolate spot could scarcely have been conceived for the dwelling place of man. The very sight of the towering wall of gray behind, made one feel instinctively that the situation had been chosen for no good purpose. Who in their right senses. would ever desire to live here? Males away from any one, with nothing but gaunt rocks and desolate, mournful pines about, what possible temptation could such a neighborhood have for decent, law-abiding folk? As Merriwell sat there, taking in every point, he no- ticed that there was no curling of smoke from the — rough stone chiminey which rose above the sagging roof at one end. This seemed strange. Surely no one would voluntarily let the fire go ‘out on such a day as this. Was it possible that the men had decamped? With this thought in his mind, Merriwell urged his horse forward until he stood within a few feet of ‘the tightly closed door. There he saw that no one had left the cabin since the cessation of the storm. ‘The drifts piled high about the door were smooth and un- broken. Puzzled a little, through which the light had come the night before. It was closed, and the rotting shutter,drawn closely over it. Funny,’ plexity. Then he swung himself out of the saddle, and, wad- 5 sing through the drift, hammered loudly on the plank- — ) ing of the deor. The sound echoed in that curious, wellew way which one notices in an empty house—indescribable but none — the less unmistakable; and Merriwell’s eres narrowed a little as he heard it. Waiting a moment or two, he took the latch in one hand, and, pressing down on it, shoved datnist Me door with his shoulder. ' _It opened easily, and, without delay, he ‘stepped i in- i side. For an instant. the semaigloam was SO great a con-_ trast to the almost blinding glare outside that he could see nothing distinctly. Then swiftly, as his vision — cleared, the details of the bare, dirty room flashed out of obscurity. It was indeed empty. The Yough table stood before the yawning fireplace as it had done last night, but one — ch&ir had #een shoved against the wall, while ther other was. rupee at some little distance, as if some pee : Frank glanced at the window "he muttered, his forehead wrinkled in per- , “TIP TOP rising in haste, had thrown it there and never troubled to pick it up. Merriwell took all this in with a puzzled frown, and then, walking over to one of the windows, threw open the shutter. The flood of light which entered did hot add attrac- tiveness to the place. It was indéscribably filthy. ~The accumulated rubbish of years cluttered the floor until one could not move without treading on broken bridles, scraps of leather, ancient newspapers, torn and begrimed with dirt, even stale, moldy bits of, food fens SRS RS Sa : lazy to step to the door. About the walls, hung on ’ __ fough pegs, were a few tattered garments, an old hat a or two, and the remains of a disreputable saddle. me Ys Among all this griminess there lay a printed folder, rn which, if only by reason of its contrasting cleanliness, i> ___ attrafted Merriwell’s instant attention. Picking it up i gingerly, he saw that it was not even dusty. There was a greasy finger mark or two ‘on the margin, but .. that was all. Spreading it open, he gave an exclama- | s tion of surprise. It was a time-table of the Montana and Wyoming ie current year. which one would not be surprised to find anywhere. ene M. & W. C., however, happened to’ beia road which, while it circled through the mountains at no miles. The traffic of this part of the country was taken care of by-its rival, the powerful Rocky Moun- tain & Western, with a station at Alcona and another 0 tat Graytown to the west. Why- anyone should wish to indulge in fifty miles of hard mountain traveling _ Alcona, was a puzzle. ' However, there was no telling ‘what such men as Hagin and his companions might have to resort to, and, 3 : other things. ‘ hie Raat of ‘th ea WEEKLY. which had been thrown there by some one who was too — Centfal Railroad and bore the date of January Ist of ! Are -cnone of his affair, Frank could not help turning. it over To the casual mind a railroad ‘time-table is a thing , - great distance, had no station hearer than fifty odd_ _ pause, but went on toward the, corral, w hen the door — y in order to reach the nearest station: on the smaller _ road, when it was a comparatively. short, easy ride to ‘Alcona in broad daylight, and robbed of over a thou- after looking the folder over for a few minutes, ‘Mer- | _ tiwell dropped it again an turned his ‘attention to ‘ _ First | he ee the ashes i in n the fireplace with’ a stick. It would look as if the fire had been burning until recently, but one can never tell, of course aa eo, much ‘wood Na have been eee on at the last ey, Jets of the Lazy X?” Here he observed inerestedly that i: cas Oey had no back, or, rather, that it was built so close against the rocky cliff as to admit of no passage between them. Evident'y the front door was the only means of egress, but, in order to make sure of this, he floundered through the drifts to the other end, where he found the snow as smooth and untracked as before. After that he came back to the open door and stood there for a time in thoughtful silence. “They mtist have left last night, or early this morn- ing before the snow stopped,” he murmured presently. “Possibly it had stopped snowing, but the wind had not yet died down and that covered their tracks. But why did they do it? What earthly reason had they for going out into the cold before daylight? And where did ‘they go?” He seemed to find these questions difficult or impos- sible to. answer, for the next minute he shrugged his shoulders and climbed slowly back into the saddle. “After all I don’t know that I need worry much about it,” he smiled. “They’ re probably up to no good, but it’s just possible they may be running away. That upset chair certainly looked. as if some one had leaped ~_ up in a hurry.” But, though it might be true that the matter was in his mind all the way back to the T- Bar, and specu- lating why the men had left so early and where they _ had gone. } He came to no satisfactory conclusion, nor was he able to solve that other puzzle regarding the man whose back he: had seen and whose voice was so famil-_ iar. 3 Riding past the sanch house a little later, he did not ; opened and Bruce stepped out. “Hear the news?” he asked shortly, but with a note - of suppressed excitement in his voice. _ “No, what is it?” — ; “Johnson was held up this morning on the way to nan dollars.” aN ee ale j “a i 4G : CHAPTER VIII. ra hack EY nie ew ing ‘abate at his friend. UAT ta “Johnson !” he exclaimed, in astonishment, “Pe + you. had leaped into his mind. turned promptly. Tie TOP borhood who by any stretching of the imaginatiori would be possessed of such a sum as that. Bruce nodded. . “Yes; and what’s more,” he went on quickly, “he swears that one of the three fellows was Hunter, the guy he fired over a week ago and who tried to kill Merriwell gave a sudden start as a flash of light illumined his brain. _ “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “By Jove!” “They were all done up in big fur coats and wore masks and slouch hats,” Browning continued with the relish of one imparting an interesting and exciting bit of information; “but old Peter says he could swear to Hunter by the way he carried himself. He’s sure a shrewd old codger, isn’t he?” | He had scarcely heard his Frank did not answer. friend’s words, so absorbed was he in thought which “It was an answer to the question which had been: puzzling him for almo twenty-four hours. It was Hunter’s voice which had sounded so familiar the night before. Hunter it was _ whom he had seen sitting at the table in the cabin’ with _ his back to the door. . Handsome Harry Hunter, who had done his best to kill him and who would have suc- - ceeded but for Park Davis. | Frank looked at Browning with a smile of whimsical - annoyance. ’ “I wish you'd kick me, Bruce, good and nae ? he remarked. Browning grinned. “Sure, if ‘it'll give you any satisfaction,” “What's the trouble?” Merriwell slid out of the saddle and stepped up on the veranda. j “That man I was falter you about that I caught a | glimpse of last night but couldn’t place—who | do you “suppose he was?” ] i Ka Bruce gave a start. : “Not Hunter?” he exclaimed incredulously. “That’s what!” Frank fhodded. “Here I’ve been puzzling my brain over the thing all day and it never” _ came to me until you mentioned the whelp’s name. I ‘must have. been a dope.” . “Well what do you think of that! ! Bruce abid dn: -terestedly, as they went into the house. One of the others must have been Hagin, then.” “Hunter, eh? “TI reckon so,” Merriwell returned absently. He was thinking of the strange absence ofthe men | from the cabin in the mountains, which, in the light of these later revelations, did not seem strange at all. he re- WEEKLY. They had left the place early for a purpose, and that purpose was only too clear now. “What are you fellows talking-about?’ inquired Park from the sofa. “Hunter hasn’t been caught, has he! ??? “No, but he’s the other man Frank caught a iitrinse of in the Robber’s Roost last night and couldn’t place,” Bruce explained. Park sat up, his eyes eager. “Whew!” he whistled. “Then he’s with Hagin’s gang, and they’ll make for the Roost, won’t they ?”’ “Possibly,” Merriwell returned quietly. “I’ve just come from there, though, and the piace is empty. What time was tha holdup, Bruce?” | “Nine o'clock, or thereabouts,” Browning answered. “Johnson left the Lazy X a little before eight, and he was stopped just beyond the trail to Gilson’s. The fel- lows were hidden in that clump of pine trees.” “Then they had plenty of time to get back to the Roost if they were going there,’ Frank said thought- fully. “I’m afraid they’ve got some other hiding place up in the mountains. I wish I knew He paused and glanced up at the clock. “Quarter-past two,’ he commented. . “Call Stover, will you, Bruce? Tell him to come up at once ready to ride to. Alcona. We must get word to Williams, the sheriff. Have him bring up Monte for me to ride; he | can shift the saddle here. Also a horse for you. We'll hike back to the Roost and see what we can find. We can’t waste time waiting for Williams. Get that?” - Bruce was already at the telephone. “Sure,” he returned oan ime an taking down the receiver. Without delay, Merriwell stepped into his own room 4 and began stripping off his chaps and heavy riding — boots. Ten minutes later he appeared again in a com- plete change of attire. On his feet were deerskin moccasins, cut rather high, i and over them a pair of tightly laced leggings which | reached to his thighs. A short leather coat with sheep- _ skin lining came nearly to the top of the leggings. — Ate pair of light, but warm, gloves of angora wool, and a woolen cap with ear tabs completed the outfit. . About his waist was a cartridge belt, from which a servicable Colt in its leather holster dangled on his, right hip. Both Bruce and Park Davis regarded him with sur- prise and curiosity. They made no comments, how- ever, but watched him step over to the corner where stood a pair of skis which had arrived by express from Bloomfield only a couple of days before. oe Earlier in the winter, a young Cenneeiare) had taught Lene Satie es a eS ar cs APE SIS SED a Ti: POr the art of skiing at the Bloomfield school, and it had swiftly come to be amazingly popular among the boys. Years before, as a lad, Merry had taken to the sport with enthusiasm and become an expert at it. On the eve of his departure for Wyoming, it oc- curred to him that the mountains to the north of the T-Bar would afford an unrivaled opportunity for exer- cising the art, and he had packed up the outfit and had it sent after him, never thinking that it would prove actually usef‘ and even essential. Swiftly he looked the skis over thoroughly and found them to be in good shape. As he carried them ’ across the room, Bruce could not restrain his curiosity. “What in creation are you going to do with those, . Frank?” he asked quickly. “Take them along,” Merriwell returned. “Tf we've ar got to track these fellows through the mountains, 3 ae it’s not likely to happen. there’ s nothing like a pair of skis to do the work. You cay go places with perfect ease where a horse couldn’t _ get-a foothold, and on the downgrade they re as fast < as an express train.” » Ny Bruce shook his head dubiotiaty. : a “You couldn’t hire me to try Re darned things,’*he _ grunted. “They don't look safe. What if they were to break while you're going like an express train?” * Merriwell smiled. _ “That would be rather unfortunate,” he returned ; Fellows don’t,try to do stunts on them until they know how, a once you're wise to the game accidents are very rare.’ The door opened and Lem Stover stuck his head in. — “Want your,saddle put onto Monte?” he inquired, looking at Frank. The latter nodded. “Yes; got somebody out there to do it?” 1 wae 6 ; “Sure.” somewhere about it. WEEKLY. | ca Like as not he’ll be.out after this gang that held up Johnson, but you’ve got to find him and do it quick. You know the Robber’s Roost?” “Sure.” : “Well, last night I strayed up there in the storra trying to take Miss Lawrence home. There were two m¢n in the cabin; one was Hagin and the other Harry Hunter. You see what I’m getting at, don’t you? Johnson recognized Hunter as one of the men who held him up. What I saw last night shows that the two men are traveling together. They may not return to the Roost, but they'll probably be in the mountains Browning and I will start for the cabin at once and see what we can find. What I want Williams to do is to hustle along after us with a couple of deputies and be ready to help out if we need him. It’s his business, anyway, and if we catch ‘the fellows he ought to be there to take them in charge. You tell.him everything that I’ve told you, and I fancy he'll be ready enough to come: Get that, do you?’ Stover nodded and hitched his chap belt higher. “Sure,” he returned. ; “Want me to come with him?” You can probably help out some. If we're not at the Roost, you can follow our trail in the snow easy enough. Well, that’s all, Lem. Get busy now, and don’t go to sleep on the way to town.” “Not me,” “By-by.” The door slammed behind him and the next moment “You may as well. retorted the foreman, the thud of his horse’s hoofs sounded dully in the snow / ontade ee . Frank turned to Park, who was Pathe him with a look of decided annoyance on his clean-cut face. “We'll leave you to hold a fort, kid,” he smiled. “Don't let anything run away.” “I wish I could go along,” the tawny-haired eens ster said wistfully. “Don’t you think I might try it?: I’m sure I could ride without hurting this beastly shoulder.” ; js “Nix on that, son, ” Merriwell said deed let ae “You re crazy to think of such a thing. You'd have ~ “Yes,” ne answered a “I want you to here‘as soon as you can and hunt up Bob Williams. orate wound in a fearful state in no_time at all. No, you be good and stay here. I don’t think you'll miss — a great deal, after all.” 2 . : Park sige ag did not agree. with him. © iting on say Then he remembered. 18 his feet, he slowly crossed the room and watched from a window, the departure of his two friends. Frank seemed to.have some little difficulty in fasten- ing the long skis to his saddle, but at last they were adjusted satisfactorily, though the appearance of Monte reduced to the state of a pack horse, with the long ends of the polished strips of wood protruding front and rear, seemed to afford A a og Pete in- tense amusement. Monte himself promptly showed his, displeasure by going through all sorts of contortions to rid himself of the hated burden; but when Frank got into the saddle he quieted the animal, and the two friends pro-- ceeded on their way. CHAPTER IX. THE HOLE IN THE WALL. Something over an hour later the two rode up to the Robber’s Roost and dismounted a little way from “the door. Frank examined the snow about the door ‘and windows with a keen scrutiny, but only his own No one had entered the cabin since his departure a few hours before. “Looks as if they were scared off,” he remarked, putting his shoulder. to the door. “They certainly would be foolish to come’ back here after what has happened.” us _ tracks were there. ‘Bruce followed lazily into the cluttered room and ! looked curiously about him, ioe “What a pig stye !” he rumbled in disgust. do you suppose any one can live in such a filthy place; Merriwell did not answer him. He was looking “How > | ¥ about with a puzzled frown on his» face. , ‘Something | - was missing—something which had been there before, but for a moment he could not think just what it was. | It was: ‘the ‘time-table. recollected distinctly dropping it carelessly to the floor ; close by the table, but it had disappeared. . He walked swiftly to the fireplace, thinking that perhaps it might have been tossed there by a gust ay _winhd. But on the cavernous hearth were cold, dead ashes and nothing else.” ee } He TIP TOP’ WEEKLY. Crossing to the window, he threw open the wooden shutter and then looked the floor over searchingly. He 9 even took a stick and poked among the rubbish scat- tered about, but the result was equally barren. “By Jove!” he exclaimed, glancing significantly at Bruce. “It’s gone!” “What are you talking about, old fellow?” Brown- ay ing yawned. He had seen Frank do so many incomprehensible oi things in the last twenty-four hours that he was begin- ~ ning to tire a little of being so constantly out of it. “The time-table,” Merriwell returned quickly. “Didn't I tell you about it? When I was here before ‘ at a perfectly fresh time-table of the M. & W. C. lay just _ there on the floor. It seemed a little odd that these chaps should have a ‘schedule of that particular road when the nearest sta~ b tion is fifty miles away, but if they intended to cut — and run they might choose that in preference to the 9 RM. & W.” es i Bruce nodded. ‘Bhe idea seemed more than reason BOM Ce WA “But that’s not the point,” ‘rank went on duidils ‘ “I dropped the thing again just about where I found it. I’m sure of that. ‘And now it’s gone. There isn’t hide or hair of it about the “ae You see what tha ‘means, don’t your” Browning’s eyes betrayed languid interest. “Some one’s been here and taken it!” he said. how in saiieh SS) | ite ie following, found bien bending 0 RoR in the snow. A moment later oe s ened e } 1 . ri ¢ hei the door, that’ s certain.” lt He glanced up at. the robe and then