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No. 53. NEW YORK, August 2, 1913. Price Five Cents.

 

FRANK MERRIWELL, JR. AND THE SPOOK DOCTOR;

Or, THE YOUNG

By BURT L.

CHAPTER I.
VILLUM TAKES A RIDE.

“By Jove, Chip, but this old berg looks natural! It
doesn’t seem more than a week ago that you and Ballard
and I dropped in on the town to. keep an engagement with
your Uncle Dick and Brad Buckhart. That was a hot
engagement, too. Can we ever forget it?”

“Not if we live a thousand years, Red,” answered young
Merriwell, with subdued enthusiasm. ;

The private car, Cleansport, yhich was carrying Merri-
well and his team on an athletic tour of the West, had
rolled into Phoenix, Arizona, very early that Saturday
morning. The Athletes were scheduled for what was
called “a carnival of athletic sports,” in which the roam-
ing amateurs were to contest for honors against the
Phoenix Athletic Association. This “carnival’’ was to
begin on the following Monday, but it was to be ushered
in with a ball game Saturday afternoon, in which a local
nine called the “Hassayampers’” were to play the rovers.

Hard luck had hit the Hassayampers. Their pitcher
had been suddenly taken ill, their star backstop had been
suddenly called to Wickenburg by the serious illness of a
relative, and an important matter of business had suddenly
required the attention of their captain and first baseman
at a mine thirty miles away. These three sudden and
unforeseen contingencies had made it necessary for the
Hassayampers to cancel the Saturday game; so the Ath-
letes, most unexpectedly, had been left with considerable
time on their hands.

About the middle of the forenoon, after Rufus Horton
tad conferred with officials of the P. A. A. and a few of
the Hassayampers, the Athletes were informed that they
might consider themselves at liberty. All who desired could

PEACEMAKERS.

STANDISH.

go sight-seeing, and it was merely required of them that
they should return to the car for meals, and be back to
turn in by not later than nine p. m.

“Have a good time, boys,” Horton had said. “You can
do that, and yet keep away from those places where you
ought not to go, and keep out of those things in which
you ought not to-mix. ‘I refer particularly to the gambling
houses, where there is a lot of attractive glitter on the
outside and only hollow sham within... You are jealous of
the good name of Merriwell’s Athletes, and I know you
will all strive to keep it spotless. Live up, in a manly
way, to our slogan of ‘clean sport,’, and that is all that
Chip and I expect of you.”

The Athletes, delighted with the prospect ahead of
them, divided* into squads. * Merriwell, Clancy, Glory,
and Villum Kess formed one sight-seeing detachment,
and as they wandered about the quaint Southwestern
city memories of a former visit were revived in Frank
and Owen.

Standing on the corner of Washington Street and First
Avenue, Clancy expressed himself reminiscently regarding
the time he and Merry and Billy Ballard had come fo
Phoenix at the request of Dick Merriwell,

“I can see from here,’ went on the red-headed chap,
“the top of the hotel where we went to find Dick—and
didn’t find him. If your forgettery hasn’t been getting
in its work, Chip, you'll recall how, instead of finding your
uncle at the hotel we found a letter from him, ade

“And that letter, Clan,” broke in Merry, with a smile, 3
“informed us that Dick and Brad had been called hur-
riedly out into the hill’, and we were to find a guide at

the corral who wouéd supply us with horses and lead us to
the mine.”

  

 
   
     
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
    
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
    
 
    

 

 

a pits ! :

“Wow ! murnnired Clancy... “And that guide was a
traitor! Remember how he got away from ts in a sand-
Storm? And fiow that stuttering youngster who kept trip-
ping over his spurs was bound to spar with me?» Right
down there”’—~and Clancy pointed—“is the corral where we
found the guide, and where I tipped the lad with the sputs
into a ditch. How it warms a fellow up just to think of
those times.”

‘Dot vas pefore you met me by Frenchman’s Fork,”
struck in Villum Kess. “I don’d know someding aboudt
vat habbened mit you, aber dere seems to be someding
varming at dot gorral yet. Vy iss der growd by der
blace, eh? Subbose der gorral come by us und ve make
investigations ?”

At the gate of the corral could be seen a crowd of
cowboys and other citizens less picturesquely clad. Mounted
on a bench, shoulder high above the crowd, was a figure
whose head was a jumble of beard and hair. Out of the
tangle peered two straw-colored eyes. This man was talk-
ing; The young fellows on the corner could just. hear
the mumble of his. voice and catch the gleam of his
yellowish eyes. The crowd, was listening to him with
boisterous mirth and approval.

“T et’s see,’ mused Clancy. “Wasn't Pardo the name
of the old pirate that owned the corral, Chip 2”

“Pardo—yes,” was the answer. “If I’m not mistaken,
Red, that’s Pardo on. the bench, talking to the crowd.
Villum’s suggestion is a good one. Let’s stroll over to the
corral and see what’s up.”

The boys, with nerves pleasantly tingling, immediately
made their way toward the mirthful gathering. On draw-
ing close, they could see that there was a long-eared burro
directly in front of the bench on which Pardo was stand-
ing,

“Gents all,” the corral proprietor was saying, “a stick
of dynamite is er mouty small thing, but when she’s set
off she shore makes the dirt fly. Now this yar burro ain’t
a hull lot bigger’n a pint o’ cider, but he’s fuller 0’ ginger
than.a wild cat. Ye mout call this yar game a lottery. All
I’m askin’ is two bits.; That small sum entitles ye ter try
and stay on the burro’s back fer two minyits. If ary one
0’ ye, arter payin’ the two bits, can stay on Han’sum
Dan’s back fer the two minyits, then he takes Han’sum
Dan free gratis fer nothin’. If he can’t stay, then I git
the two bits. Who's the fust victim? Don’t all speak .at
once.”

A cowboy passed up a silver quarter and Handsome
Dan was led into the corral) Amid much joshing and rough
hilarity, the cowboy got astride the. burro and was heaved
into the air before a person could bat an eye. Pardo
chuckled as he stowed away the quarter and the crestfallen
cowboy backed out of sight.

Another and another tried it, and the results were comi-
cal in each case, but totally, unsuccessful. Frank and his
friends enjoyed the sport’ immensely.

“Han’sum Dan is a heap better’n ary gold mine in the
hills,”’ said Pardo, with a chuckle. “Tast Saturday |
made eighteen dollars off'n yaps what thort they could
tide. This yar Saturday I’m a-goin’ ter make more.”

“Misder, oof you blease, der burro vill rite me for doo

Villum Kess, fire in his eye/and a quarter in his hand,
was struggling to get close to Pardo.

» “Keep out of it, Villum!” warned Merry.
“For vy, Chip?” answered Villum. “Sooch a nice leedle

burro vat it iss, yen he gets me for doo pits. Dot iss er)
cheap as I don’d know.” f
‘Why, Dutch,” guffawed Pardo, “that thar burro will

turn a handspring when ye git on his back, and then sot
down on ye. He’s fond 0’ Dutchmen thataway.”
“Take der kvarter,” begged Villum.
leedle pet like dose.”
Krank was still of a mind to interfere, but Clancy and
Glory were eager for him to let Villum have his way.
“It will be mote fun then a three-ringed circus, Chip,”
said Clancy, stifling a laugh. :
“The butro’s so small, Chip,” added Glory, “that Villum
pie ti have far to fall, so he can’t be hurt. Let Villum
alone.

“I should like me a

So Merry held back, Pardo pouched another quarter, and
Vill im stepped out to try his luck. |
bt ‘ stepped. “Voa, voa! Sooch a nicé burro vat it
iss! Py and py you pelong mit me, und dravel by a pri-
vate car same as der odder Adiedes. Yah, so hellup. me.”

“Walk right up and sit down on him, Dutch!” clamored
the joyous crowd. . oo

“Turn around, Sauerkraut!”

"Whatever kind of a way is that to. ride an animile?”

Villum was not mounting in the usual and approved tman-
ner. He sidled up with his back to the burro’s head, and,
when he. climbed aboard, his face was aft.

“He reckons the critter is goin’ ter back up on Him,”
suggested a bystander. :

But Villum knew what he was about. The moment He
was settled on the burro’s back, he fell flat forwan
His legs encircled the little animal’s neck and his feet
locked together. Then he caught the brute by the tail—
and was ready. Pa

“Ged ap vonce!” he called.

Handsome Dan needed no urging. He went right up
into the air as though propelled by springs, and when
he came down, he hopped, two-stepped, and gave a varia-
tion of the tango. After that he tried a little buck-and-
wing dancing, and made an attempt to climb the corral
ience.

Balt a dozen in the crowd were holding the watch on
Villum’s performance. The delight of the witnesses was
vociferous.

“A minute !”/shouted one of the timekeepers: “He's
already beat the rest of the fellers that tried to tide the
brute!”

it opine Dutchy ‘is goin’ to win!” cried another.

“Wait a spell till Dan begins tryin’ some o” his other
didoes,” shouted. Pardo confidently.

3 Whirling away from the fence; the burro started to run.
He went in a bee line for the corral gate, and then out
into the street. A team and buckboard were passing, and
Dan hit the team like a shell from a Jiri Gewi bie Atta.
There was a tangle of live stock for a minute, and when
the burro escaped from the mix-up Villum was picking
himself up at the roadside, apparently unhurt, but too full
of tage for words.

There were thtee passengers in the buckboard. A young
fellow was on the front seat, driving, and an old wian
and a dark-faced person of middle-age were'behind. While
the young fellow was quieting the restive team, a startled
voice cried:

“Tolliver !

Tolliver Glory! Look! Don't you know
me?” ae

ee

Aas toon ate
nr

  
  

 

 

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Pe

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NEW TIP TOP. WEEKLY.

ft was the voice of John Glory. The old man peered

© the direction from which the call came, and then sank
ack in his seat, eyes straight ahead. He said something

» the lad in front.

‘Che buckboard rolled on, the middle-aged man wrath-
«ly expressing his opinion of the fracas, of the burro,

1 of the laughing throng primarily responsible for the
* <-up. Merriwell looked at John Glory. The lad’s face
~*3 white, and amazement smoldered in his eyes.

CHAPTER II.
THE SKELETON IN THE GLORY CLOSET.

‘ome of the crowd had captured Handsome Dan, the

‘tro. Villum was still sputtering wrathfully as the ani-

was led back to the corral.

How long vas I his back on, eh?” the Dutch boy de-
ended.
Minute and a half,” announced one of the timekeepers.

"Ye lose by half a minyit, Wienerwurst,” jubilated Pardo.

yy one else honin’ ter try that leetle streak o’ greased

»tnin’?”

vill try him again yet,” clamored Villum, digging

»n into his pockets for another two-bits.

“Nary, ye don’t,” answered the corral keeper firmly.
‘) e try is all any juniper gits. Anyways, Dutch, ye don’t
"> fair. Ye look one way and ride t’other, and I wouldn't
go. per to insult a respectable burro with any more sich
os.’

"ot vas some shkin games, by shinks!”’ howled Villum,
seeing his fist. “I vant me dot burro, yes! Gif me some
mye shances und I vill rite him for two hours, und I gif
ya tollar oof you let me try.”

it Pardo was obstinate.
re rd than any one else who had tried to ride the burro,
ee the wily corral proprietor wanted the little animal
/» a money maker, and did not intend to run the risk of
> g him.

\ llum was carrying his protests to a point that promised

»--to with Pardo, and Clancy interfered.

Peep your shirt on, Villum,” said he.
“ut I got me my heart set on hafing der burro, Glancy!
Villum.

et the mischief could you do with such a brute if

_ had te.

-e could carry him der car in, by der gyitinasium, und
ve »ould feed him mit oats und t’ings, und he vould. be
‘om pets und a mascot for der Adletes.”

“\ou’re crazy! The burro would kick the side out of
‘be -ar—and a few sides out of the rest of us. Come on,
Vim! Chip and Glory have already pulled out, and
wees got to be moseying back to the Cleansport. It’s
see y dinner time.”

Ye red-headed chap pushed an arm through Villum’s
ee’ led the reluctant Dutchman away from the corral.
Vil) m had about as much use for the burro as he would
have had for a white elephant, but he didn’t stop to reason
the Matter out. He wanted the burro because he wanted
‘= and that was all about it.

Worry’s curiosity had been aroused by the actions of

_ Glory. As soon as the team and buckboard had got
down the street, Frank had again turned to John.

he

knew me.”

Villum had made a better,

Glory shook his head sorrowfully.. “Why
can’t he let bygones be bygones? ;
grouch for years, and I should think it’s about time he out-
grew it.”

“I hadn’t an idea you knew a soul in Phoenix, Glory.”

“Neither had I till I saw Tolliver Glory. Vve heard he
was somewhere in the Southwest, but I never dreamed he
was here. Let’s you and I go back to the Cleansport, and
I'll tell you about this on the way.”

“It’s part of your family history, I suppose,” said
Merry, “and I don’t want you to think that I’m prying into
ypur affairs.”

“Not for a minute, old man! [I’ve got to get this out
of my system, though, and maybe you can advise me.”

Frank turned to look toward Clancy and Villum Kess.

| They were deeply interested in Pardo and the burro, and

could follow along whenever they got ready. So Merri-
well and Glory started for the car. Glory began at once
on the theme that was uppermost in his mind.

“You know I hail from Texas, Chip,” said he, “but the
family lived in the Lone Star State fora good many years
before my time. My grandfather had a ranch there when
the Civil War broke out. His name was Spencer Glory,
anc his brother’s name was Tolliver Glory. Tolliver lived
in town, and he went with the North. Spencer went with
the South.”

John paused for a moment, seemingly mastered by some
deep emotion. ;

“My father told me about the big row that split the
family,” he finally went on™ “I reckon the Glory family
wasn’t the only one that neatly wrecked itself with a dif-
ference of opinion on account of that war. There was
right on both sides, of course, and wrong on both sides,
but it was a pity that-flesh and blood had to be turned
against each other. There was hot talk between Spencer
and Tolliver.’ Spencer was captain of a militia company,
and he was ordered to arrest his brother for blackguard-
ing the South. Feeling ran high in those days, and a good
many men were persecuted and sometimes shot or hung for.
recklessly expressing their sentiments,”

Again John Glory paused. The boy, as Frank knew,
had ancestors who had distinguished themselvés in their
country’s services. It was a patriot line of which any
youngster might well be proud. |

“It seems queer,” Glofy continued at last, “that this fine,
big country of ours, Chip, was ever so divided as it was
in the sixties. It must have been awful. Now that we’re
united again under the glorious old flag, with no Mason
and Dixon’s line separating us in our loyalty, it’s hard to
understand about that Civil War. Spencer was so rabid
in upholding the South that he forgot Tolliver was his
brother, and Tolliver was so crazy in standing by the
North that he would have shot Spencer for a rebel if he
had had the chance. Tolliver, though, gave Spencer and
the militia company the slip, got out of Texas, and en-
listed with the Union men in Kentucky. But the breach
left a skeleton in the Glory closet, and through all the
years that have followed Tolliver has kept it there. He
wouldn’t even speak to me, Chip. You saw that2? +»

“Chances are, Glory,” Frank answered, “he didn’t know
you. How long has it been since you saw him—I mean, be-
fore to-day ?”

“Five or six years,” was the answer. “He came to Mc~
Glory on some business, but he wouldn’t even speak with
my brother or me. Oh, Tolliver knew me, all right. He’s

/

 

He ‘has nursed. that »
   

we Mid

  
  
 

oa
<
oe
a

ae ha ; Whig toslive, and I’d like—D’ve wahted for a
long time—to make peace with him. My father and my
grandfather are dead and gone, but here’s Tolliver, hang-
ing hard and fast to that old, old grouch—just as he has
e done for the last fifty 'years! I reckon there’s use
Reb: trying to patch up the differences. The old chap can’t for-
get or forgive; he’s not a—a—well, Chip, he’s not a good
sport, is he?”
“Well, no,” said Frank, “if that’s really the way he feels.
But I still think there’s some mistake, Glory, and that he
didn’t recognize you. In the excitement, while his team
was tangled up with Villum and the burro, I can see how
the old chap maybe wasn’t able to recognize you, even if he
had wanted to. He lives in town?”
“T don’t know where he lives.”
“Has he any family?” ,
"No. He’s all alone in the world. My brother and |
are the only ones left of one branch of the family, and
he’s all that’s left of the other branch.
is well off, and maybe he thinks that my brother and I are
trying to make up with him just to come in for a share
6f his money. Hang his money! I wouldn’t touch a cent
of it. When my brother had his trouble, I never tried to
get any help from Tolliver. He’s the last person on earth»
I’d think of going to\for assistance. All I want, you un-
derstand, is just to settle the differences in the Glory
family. It’s a shame that they have been kept alive as
_ long as they have—yes, Chip, not only a shame, but a dis-
grace, as well.”
Breit Merriwell liked Glory immensely. He had always liked
et ‘him, from the time when he first watched the Athletes
-) af a practice game in Blyfield and had jumped down from
- the fence and bagged a fly which none of the players was
- near enough to capture. John Glory had saved his brother
from disgrace, and he had been obliged to struggle hard
-and to put himself in a false position in ordet to do it.
“hope you'll have luck with your peacemaking, Glory,”
Said Frank, with a pleasant laugh. “It Avill be a mighty
fine thing, old man, to bring the two fag ends of the
Glory family together again, and wipe out a grudge that
has lasted for fifty years. Go to it! Don’t let this little
backset discourage you.”
“But what can I do, now that Tolliver has given me
the cold shoulder ?” f
_ “Why, keep at him. Show him that you mean well, and
Jet him know that you don’t care a rap whether he dumps
his money into the sea or hands it over to an orphan asy-
lum. If that is what sticks in his crop, just make it plain
that you haven’t any ax to grind. That ought to bring
him afound.”
“Pye been thinking,” said Glory slowly, “that it might
be just as well to leave the old fellow alone. In fact,
‘Chip, T had made up my mind to that when I saw him in
_ McGlory, Texas, that last time. But now, blundering upon
him as I have, the old wish to smooth things over has
‘come back. I know my father always wanted to be friends
with Tolliver, but he was never able to make it out. He
was closer to Tolliver than I am, and if he failed then,
‘how in Sam Hill can { hope to have any success?”
| “Tolliver is well along in years now, Glory, and maybe
he has had a chance to think the family disagreement over
and see how foolish it all was”.
“The way he treated me this morning doesn’t point to
anything like that”. Galt ARS SPN aa RT at

<

no

They say Tolliver

4
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“T am still of ae

Let fie

   

ya se ou didn’t give him a fat
test. "

in fa! : a4 you, arnivhow.”’
That’s your atlvice >?” es J

, a s what I'd do myself, John, if T was in the satne fix.”
- “How would you il

« ; : <e to call on him with me and——”
“He might think [was butting “in,” Frank interrupted,
with a smile. ‘You'd better work that through alone, old
man; I think you'd have better success.” x eee
Glory looked dubious. oe
“Who was the young

cha Erc seat ¢
buckboard ?” eee

Merry,
Merry went on,
“Don’t know,” answered

; y Glory:
tore. i

“Never saw him. be-

“The fellow. sitting with y

: Our uncle didn’t look gec
me. He has all the earm re

“T didn’t even see whz o> misty confidence man.”
Chip, I was all Sieh as si matt looked likes You sée,
that sudden ne : = a heap by meeting Tolliver in
ac ion. He heard me yell, though, and he
certainly got a good look at me. If he had wanted to
le might have said something, , I’ll be

(
heal the breach |
4 f i+ der”
hanged if I know whether I want to'take your advice or
ft in our branch of the Glory

not, There’s some pride le
family. I’m almost tempted to tell the old sorehead to go

to blazes.”

_ There was no further use in ar
Glory. His pride had heen touche
as was impossible to make him understand that the old

’ ; » c
ae might have been so surprised, or so concerned
a other matters, that he had not given expresstitt to
lis real sentiments concerning; hig brother’s gaat
g andson.

aid no more along that D
how, he felt gure, the matter Ww
a Big bute pu ‘ ;

vould be two days in Phoenix which would find the Ath-
letes with little to do. If Glory :
Merry’s way of thinking, he woul
Tolliver and learn how he really

guing the question with
d; Frank could see that,

Merriwell s
articular line. Some-

ould work itself out. There

d have time to call on
felt.

CHAPTER III,

A VICTIM OF SHARPERS.
Mose, the darky chef, porter
outdid himself in Preparing dinner for the. Athlete:
first day in Phoenix. He went a little Rage oa Oe
meni, for “Frank insisted on a rigid int bate a fi
fare, asa rule. For this one time, however pe oat y
the team let down the bars, and the Athletes aii it
pie and various other toothsome and detocaliziag ‘thi 5
silly Dill, who played short, and who was fi 3
rhymes that: he spilled them around on every os a c
occasion, arose in his place at table and burst eee rs
The words and the air were his own, and they Seis:

spired by a thick slab of “Boston c ra Wet ae
a : cream,” w ;
aloft 4s he caroled: >’ which he held

» and official mascot, fairly

j

“Pie, pie, pie! Now, wouldn't it make you grin?
Pie, pie, pie! Right here’s where | iat
Pie’s my burden, pie’s my theme,

We're pie-ruts all on Merriwells’ team—
Who'd be a pie-ker? Oh, what a scream |
Oh, you lovely Boston cree-eem !” ,

take you in!

i t
;

Dill wound up his song by burying his fice:
delectable, three-cornered slab. All-the lads,
enthusiasm, sprang up. Pieces of iy

in the dozy,
catching t¢

finally came around to '

Pie were waved, and the

   
  

   
    
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
   
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
  

 

      
    
   
     
  
      
    
      
     
 
   
     
   

 
   

  
 
 

 

 

   
 

 

 

  

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Cleansport fairly rang with voices lifted high in praise of
‘the Boston cream.

Dart Keenan, whose place at table was next to Dill,
jostled the shortstop so violently that he fell into the aisle.
The result was awful, for Billy buried his face literally as
well as figuratively in the mushy mess he was holding in
his hand. When he got up he was a sight to behold, for
his face was plastered to the eyes with pie, pie, pie! A
roar of laughter followed,
atid cleared himself of the wreckage.

In the midst of the hilarity, Mose showed himself. in) the
doorway leading irito the dining compartment.

“Dar’s a genulman outside de car,” he announced, “and
he’s axin’ to see Mistah John Glory.”

“Tell him to come in, Mose,” called Merry.

“Ah reckons he’s afeared, Marse Merry,” the darky an-
swered, with an ear-to-ear grin. “De ructions dat am goin’
on in de ole Cleansport done make de place sound like er
crazy house. Ah doan’ wondah none dat de
skeered to come in.” ,

“P’ll go out, Chip,” said Glory, moving toward the door.
“I’m through with my pie,” he added, with a laugh, “and J
didn’t waste any of it, the same as Pickles did.”

“Dart, here, is responsible for that,” mourned Billy, pull-
ing a piece Of ,crust from behind his ear.
other piece, Mose.”

“No, sah. Dar ain’t no mo’. Ah done cut up dem pies
into thuteen pieces, and de hull thuteen am clean gone,
\yassuh. Anyways, dat was a mighty po’ piece ob ragtime.
You sho'ly ain’t entitled to anodder piece ob pie bekase

ob dat ’ar pie piece,’ and Mose shook his head and
chuckled.

“That's right, Mose,” said Coddington, grinning, “rub it
into him. That was about the poorest excuse for a song
T ever heard.”

while Billy grabbed a napkin

genulman is

“Bring on an-

“Sure,” agreed Rodno.. “No wonder that piece of pie got

tip and hit him in the face. It was a perfectly respectable
chunk of Boston cream, and it felt insulted.”

“I could make a pedder rhymnings as dot aboudt things’

vat iss goot to eat,” remarked Villum, who had suppressed
himself as long as possible. , “Lisden, vonce.”
He threw back his head and exploded the following:

“She vas bread in old Kenducky,
Ske vas cake in New Orleans,

In Milvaukee she vas bretzels,
Und in Poston she vas beans——”

Villum’s mouth had opened like the entrance to the Mam-
moth Cave, and Pennyworth could not resist the tempta-
tion to fire a doughnut at the cavity. His aim was true,
and Villum subsided, with a choking gurgle.

“Tn the days of old Ramesis that ballad had parésis,”
said Owen Clancy. “You never made that up, Villum. It
was popular in Rome about the time Cesar Felt so cut-up
Te Brutus and——”

The' rest of the guying Merry did not hear. He had
eon ‘sight of Glory, just outside the car window by
“> aehich he was sitting, and Glory had beckoned for him to
(ef 1c out. Merry slid cratcHy, out of the, car and joined
ihe: center fielder and the “genulman” who had sought an
‘interview with him.

To Merriwell’s surprisé¢, the youth proved to se the one

TIP TOP WEEKLY.

, seem to be a thing I could do. Doc has the old fellow

 

'who had been driving the \buckboard at the time Villum

   
   

and the burro had come into’ collision with the team at the
buckboard’s pole.

“Merry,” said Glory, indicating the stranger
“this is Sam Weatherby. He works: for
and he’s jist told me something that’s
There’s a lot more

with a nod,
Tolliver Glare
mighty interesting.
[ want to hear, and I'd like to have
you hear it, too. This is Chip Merriwell, Weatherby,” he
added, to the other. Te and Rufus Horton, manager of —
are two of the best friends Pve ever had.
Let’s go over and sit on that pile of railroad ties, and
tlien you bat the whole thing up’to us. I’m going to need
advice, and Merry’s just the one to give it to me.”

Frank and Weatherby shook hands. Weatherby seemed
looking around as though he was

the Athletes,

nervous; and kept
afraid of being seen by somebody who might make him
trouble.

“T’ll cut it as short as I can,” said he, when :they were
all seated on the railroad ties, “for it might ‘cost mé my

job if old Tolliver got next to what I’m doing. I heard
yow yell”—here he looked at John Glory—“at the time
the burro and the Dutchman ran into the cayuses. I didn’t

have much; time for anything but the horses, at the
moment, but I couldn’t help getting ja glimpse of you out
of the tails of my eyes. ‘Who was that boy? says Doc
to Tolliver, as soon as we had passed the corral. ‘His
name’s John. Glory,’ says Tolliver, ‘and he’s my Secesh
brothet’s grandson,’ he says. “Why didn’t you speak to
ain’t never had any
use for him nor his whole rebel’ tribe,’ says Tolliver.
‘That boy and a brother and myself are all the Glorys
that are left. John and his brother are as poor as church
mice, and they’ve tried for years to make up to me on a/
chance that they might get some of my money when I’m
ready to quit.’ I’m handing you this,” went on Weath-
erby, with a note of apology, * “just as it came to me, and
[ don’t want you to feel sore.’

“That’s all right, Weatherby.” answered Glory, an in-
dignant crimson flooding his face. “I had an idea that
was the way Tolliver felt, but I can tell you he is ‘way
wide of his trail. Go on.”

him?’ says Doc, interestedlike. ‘I

proceeded Weatherby,
and Doe otit at the

“We were just coming into town,”
“and as soon as I had let
Plaza, and put up the team at the Commercial House’ _
corral, I went back to Pardo’s and asked about John
Glory. I heard there that you were one of Merriwell’s
Athletes, and that your private car was on the track
here. I hurried through my dinner and rushed for the
tailroad yards, just to find you’

Tolliver

Weatherby paused for a second and flung another wary
glance around. Then he continued, in a hurried tone:
“It’s like this: I’m a.good friend of Tolliver’s, and -
T hate to see him squeezed dry by a lot of sharpers. I’ve
been worried about it for several weeks, but there didn’t

 
 

right in his grip, and if something isn’t done to block
things pretty soon, Doc is going to have every last‘ dollar
Tolliver has got.’ Weatherby’s eyes flashed. “That’s ,
right,” he added. “Doc and his crowd are fleecing him. —
You' re Tolliver’s next of kin, John Glory, and you cage
to do something.”

“A heap I can do!” grunted Glory. “You've got a eit i
sample of. the loving regard in which I am held by the
old gentleman. Just what’s the trouble, eee Whi
is this chap /you call ‘Doc’ ?”

BT ¥

   
   

   
   
 
  
  
   
 
    

 
           
     
     
       
     
       
  

   
     
    
     
    
      
           
    
       
   

*

         
   
         
     
       
     
       
           
       

oe

“Tle was on the back séat bf the buckboard with Tol-
liver, and you must have seen him.”

“T didn’t, though. All my eyes were for Tolliver Glory.
I wish, now, that I’d been looking the other way, and had
kept my mouth shut.”

“I had a good look at him,” said Merry. “He’s a bad
egg, if I’m any judge.”

“Vou’ve nicked it, Merriwell,” returned Weatherby.

“The fellow’s a doctor?”

“Spook doctor,” and Weatherby grinned sarcastically.
“He claims to be the séventh son of a seventh son, to
have the gift of second-sight, and all that rot. He has
strung the old man for fair. All Doc has to do to make
Tolliver believe white is black and that two and two
make five, is to go into a trance and let Red Feather
talk.”

“Red Feather?”

“The Doc’s Injun ‘control,’ as he calls it. Doc allows
that Red Feather is a big chief who was killed in the
Black Hawk war.”

Merriwell laughed.
a ‘medium’ ?”

“He’s medium good at grafting,” snorted Weatherby.
“Little by little, Do¢ Bixler—this shyster’s name is Dan
Bixleér—is getting all Tolliver’s money away from him.
A while back, Red Feather advised Tolliver to give Doc
five thousand dollars, for something or other, and Tolliver
came to town, drew the cold cash, and passed it over.
They came into town to-day so Tolliver could execute a
deed to Bonita Place—Tolliver’s orange grove out by the
Indian school—and there’ll be a séance to-night, and I
expect Red Feather will advise Tolliver to turn the deed
over to Bixler. That will about wipe the poor old man
out. Something has got to be done to stop the scheme.”

“Tolliver must be an old fool——” began John Glory,
but Weatherby leaned forward and stopped him with a
gesture.

“No,” said he. “Tolliver Glory is just a poor, lonely
old chap, who is being imposed upon. I can’t say a word
to him against ‘Doc Bixler; if I tried that, I’d be let out,
and wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on what’s going on.
I like to be around and watch, even if I can’t do any-
thing.”

“This Doc, then, is what they call

“!’m sorry for Tolliver,’ observed John Glory, “but
what in the dickens can I do? He’d take a lot less from
me, Weatherby, than he would from you. Anyhow, I
don’t like the way Tolliver sizes me\up. It grinds on the
family pride. I’m poor as a church mouse, just as he

/said, but I’ve got as much self-respect as Tolliver has.”

“You're a Glory,” insisted Weatherby, “and it’s up to
you to do something. It’s your duty. Come out to the
ranch—any .one in Phoenix can tell you where Bonita
Place is—and try to save the roof over the old man’s
head. You'll have to come this afternoon. If you don’t,
it will be too late. I’ll be on\ the lookout for you and
try——”

Weatherby did not finish what he was saying. He sud-
denly dropped out of sight behind the pile of ties and
crept away into some brush that bordered the railroad,
tracks near the siding.

Merriwell and Glory, astonished by this precipitate move,
looked around. Their astonishment immediately, vanished.
No less a person than this Doc Bixler was strolling
along the’ track from the direction of the railroad sta-

“NEW. TIP< TOP WEEKLY.

thing.”

tion. He was twirling a cane as he walked, and his eyes
were closely scanning the Cleansport.

tT.

Jupiter!” mutteted Merry.

“What’s the spook doctor
doing here?”

CHAPTER IV.
A WARNING.

Doc Bixler was a middle-aged man, in a black slotich
hat, a black frock coat, black trousers, and shiny, patent-
leather shoes. He dressed like a few so-called Southern-
ers whom Frank had seen—on the stage. :
for the character was all there, even to flow

Across his bosom

His make-up
ing necktie.
» Spanning the distance between the
two upper vest pockets, ran a prodigious gold chain. In
the center of an expanse of ruffled white shirt gleamed
a diamond stud about half the size of the Kohinoor. On
the fingers of each hand were rings whose settings gleamed
and sparkled as the doctor twirled his cane or manipu-
lated the cigar he was smoking, :
His projecting lower

: jaw suggested fir :
little, cl 88 mness, and his

close-set eyes reflected unmistakably a cunning and
an evil mind. His large red nose also hinted at a taste
for liquor that was indulged to excess.

‘You're. right, Chip,” commented Glory, ‘when Bixler
had come close enough so the two lads could get a good
Bes at him, “that juniper is a pill.” 2

“What gets my goat is that i :
that for himself,” Merriwell oe Son ee ort

“His mind must be failing;
account for it.”

“Cut out the talk!
Way.”

that’s the only way I can

Bixler sees us, and is heading this

Bixler had been surveying the
listening attentively to the sounds of ‘mirth that came
from within. Presently he turned away, caught sight of

the two on the pile of ties, and made straight in their
direction.

“May I inquire,”
voice, “if th
Athletes ?”

“What’s the use of inquiring,”
“when you’ve already found out w
by using your eyes?”

Glory was not at all diplomatic. On the contrary, he
was, blunt and to the point, and the distrust and ctritemit
which he felt for Doc Bixler were pretty plain. The
spook doctor pulled himself together with a jerk, and his
eyes narrowed to slits as he peered at Glory.

“Is that so!” he snapped. “You're pretty young and it
might pay you to keep a civil tongue between vate teeth.”

“I reckon you're next, all right, to the thin :
in this world.”

“You trying to start something, young man?”

“Not exactly. What I’d like to do is t¢

Private car curiously and

| said Doc Bixler, in a smooth, oily
at's the private car used by young Merriwell’s

returned John Glory,
hat you want to know

gs that pay’

Oo stop some-

“Looks mighty like you were trying to insult me.”
“I’m not worrying a whole lot about how it looks.”
“May I inquire if you are John Glory ?” aa
co may inquire, answered Glory, and let it go at
Doc Bixler lifted his cane and shook it at the lad
“You're an impudent young scalawag,” he growled “and
I know you’re Glory. I remember youry face ee dis-
tinctly now. You're trying to crawl add toady i Nir

s

 

 

     
    
   
 
     
 
 
 
 
 
    
    
 
 
  
    
  
   
   
  
   
  
   
   
  
    
  
  
    
  
     
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
    
  
  
    
     
   
   

 

 
ctor

uch
ont-
™n-
-up
the
In
ed
On

yu-

is

an

tv

re

Semen nan meet —
er ener gemeren

NT
ee

———

een a

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— oon

   

ee

. eed ig

 

Tolliver so you

Glory.

“for that.

can pull down a bunch of ‘his money
and——” ;

Glory was off the pile of ties like a flash. Merriwell
grabbed him by the coat tails just in time to keep him from
being struck by the cane.

“Why, you low-down, scheming crook!” cried the wtath-
ful Glory. “You're judging others by yourself. You
don’t crawl and toady in order to get at Tolliver’s dinero
—you go sneaking around behind this bogus Red Feather,
playing a poor, old man like you’d play a fish, and trying
to get him landed and strung. Oh, [’'m onto your game,
all right! You’d better sing small. Get that? T’ll take a
hand in this high jinks myself, and I reckon there are
ways to wind up your little ball of yarn!”

At first, Doc Bixler looked startled. He stepped
back, took his cane under his arm, pulled nervously at his
mustache, and stared hard at Glory. Finally a look of
realization broke over his face.

“Sam Weatherby has been at you with a bunch of lies!”
he exclaimed:

Glory drew a quick breath and got himself quickly in
hand. He knew then, when it was too late, that he had
recklessly involved the friendly Weatherby.

“This Weatherby you speak of may know what I do
about your little bag of tricks, but I reckon “he’s not the
only one.”

“He’s the one that lied’ about me to you,’
Bixler, showing his teeth like an angry wolf, “and you
can bet your life 1 know how to take care of him. As
for you, John Glory,’ Mr. Tolliver asked me to find you
and tell you that he hasn’t a particle of use for you or
your brother, If you have come to Phoenix to worm
yourself into his good graces i

“Which I haven't,” broke in Glory.
easy about that.” :

“Well, you can’t curry any favor with the old gentle-
man,” pursued Bixler. “He knows your game. -If you

went on

 

“Make yourself

‘try tO come out to the ranch, you'll get a hot reception.

You're a scheming upstart, and I’m just bringing you
Tolliver’s warning. Keep away from Bonita Place, my
bantam, or you'll be sorry.”

“Let me go, Chip!” said Glory, oking with rage and
trying to free himself of the hands that restrained him.

“Cut it out, John!” returned Frank. “What the ‘mis-
chief has got into you?”

“That’s the talk,” snarled Bixler, as he turned away.
“If you're a friend of his, you hold on to Glory. Don’t
let’ him try to come to the ranch. T guess that will be
about all.”

With a look that meant even'more than his words, Doc
Bixler started briskly off in the direction of the railroad
station.

“What got ‘into you, John?’ Frank asked, releasing
“You made a mess of things, and no mistake.
T never knew you to go off the handle like that before.”

“Weatherby was right,” flared Glory. “That fellow’s
a scoundrel, and you can see it sticking right out of him.

And he had the nerve 'to order me to keep away from
_ Tolliver’s
here to——’ ,

ranch!

”

If I thought Tolliver Glory sent him
“Well,” cut in Frank, “I wouldn’t take Bixler’s word

liver’s affairs and spoil that pretty scheme that’s being

worked. I'll bet something handsome that the spook doc-

NEW TIP TOP W

tor came here on his own ascabint, and that Tolliv er Glory

Probably Bixler is afraid you'll butt into Tol-_

     

 

2 ae

    

    

 
 

didn’t know a, thing about it.’
Glory looked dubious on that point.
“I wouldn’t put stich a move past Tolliver any, Chip,”
said he. “The old chap is down on me to beat the band.”
“You'll see Tolliver, won’t you?”

  
       
     
       
         
     
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
     
  
    
     
 
 
  
   
   
     
     

“N-n-o,” said the other slowly, shaking his head; “I
don’t think I will. Even if he flidn’t send Bixler ‘fee ’
with that warning, I know how the old fellow feels. I

won't give him a chance to humiliate me with any more
of that line of talk we got from Bixler.”

Frank smiled. ;

“You make a grand-stand play about wanting my ad-
vice,” he remarked, “and then, when I give it, you won’t
take it.”

“You advise me to go out to Bonita Place?”

“Maybe you can talk with Tolliver Glory before he
leaves town to return to the ranch. Weatherby said the —
buckboard and team had been left. at the Commercial |
House corral. Go over there, get a line. -on where. you -
can find Tolliver, then face the music for a short inter-
view, anyhow. Perhaps you won’t have such a rough time
ae it as you think,” .

ut Glory’s pride held him back. His face was: flushed,

and a de fiant, angry light burned in his. eyes, -
he growled, “I don’t: see why I’ve got: to-
he exclaimed. - “If Tolliver would
I—I might do something I'd

“Hang it,’
knuckle ¢

come at me

down to him!’
as Bixler did,
be sorry for.”

“Bosh! You don’t want to.see these shysters skin the —
old man out of every dollar he has in the world, do you? —
Why, Glory, he might have to spend his last days in some
old soldiers’ home!’ }

“He'd be beneme it'on himself; wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe he’s so well along in years that he’s childish,
and easily imposed upon. It makes me crawl just to think
that this underhanded schemer has already swindled. Tol-
liver ott of five thousand dollars—and can’t be satisfied
with that.” 4

“Weatherby may be wrong,” parried Glory, trying des-
perately to find some excuse for keeping away from Tol-
liver. “How do we know he’s got the right of it, Chip?”

“Just the looks of Bixler is enough for me. Now that
we've met and talked with the man, it’s a cinch that he’s’
a crook. I'd trust- Weatherby a hundred times where I’d
trust Bixler once. It’s a matter of duty for you to stand
by Tolliver, and the fact that it’s a disagreeable . duty —
you's let you out.’

3ut | dectitas Glory passionately, “that I
couldn’t do a. thing—that Tolli iver Glory wouldn’t let me
do. a  thing—to help. him.’

“Help him, in spite of that.”

“Not. I! If you were in my shoes, Chip, I reckon you
could pull we thing off, but it’s too much for me. After
our talk with Weatherby I was half inclined to see wha
I could oc e now that Bixler has put in his oar, I've |
about come to the conclusion that I’d better keep clear ~
of the mix-up.”

_ “Bixler will think he has scared you ont.”
_“Humph!”

Frank had another argument.

“If you don’t owe it to Tolliver, Glory,” said he, “you
certainly owé it to Weatherby to do what you can to.
straighten out matters at- Bonita Place. You were worked!
up, and you said too much to Bixler, ee: will

        
     
      
     
     
     
    

know,”

     
 

  

 
   
        
  

 
 

as

 
      
  
 

  

   
     
    
 
   
    
   
    
   
 
 
  

 
 

     
   

  

    

  

  
       
4

g NEW TIP T

lose his job, all right, for Bixler didn’t have to guess very
hard in order to know that Weatherby had been talking
to you. Help Tolliver, and you're helping Weatherby.
Get that?”

“By criminy!’ murmured Glory, at last impressed by
Frank’s efforts at persuasion.- “I do owe something to
Sam Weatherby, and that’s a fact. Will you go with me
to see Tolliver?”

“T still think it would be best for you to /see the old
gentleman alone, but I’ll tag aléng, if you really want
me to.”

“T won’t go unless you'll go with me. You've got a good
head, and that’s what I need. If Tolliver lit into me, I’d
probably go all to pieces. If that happens, and you're
along, you can sit down on me. Let’s hustle for \the
corral and get it over with!”

“Wait till I tell Rufus where I’m going,” Frank an-
swered, and hurried to the car.

He went into the matter with the Yale man as briefly
but as concisely as possible; considering the limited time
at his disposal.

“Your judgment is good, as usual, Chip,” declared Hor-
ton. “Take John to Tolliver Glory if you have to carry
him and don’t leave the old soldier until you’ve accom-
plished something. It’s a good work, and one that can’t
be left/ undone. Stay with it. If you’re not back at the
car until Monday morning, I’ll understand. And if you)
should need help, just get word to me. Good-by, and good
luck!”

Horton wrung Merriwell’s hand encouragingly, and the
captain of the team was well pleased to have his course
so heartily approved by the manager. Chip was resolved
to do everything possible for Tolliver Glory.

CHAPTER V.
ON THE TRAIL.

The Commercial House corral occupied a block diag-
onally across the street from the hotel which gave it its
name. The place was not very far from the railroad
yards, and Merriwell and Glory were not long in reach-
ing it.

But they were doomed to. disappointment.
Glory’s team and buckboard were gone.

“Did Mr. Glory go back to his ranch?” Frank inquired,
of the proprietor of the corral.

“That’s where he said he was going,” was the answer,
“and that’s the way the cayuses were pointed when the
tig left here.”

“Did he go alone?”

“He had his pard along—that spook doctor, who ’pears
to have made such a hit with Glory durin’ the last few
weeks.”

“Do you know Sam Weatherby?”

“Well, some. He was on the front seat, doin’ the
drivin’.” Z Ry

Merriwell was glad to hear this. ‘Sam had not yet felt
the weight of Bixler’s wrath.

“How do you go to reach Bonita Place?” Frank con-
tinued. :

“Take the road to the Injun school, then turn into the
road that crosses in front of the school. After that, turn
to the left on the first north-and-south road you come to.
You couldn’t' miss Bonita Place if you tried.”

“Could we hire a couple of. saddle horses here?”

Tolliver

     

 

.

OP WEEKLY.
“Sure thing, kid! Going out to Glory’s ?” ~
Frank nodded. The proprietor ordered one of his em-

ployees to make two riding horses ready, and then turned

back for a little further talk with Frank.

“One of Merriwell’s Athletes, ain’t you?” he asked.

“He’s Merriwell himself,” spoke up Glory. “Young
Frank, otherwise Chip—because he’s a chip off the old
block.” :

“Well, well!” The corral keeper sized Merry up with
a doting eye. “I got acquainted with your Uncle ‘Dick
when he was in these parts, and with that nervy Texan,
Brad Buckhart. Those two sure stirred things up out in
the hills—and you helped ’em a whole lot, son. My name’s
Dusenberry. How? Glad to know you, Chip Merriwell.”

Frank laughingly took the corral keeper’s hand, and
then presented Glory. The name of Frank’s companion
caught Dusenberry’s attention at once.

“Related to old Tolliver?” he

“Yes,” said Glory.

“Goin’ out to Bonita Place to look into things?”

It was impossible to resent Dusenberry’s interest: in
their business, the fellow was so genial and good-natured.

“John, here, hasn’t seen very much of Tolliver for a
long time,” Merry spoke up, “and he thought he might as
well go out and see how the old gentleman is getting
along.”

“It’s high time somebody did that,” proceeded Dusén-
berry, lowering his voice. “This Doc Bixler has suré got
a stranglehold on Tolliver. Either of you ever been to
Bonita Place before?”

“No,”

“It's only about three miles out. The house is an old
adobe, and in the early days it used to be a gamblin’
house. Run by greasers, it was, and it got a mighty hard
name. Many a man, they say, went into that adobe and
never came out,./There’s holes in the -mud walls, and
secret passages and hidden rooms till you can’t rest. |
don’t reckon Tolliver himself knows all the ins and outs
of that old house of his, and he’s been livin’ in it. ten Se
fifteen years. It was forty or fifty years ago that the
Mexicans used it as a gamblin’ joint, and it was plumb
deserted up to the time Tolliver came along and bought
it, along with a mess of water rights, and set out his
orange grove. Wisht I knew more about the place, so’s
I could put you wise.. I reckon Doc Bixler is next to the
hidden doors, and rooms, and passages.”

“How does it happen that Bixler is so well acquainted
with the house at Bonita Place?” inquired Frank very
much interested.

“The way I get it is this: Doc Bixler has an old Mex-
ican on his string, and he’s one that had something to do
around the adobe when it was a gambling rendezvous
Old Juan, they say, introduced Bixler to ‘parts of the
premises that Toll Glory never knew—and don’t know
now—ever existed? That’s common talk around town
son. I allow, when these séances are going on, that Red
Feather walks out of a concealed hole in the wall, so
that the mysteries of the place helps to bamboozle the
owner a heap. I’ve heard it said that old Juan himself is
Red Feather.”

Dusenberry threw back his head and beg

“Ain’t it plumb ridiculous,” he asked, “that anybod
in this day and age of the world, ‘could get the Wale
pulled over their eyes with such tom foolishness ?”

“I should think that a man with arly sense could see

queried.

an to laugh,

me

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
 

 

 

 

   
   
  

  

~ Frank, “before you headed back toward the car.

 

NEW

through such a skin game as that,” said Glory, with some
heat.

“Tolliver is sensible enough about other things, and
don’t you go for to think he ain’t. He’s fifty years be-
hind the times, though, and seems to have forgotten that
the little trouble between the States has all been settled
and smoothed over. You’d think, though, to hear Toll
Glory talk sometimes, that the news had just come that
Sumter had been fired on. It’s tur’ble to be such a back
number. You take my advice, kid,” and here the pro-
prietor of the corral laid a friendly hand on Glory’s shoul-
der, “and pick-this craftin’ scheme of Bixler’s to pieces.
Tolliver is a pretty good sort, and lots of folks in this
town hate to see him imposed upon.”

“Tf Tolliver has friends here,”
haven’t some of them interfered?”

“What’syeverybody’s business, my boy, is generally no-
body’s busitMgs. And then, again, it’s a right hard prop-
osition for. an outsider to handle. Tolliver sets a heap of
store by Bixler, Red Feather & Co., and it’s as much as a
friend’s scalp is worth to butt in with any advice. But
you're a relative. It’s different with you.”

Glory winced and looked away. Just then the saddle
horses were led up, and Merriwell and Glory mounted.

“I’m mighty sorry that game with the Hassayampers
wasn’t pulled off this afternoon,” went on Dusenberry, as
the boys gathered up their reins. “I’m a fan proper, and
I druther see a baseball game than eat. The hull town
is looking forward to the rest of the doings, though.”

“When we get started,” returned Frank pleasantly, “we’ll
try and make the events interesting for the spectators.”

“No discount on that. Your team’s the kind to make
our local athletes do their prettiest. So long!’*

He waved his hand and the boys trotted out of the
corral. There was not much talking until after they had
left the town behind and were galloping along the fine
road that led toward the Indian school.

The horses were not much in the matter of looks, but
they were well-gaited, and the saddles swayed as gently
as a couple of rocking-chairs.

“T reckon Dusénberry thinks that about all I have to do
is to Say hello to Tolliver, and then put a bug in his ear
that will do the business for. Bixler,” remarked Glory.
“If he only knew the real circumstances, I think his mind
would run in a different channel. You had ordered the
horses for the ride to Bonita Place, ‘Chip, before I had
really made up my mind to follow Tolliver’s trail.”

“Thought I’d better get you started, old chap,” returned
This 4s

asked Glory, “why

the right thing for you to do.”
-l’m a fine little peacemaker, I am!
te, as though Id like to fight.”
mank grinned. “Sidetrack the feeling, John. If you
'}, you and I -will have to come together, and that
Sy in’t be pleasant.”
) ot for me,” agreed Glory, laughing.
PM Holliver Glory is tangled up in a fine row of stumps.
» more I hear about the situation, the worse it becomes.
tly everybody in town seems to know what’s going

I feel, right this

nd nobody has the nerve to try and stop it! That has
left for me.”
wouldn’t miss this for a farm!” declared Frank en-
"istically. “Hidden rooms, secret passages, concealed

oors—say, John, that’s all mighty interesting. I’ve

 

often wanted to be in a house of that kind) but it’s never
been my luck. There was an old house in“New Haven
that dad told me about once. It was something on that
order. A lot of Yale fellows boarded there, and one of
the bunch got next to a secret passage that led into’a
professor’s room, This chap made use of the passage to
get some examination papers, or something.”

“Do you suppose Dusenberry was giving us the right
of it, or just a lot of hot air? It doesn’t seem reasonable
that there should be a house of that kind out here in
Arizona.”

“When a lot of Mexicans are mixed up in a deal, you
can’t always tell what they’ll do with their houses. A

gambling joint is a pretty tough sort.of a place, anyway.

And this gambling, you remember, was carried on in the
tough old times when a man’s life was hardly safe in these
parts. Oh, I'll bet we're going to have an interesting
visit at Tolliver Glory’s!”

“Interesting, but darned unpleasant,” grumbled the other.
“That must be the Indian school, right ahead, eh?”

They had passed ranch houses and alfalfa fields, and
were now close to a big building that was set well back
from the road. Agreeably to instructions, they swerved
to the right and passed directly in front of the school.

In the big yard could be seen several farm wagons, with -

horses unhitched and fastened to the rear of each ve-
hicle. Little bonfires glowed here and there, and squaws
could be seen slapping tortillas between their hands and
laying them over hot stones to bake.

“Some of the redskins have come to visit the. scholars,”
remarked Frank. “I’d like to go in there and look things
over if we had time.”

They turned to the left at the next north-and-south
trail and came presently to a gate over which was a board
arch bearing the words, “Bonita Place.”

“I should say we couldn’t miss it,’-spoke up Glory.

The old adobe, like the Indian school, was placed . far
back from the road, and trees and shrubbery concealed it
from view. Just as Frank dismounted to open the gate,
a couple of youngish, swarthy-faced chaps appeared as if
by magic and barred the way.

“You ain’t to go in here,” said one of the two truc-
ulently.

“Why not?” Frank demanded, drawing back.

“’Cause we've got orders to keep you out. Sabe that?” °

Frank stared for a moment, and then rode over and
hitched his horse to the fence beside the gate.

“Come on, John,” he called. “These chaps want a: set-
to, and it looks as«though we’d have to accommédate
them.”

CHAPTER VI.
A SURPRISE.

John Glory, as Frank very well knew, had plenty of
courage. He also understood how to use his fists and
would give a good account of himself in a clash. Piling
out of his saddle with alacrity, he hitched his horse be-
side. Frank’s.

Frank was not bluffing, although he hoped, by present-

   

TIP TOP WEEKLY. = 5

—

ing a resolute front to the guardians of the gate, to effect

an entrance into the yard without an actual resort. to
force. But the force was to be used, if necessary.

The’ two youths who had so suddenly appeared to
dispute the way were two or three years older than Mer-

  
    

PIP

 

looked
ly é to indi-
é that they were | har ids Evcclowee about the premises.
“Ti that’s your lay,”
“IL guess you'll find that we’re a handful.
» in front of you, Aly’ the fellow added, to his companion,
“and I'll’ look: after the one that’s facing me.”

“Pil keep up my end, Bob, and don’t never think I
can't spell able,” Al responded. “This here’s more fun
than.1 reckoned we'd get out of it. I only hope they
last long enough to make us think we’re doing some-
- thing.”

Al doubled his right fist and began to saw the air with
it by way of “warming up.” As he pushed the fist back
and forth, he patted the rolling bunch of muscles under
his sleeve with his left hand.

“Ain't had a fight since I don’t know when,” he chuckled.
_ “Steady, you old block o’ fives,” he added, looking at the
moving fist. “Just wait till that) good-lookin’ kid comes
close, then spile his beauty for him.”

Al, it seemed, was to be Merrtwell’s antagonist. Merry
flash in his eyes which Al,
athlete better, might have

  

said one of them, readily enough,

Mind the chap

“was smiling, but there was a
if he had known the young
translated. as a storm signal.
“We come here peaceably,” temporized Frank,
a little call’ on Tolliver Glory.”
“We sabe the reason you come here, all right,” jeered
‘Bob, “and there won’t be anything peaceable about that
there little call if you keep on trying to make it.”

“Orders are orders,” added Al, “and we draw down our
month’s pay carrying ’em out.”
“Who told you not to let us pass the gate?”
“Doc Bixler,’ was the reply.
_ “What right has Bixler got try ing to keep
‘Tolliver Glory’s property 2”
_ “We get our orders from Doc mostly, and what he says
 gen’rally goes. Eh, Al?”
_ “Surest thing you know,,
don’t somebody start something 2?”
3 ingly.
_ “All right,” responded Frank cheerfully, “here we go.”
- He put up his hands in approved fashion and danced
oward Al. ‘Glory, at the same time, started for Bob.
- *Giad T came, Chip,” called Glory. ‘Were going to get
a little fun out of this, after all.”

_ “Begins to look like we was plumb tickled, all around,”
- étied Bob. “Here’s a sample, kid. The real thing will

- be along in a minute.”

“to make

anybody off

Bob,” returned Al. “Why

He swung on Glory. The latter ducked like lightning

   
 
 
 

  

ua a fell Peavity to the ground, and found himself, for
the | moment, hors de combat and peering at Bob, hung

 
 

x “Gee ” puffed Al, chat was sudden! What kind of a
y is that, to fight ?” he demanded, looking at Merry.
didn’t you. stand atl so’st I could get at you?”

TOP

_as Bob had remarked, but there was lan interruption just

he finished complain- -

    

WEEKLY,
“Get up and try again, Al,” he invited. “T’ll wait for }
you next time.”

“Drop off the gate, Bob,” urged Glory. “Weve got a i
few more tricks up our sleeves.
well show you what Merriwell’s Athletes can do when
they try real hard.”

Al was just struggling erect, but suddenly he
down again.

Come at us again and

dropped A
Athletes?” he returned. “Say, you. ain’t
never two of that bunch!’

“That's how it happens,”
Merriwell’s foot you ran into, Al,
Tolliver is my granduncle, so to speak.”

“Grand ballyhack!” snortéd. Bob: . “I reckon Al and .s
me can stick a feather in our caps if we put you two stars
on the mat.”

“Make it a #ed feather, Bob,” suggested Merriwell.

“T'll make it a good night for you!” ave trod” Al, again We
on his feet. “Right now’s when you go down and take the
count, Chip. Merriwell. Rouse mit ’em, Bob!”

“Cut loose, Al.’

Certainly they were a pleasant pair of dntagonists, and
they might have proved a “handful” for Merry and Glory,

“Merriwell’s

went on Glory. “It was Chip.

 

at that moment.
The gate opened, and no less a person than Tolliver
Glory himself ‘stepped into view. He was a spry old man
in spite of his stooping form; his wrinkled face and his
scant gray locks. There was a heavy cane in his hand,
and he slid one hand along it so as to use it for a weapon
in case of need. i
“Here, here!” he piped shrilly, “What does this mean?
Al and Bob, you pesky young hornets, what’re you fight-,
ing about?”
Al-and Bob, the moment they caught\ sight of the old |
man, had suddenly become very meek and peaceable.
They exchanged quick glances, and then Bob nodded as
though to leave explanations to Al, |
“These here dubs happened along and picked a fight
with us, Mr. Glory,” ‘said Al. “We wasn’t doing a thing,
honest.”
Tolliver sniffed,
“Likely yarn, I must say,” he returned. “You two boys - :
are getting altogether too hostile to suit me. Tell me the |
truth, one or the other of you!”
He caught his cane by the head, and emphasized ‘the vs
order by bringing it smart] y down on the ground. sh
“He’s lying about it, Mr. Glory,” spoke up Frank, ‘Gust |
as you have already guessed. My friend and I came here
to Bee you, and they barred the way and wouldn't let
us in? f
“That’s a pretty howdedo, I must say!” quavered Tobi
liver. Glory, his face reddening with anger. “I’m expe ¥
ing ¢allers from town, and you louts wouldn’t let ‘em @
to see me. If it wasn’t for Bixler, by gorry, I’d hav
charged you long ago! Now, you take yourselves 0 bs
get to your work. D’ you hear? Nice pass thing
coming to, when I’m not allowed to run my own ’
Make off; Al, you and Bob, and attend tecthat: dit
Lucky thing I happened to be in the yard, and saw ©
was. going on,’
Al started to say something, but Bob shook his
at him;. then, silently but reluctantly, the two :
through the gate and disappeated among the trees.
liver turned and peered at Merriwell.

 

   
    

 

My name’s Glory, and a

   
    
     
 
 
    
  
    
        
       
   
   

  
  
  
        
   
   
   
  
    
  
   
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
    
   
  
 
      
   
   
 
  
   
   
    
  
  
        
  

the
no

gi
Pi

the
gu
gu
on

sta
tht
Gl

an
sol

val
thi

thi
lor
Be
fre
the
we

yo!
ha
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

From what had passed, Frank gathered that Tolliver

Glory himself knew nothing apout Bixler’s orders to bar

the way against the two Athletes.. And Al and Bob had
not thought best to explain to Tolliver that Bixler had
given any such orders. Here, it seemed, was a specimen

_of the way Doc Bixler was managing affairs at Bonita
Place.

“Those are your horses tied to the fence, eh?” went on
the old man. “Unhitch, and lead them up to the house. I
guess my gate ain’t closed against friends from town; I
guess it hasn’t come to that around here, just yet. Come
on in, friends!”

With an angry push, he flung the gate wide, and then
stamped heavily away down the tree-bordered drive,
thumping the cane savagely in the gravel as he went.
Glory turned a look of amazement ‘on Merriwell.

“Well, I’ll be dashed!” muttered Glory.

“Hard time you’ve got, John,” chuckled Frank, “getting
an interview with him?”

“It’s so easy, Chip, that there must be something wrong
somewhere.” ~

“Well, here’s our chance, and we'd better take ad-
vantage of it before Bixler happens along and complicates
things. Bring your horse.”

The animals were unhitched from the fence and led
through the gate. The drive was perhaps a hundred yards
long, and was bordered with umbrella and pepper trees.
Between the trees were rosebushes in full bloom. The
fragrance of the roses lent an entrancing atmosphere to
the mysteries of the ancient adobe whose front the lads
were rapidly approaching.

There was a broad porch, shady and inviting, and be-
yond the porch was a wide-open door. Tolliver Glory
had reached the doorway, and he stood there waiting.

“Hitch to the posts, friends,” he called tremulously,
“and then come on in. .I was expecting you.”

Glory, after making his horse secure, drew a dazed hand
across his forehead. oe

“Have I been mistaken all these years?” he murmured.
“Or is this just a plain dream? Pinch me, Chip!”

“No dream about this,” answered Frank. “Queer how
yeu got so far off the track regarding. Tolliver Glory!”

“Suppose,” whispered Glory, “it—it’s a trap?”

“That old man lay a trap? John, you ought to think
better of your relatives than that. He’s just hospitable,
that’s all, and he’s doing the honors of the old ‘house in
a way that makes a big hit with me.”

The old man ushered the boys along a cool, dark hall,
and then into a’ room whose walls were piled high with
books. Screened windows were open, and a refreshing
breeze played through the room. ;

“I'm pestered by those two fellows, Al and Bob,”
grumbled Tolliver. “They’re good workers, but it’s get-
ting so I don’t seem to be the boss here at all. I’m mighty

sorry you had any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,’ said Frank, his eyes’ on a big
American flag draped over one of the bookcases.

“Wonder where I put my specs?” muttered Tolliver,
groping over the table with his hands,. “My eyes ain’t

-as good as they used to be. They say when a man\ gets

eld enough that he gets his second vision.
% _seventy-four,” and he gave a cackling laugh. “Only sey-
-enty-four,” he added. “Ah, here they are!”

But I’m only

pectacles,
and carefully adjusted them to his nose. Then he turned.

“I suppose you’re Mr. Murdock, and you’ve come to see
me -about that fencing, and——” He paused, startled.
“But, no, you’re not Murdock,’ he added, and turned to
Glory. The next moment he straightened to his full
height and shook a trembling finger under Glory’s nose.
“You young whippersnapper!” he shrilled. “What do you
mean by coming here, to my house?”

CHAPTER VII.
A WARM RECEPTION.

Frank, in a flash, understood that peculiar situation.
Tolliver Glory was expecting a man named Murdock from
Phoenix to talk with him about some fencing. He sup-
posed that one of his callers was Murdock. ~ Not having.
his glasses with him, at the gate, his poor eyesight failed
to reveal the real identity of the callers. So he had fn-
wittingly welcomed the youth against whom he cherished
such an unjust resentment.

It was an odd mistake. And the consequences promised
to be unpleasant.

Young Glory had also divined the cause of the old man’s
error. He jumped to his feet and pushed away the ex-
cited hand that was shaking in front of his face.

“Uncle,” said he, in a voice almost as unsteady as that
of the old veteran, “I didn’t come here because I——”

“Don’t call me your uncle, you rebel’s son!” cut in Tol-

liver wildly.. “Don’t you call me your uncle!”

John seemed on the point of losing his temper, but a
keen look, from Frank steadied him.

“Yow were my father’s uncle, Tolliver Glory,” said he.

“You may not enjoy the fact, but it’s a fact, all the same.” |

“You're a son of the son of that secessionist who came
to capture me with a rebel militia company,” quavered
Tolliver Glory. “Brother was set against brother, and
it was your grandfather, John Glory, who tried to tear
down that flag—the flag of his country!” : ;

The old man, shaking in body and limb, stretched out

_ an arm and pointed to the Stars and Stripes.

“Am I responsible for what my grandfather tried to~
do?” demanded John, his voice husky with feeling. “It’s
enough for me to know that my father died in Cuba, fight-
ing for the old flag; and I'd fight for it’ myself till I
dropped, just as that other Glory, whom we both honor,
went to his fate with Davy Crockett in the Alamo!”

Merriwell wanted to applaud John Glory for that heat
little speech. It was pat, and to the point, and it did
young Glory infinite credit. Better still, it made a deep
impression on Tolliver.

The old man started to talk, but the words died on his

of water, but took only a swallow of it., Then he sat
down, and he seemed so frail and weak with his seventy-
four years that Merriwell’s heart was touched. So young
Glory’s must have keen, for there were tears in the lad’s
eyes. iis
“Uncle,” John continued brokenly, “let the Glory who
died in the Alamo and the Glory who died in Cuba wipe
out the differences that came between you and your
brother. My grandfather fell at Lookout Mountain, and.
you lived to come out of the war with honor and credit.
Fifty years is a long time to hold a grudge against a

'

lips. He turned to the table and poured himself a glass’ ne,

   
   
  
   
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
    
  
   
  
   
  
   
   
   
 
   
    
 
 
 
 
   
    
   
  
    
   
  

WAI

a

     
    
   
      
     
 
     
        
 
    
     
        
     
 

}
Pe

        
  
  

, Trienc That's. all i” want.
My father tried 1 to make his peace with you, and f{’d like
to carry out his wishes. I am poor, and so is my brother,
but nothing could hire me to take a cent of your
All I want is your friendship. The last of the
ought to stand together. Don’t you think so?”
Then and there the old disagreement might have been
settled. Young Glory, never looking so fine and strong in

money.
Glorys

Frank’s eyes as he did then, stood before the old veteran
_with outstretched hand, Tolliver was wrestling with him-
self; his own blood was calling to him, and it did not
seem possible that he could fail to heed the call. But at
that critical moment some one came rushing into the
+ room.

“Ah, *Dan!”’ almost whimpered Tolliver,

seemed like a spasm of relief,
_ tight time. Dan,
' and———”
- “What is he doing here?” thundered Bixler. “What
right has the grandson of the rebel who would have
taken you, years ago, to come into your house? Beware
of him! Remember what the control said, Tolliver! it
means much to you.”

“Don't get put out about it, Dan,” pleaded Tolliver
Glory, cringing before the scoundrelly Bixler in a way that
fired Merriwell’s blood, “I didn’t have my glasses—there
was trouble at the gate—Al and Bob were cutting up
‘ rough—seems like I haven’t anything to say about this
placé any more, I was expecting. Murdock from town,
. about the fencing, and I thought these two young fel-
lows were Murdock and a friend. I didn’t know I had
- made a mistake until I got into the ‘house with them and
ae on my glasses.” ;

Frank and: John were both on their feet and ee
tick He shot a fiery glance at the boys~—a glance im
cr hate and determination were equally mingled.
“You're playing a sneaking game here,” flared young
ag ‘and this is about where you get off. If 1 can get
to town in time, J’ll have a warrant out for you before
a night. You're a crook, Bixler, and the meanest kind of
a crook. You're imposing on that old man, there 4§
“Stop, . John!” cried Tolliver. “You're speaking to one
of my best friends, to a man who has powers that you
és ise know nothing about! You Ah, the control—the con-
- trol. is coming!”
_ The old man’s voice faded away in awe and fear. Bix-
~ der’s eyes had begun to roll in his head. He oad
to be bracing himself for some terrific strain. His arms
fell limply at his sides, and he crumpled into a chair.

       
     
       
     
        
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
   
   
  
 
  
   
   
   
  
   
  
    
   
 
  
   
 
       
      
 
      
         
     
 
       
  

with what
“you got here at just the
this is my-—-my relative, John Glory;

 

 

The

  

ie reached the chair, and could drop into it safely.
man’s chin, fell forward on his breast.

gs Merriwell stared. The old soldier, wide-eyed and pal-
pitating with excitement, lifted one hand.

"Be quiet,” he whispered. “An important message is
about to comme. We ate on the threshold of vast mys-
teries; so be silent, and listen.”

Tolliver dropped into a chair by the table, and leaned

  
 
 

forward, with both shaking hands on the table edge.; His
fixed eyes stared at Bixler
ott was a weird, almost an ee eey, scene. The sun,

 

‘quired Tolliver Glory.

Baal Merriwell noticed that he was careful to back up until

      
         
     
   
   
       

Merrivell

pitiable

would haye laughed outright, had not the
of the tottering veteran excited more
He glanced at young Glory.
a rapt expression, was staring and waiting.
called Tolliver, his thin voice

credulity
of indignation’ than of mirth.
The lad, with

“Is—is Red Feather here?”
pitched high.
came an answer, apparently in the room and yet
from a place which it was. difficult to locate. It echoed
through the book-walled apartment in muffled, eerie tones.

“Ugh Ur-r-r! Red Feather come to white brother.
Red Feather wanted heap bad to come all day! Got um
plenty to say. .Ugh!”

A startled expression crossed young Glory’s face. Frank
saw only the deluded old veteran, thé*folds of the old flag
rippling over the tier of books behind him. It seemed
such a cruel imposition, on the part of Bixler, that Frank’s
blood raced hot in his veins.

“What do you want to tell me, Red Feather ?” asked the
old man. “Speak, I am_ listening!”

“I want to tell um white brother John Glory heap bad
medicine,’ continued the mysterious voice. “White
brother no let um be friends. Me know! Ugh! It is
better white brother drive him ’way. Make um take trail .
back to town. Young :Glory want um money of white \
brother. Young Glory talk with two tongues!” i

The startled expression passed from John Glory’s face.
Fierce anger took its place. Unable to locate the speaker f
who had slandered him, the boy seemed:on the point of I

Then

leaping at the.bowed form of Bixler. He caught Frank’s
eye, and it restrained him.

“Have you anything else to tell me, Red Feather?” in-

There was no answer. Bixler began to quiver, as though
he was on the point of reviving. Of course, it was all
make-believe, but it was pretty well done, considering.

“Red, Feather!” pleaded the old man. i

Then Merriwell sired his head. He knew mighty little ti
about Red Feather, but he saw a chance to use his powers Salto
of ventriloquism, and, perhaps, create another kind of, H
sentiment in Tolliver Glory. Vay

“Ugh! Wow! Red Feather come back !” 1

Apparently it was the same muffled voice—in the room,
yet difficult to locate the exact spot from whence it came
Bixler stopped his shaking, and his head once more |
dropped. forward on his breast. The machinery of decep-, |
tion was working queerly, he no doubt thought, but the t
safest ae for him was to continue in a “trance.” i

“Go on,” called Tolliver. “I am listening.” pe iat

“Red Feather make um heap big mistake,” resumed the ;
voice. “John, Glory: him fine young brave, Bixler heap
bad! Try to get um money from white brother. You
make um Bixler take back trail to town, muy pronto!
You-—”

Then Bixler forgot himself, He “came to” with a
rush, and bounded out of his chair. The astounded old
soldier had flung his hands to his head, and was star 2
in bewilderment at the sharper.

“It’s a lie!” yelled Bixler,
speaking that last time!”

“Why, Dan!” exclaimed Tolliver. “T thought you.
you never heard what was said by Red Feather when
were under control? I thought”

“There’s a hocus- -pocns, Tolliver 1” went on he ex
oe Bixiee er

eth

 
 

“That wasn’t Red —"

  

   
    

        
rt ee

‘of the law could be set in motion, and Doc

flung the sent open and sprang out into the daylight.

of the trance. What
He went away.

that last—I just coming out
Red Feather
It wasn’t Red Feather who came back.”

what the control

was
told you first was the truth.

first

e

“How said the
time?”

Tolliver Glory, in spite of his credulity, was quick to
scent discrepancies in the little performance
staged’ by Bixler. Now, with force and power, he was
pressing his arguments home.

“Peterson! Tadeo! Al! Bob!”
ing his voice. “Now is the time!”

Merriwell caught sight of a burly form climbing in at
each of the two windows. The screens had been torn
aside, and the yines crashed as the men upon whom Bixler
had called began climbing hastily into the room.

“Too many against us, John!” shouted Merriwell.
get back to town, what to do!
way!”

Bixler made a grab at Frank
door leading into the hall.

do you know

wretched

went on Bixler, liit-

“Let’s
and we'll know This
as he rushed toward the

Frank struck the viciously
with a
and

managed to get from

gripping hand out of the way and flung its owner,
violent push, against the Then, in. the
confusion, Frank and young Glory
the room and into the hall.

The front door

table, noise

slammed and a key clicked in the lock.

The exit, in that direction, was closed, and a, form was
on guard. The sun struck a gleam from a bit /of polished
steel.

“We can’t get out by the front door, Glory,” said Mer-
riwell. “It’s locked and guarded by a man with a
Let’s try the other way!” }

They dashed down the hall toward the rear of the
house. Voices were calling excitedly, and a tramp of
many feet could be heard in half a dozen different direc-
tions. But the two boys raced on, trusting to luck to
show them a way out of the snare.

CHAPTER VIII.
BIXLER SCORES A POINT.

Merriwell was more than pleased by what he and Glory
had accomplished during theis short stay at Bonita Place.
John had made a very good impression upon the old vet-
eran,.and Frank had given a twist to Bixler’s juggling
which had come near to healing the breach.that had ex-
isted for so long in the Glory family.

The main thing now, Frank
from the ranch and return to Phoenix.

believed, was to get away

The machinery
3ixler would
very soon find himself in troubled waters.

Bixler certainly had realized his danger. He must have
talked. with Al and Bob, and learned from them that Mer-
riwell and young Glory had been met at the gate by Tol-
liver, and personally conducted into the house.

Then, with the success of his evil schemes threatened,
he had marshaled all the forces loyal to himself, laid
down a hasty plan of campaign, and hurried to the room
where the old man was receiving his callers.

Frank “inderstood that Bixler’s purpose was to prevent
hitn and John Glory from getting away from Bonita Place.’
By quick work, therefore, Prank hoped to evade ane clos-
ing jaws of the trap.

At the rear of the hall. was a door, which proved to
be unlocked. Frank, who was leading the flight by a yard}

NEW TIP TOP

gun. ,

about a minute!”

    
     
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
   
  
   
     
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
    
 
    
  
    
    
        
         
     
       
     
       
     
 

   

TS

But, sithougtl the boys ‘had left the house, the walls of
the structure ‘still ‘imprisoned them. The door through
which they had passed had led them into a patio, or court,
every side of which was bordered with a wall.

The court was square, and measured some fifty feet
along each side. On three sides it was hemmed in by
the upright and two wings of the adobe house, while
the rear was barred by a high fence.

Doors opened into the court from the wings of the
house, but Frank paid no attention to the doors. Instead,
he rushed toward the rear of the square inclosure.

“We've got to get over that fence, Glory!” he called.

“There’s a gate in the fence,” the other answered. “Why
not use that, Chip?”

While the words were still on Glory’s lips, the gate he
had mentioned was jerked open, and Al and Bob darted °
into the patio.

“That’'ll:do for you fellows!”
you are!”

“Things are different, this time, from what they were ©
before, Chip Merriwell!” seconded Al. “You be good,
or there'll be fireworks!”

Yes, certainly things

shouted Bob. “Stop where —

were different. Now Bob and Al
were armed with revolvers, and were backing up their de-—
mands with a threatening display of the weapons.
Merriwell exercised discretion, and did. not continue on
€ ~ .
toward the Some boxes and barrels were piled
against the wall on the right side of the court, and a
door close to the wall was swinging wide and offering a

fence.

refuge.

“Here, John!” called Frank.

In a twinkling, Frank had dropped on his knees behind
the boxes and barrels and was availing himself of their
protection while he crawled toward the doore , John was
tight at his heels as he executed this maneuver.

Angry yells ‘broke from Bob and Al. Their weapons
barked spitefully and a bullet or two slapped into the bar- |
rier that shielded Merriwell and Glory. Bixler’s men/
crossed, the court at a run, but before they could get
around the pile of boxes and barrels the two boys had \
darted into the wing of the house and had slammed the —
door shut behind them. Frank shoved a heavy bolt into
its socket, and stood leaning edie the door and breath-—
ing heavily. !

 

“Here’s a go, Chip!” murmured Glory. “This is a

storeroom, and the only door is the one behind you. The
windows are about a foot square, there ‘are only three,
and they’re barred on the outside,”

Merriwell gave vent to a grim laugh.

“We're ‘the fire in from the frying pan out? as Villam
would sa he remarked. “Tough luck, Glory! And it
had to happen just as we were getting things ‘to come
our way.’

“I wish I had Bixler where I could get at him for

“I'd give a good deal if we were out in the trail, with
our horses under us, and a clear road back to Phoenix.

sut there’s no use polbiee our heads off over something
we can’t help.”

“Not a bit of use,” said Glory. “We rtished in here
and locked ourselves up—and saved Bixler the trouble,
He ought to be grateful for that, and leave us alone heh
a while. , Red Feather doesn’t seem to be reliable,” ws ent.
on the lad, shifting the subject. “He was the , one who

     
   
   
  
  
 
 
    
 
   
   
   
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
   

 

; a ae ee

  

 

«© ~ % t ¥ y
I4 oc Nae tiP TOP’ WEEKLY. ‘
talked with two ‘tongués—not I. Geel. man, but Red “You're a wonder, Merriwell!” declared “Glory. “I'd
Feather’s last words sure got Bixler.to going! Where have been in a deuce of a fix if I'd come out here alone,

s99

did that voicd come from, Chip? ;

“The first voice must have come from inside the wall,
and probably old Juan was doing the talking: The second
voice was right in the room with us, John.”

“How could that be? It was the same voice.”

Merriwell looked at Glory curiously.

“Not much, old man. I was Red Feather, along at the
last of it, when he started plugging for you.”

Glory’s eyes widened. Then the truth broke over him,
and he began to snicker.

“By cricky!” he exclaimed. “You turned the tables on
Bixler, and came mighty near beating him at his own
game. That’s what made him so wrathy. He knew his
own particular spook wasn’t doing the talking when it
began showing a friendly feeling for me. Bixler had it
all framed up to take care of us before he ever entered

”

 

that room. He ;

Some one tried’ the door on the outside, and then
pounded on it heavily.

“Hello, in there!” It was the voice of Bob.

“Hello, yourself!” Frank answered.

“Much obliged, Chip Merriwell.”

“What for?’

“For the way you walked into the storeroom and shut
yourselves up. Saved Al and me a heap of trouble.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Merry sarcastically.

“Come on out,” invited, Bob. “Doc Bixler wants a chat
with you.”

“He'll have a chat with us, before long, that he won't
forget in a hurry. Tell him that; and tell him, if he
wants to talk with us, that he’ll have to come here.”

“Don’t yow be so toplofty, Chip Merriwell. You fel-
lows will tumble out of there, quick enough, when you
begin to get thirsty and hungry.”

Footsteps could be heard_ leaving the door.
stepped over to one side of the room and sat down on
a keg. John dropped down on a cracker box, near him.

Frank

The room was about fifteen feet square. Two walls
were blank, the door opened out of the third wall, and
three small, barred windows were let into the fourth.

“Not a very pleasant prospect, eh) Chip?” queried Glory,
watching Merriwell as he flashed an appraising look about
the room.

“looks as though we were in for it, and that’s a fact,”
Merry answered. “But. if we can’t get out, Bixler can’t
get in—and that’s some satisfaction.”

“But we've got to do something. We can’t stay cooped
up in here until hunger and thirst get in their work.
While we’re sidetracked, Bixler may be playing his. trump
cards.”

“Tt isn’t going to be so easy for him to play his trump
cards from now on, Glory. I think the old gentleman
has a healthy suspicion that Red Feather is crooked. You
see, Tolliver thinks that the same old Red Feather did
all the talking, a while ago, and he’s probably wondering
how the spook could say you were all wrong, one minute,
and‘ all right the next. And the beauty of it is,’ Frank
chuckled, “Doc Bixler can’t explain. He pretends he
doesn’t know what’s going on. when he’s in a fake trance,
and in order to explain to Tolliver he'll be obliged to
contradict himself, and that will make a bad matter worse.
Oh, I’ve got that shark tangled up!”

399

wouldn’t. I

“Say, old man, you did pretty well. That little talk
you gave Tolliver about the Glorys was a peach. It
would have rung the bell, too, if Bixler hadn’t come in
on us, just when he did. But the old gentleman has been
given something to think about. Shouldn’t wonder if it
would open his eyes.”

Glory shook his head doubtfully.

“Bixler has got too strong a hold on him, Chip,” he an-
swered. “How could any man be such a fool as to be-
lieve in that rot Bixler has been dishing up? Did you
notice how Tolliver acted while that. muffled voice was
speaking? He’s clean over his head in this spook busi-
ness, and it doesn’t speak well for his intellect. I don’t
believe he has sense enough left to open his eyes.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The old gentleman just
happened to get a wrong start with Bixler, and I judge
that Bix has worked him along cleverly until now he’s
apt to fall for anything. A good many bright Asaile
John, are hooked by that sort of thing. It’s Gsteiaey’
all right, but it’s a fact. And, while your Uncle Bolles
seems to be so gullible, he’s a lot wiser than you imagine.
One little false note in Bixler’s acting will be detected
and will go a long way toward showing Bixler up tee
what he is. That false note has been struck, Glory, and
now we're to wait for results.” eS
se cee were waiting, Bixler may get a deed to Bonita

“I don’t think so. That’s what the scoundrel is work-

ing for, of course, but just remember that Tolliver is

beginning to get wise. Bixler ought to be arrested and
sent over the road. He’s the meanest kind of a thief. All
that's worrying me now is that he'll get away before we
can set the officers on his trail.”
‘What’s his scheme i ri 3
wees s his scheme in trying to capturé us and hold us
at Bonita Place?” :
“He wants to smooth thi i
ant: S 1 things over with Tolliy :
afraid we'll do just wh , i ra Se
Just what were planning on—get a war-
rant out for him as soon as we reach Phoenix. He’s a
fox, all right.”
el Ie Ave 7
He seems to have every one about the place under his
thumb, Chip.”
“Every one except Weatherby.”
“And where’s We: :
1 vhere’s eatherby? He said he’d be here to
help us, when we came.”
oat ; :
I’m afraid Bixler has fired him,” said Frank
. Frank.
And just because I went to pieces and gave him away,”
7 2 r ; ns
muttered Glory, in a tone of regret. “I wish ”

 

A warning hiss escaped Frank’s lips, and he dropped a
hand on his companion’s arm.

“Look—over there in the corner!” he whispered

Frank indicated the particular corner with a bela nod
and both hoys gazed curiously. A small box ae hese
in the corner had begun to“move. Slowly. inch by inch
it began to rise, then suddenly it slipped aatan the “incline

of the heaving floor, and a section of boards flopped over
and dropped against it.

From beneath, a head and a pair of shoulders gradually
hoisted themselves into view. The head turned slowly,

,and a familiar face was presented to Merriwell and Glory.
The face wore a sly smile.

salle os -

 
 

   
 

 

 

”

ie
I
mt
.
|

feng, Rg

  

fellows in. town. He

of railroad ties,”

_Al, Bob, and the rest do.

CHAPTER IX.

s

cé . 9
RED FEATHER.

“Weatherby!” Merriwell and Glory, im one

breath.

“Big as

gasped
life!” Sam Weat clearing the
opening in the floor with a leap.
‘Talk of angels,” remarked Frank, stiling,
hear the flutter of their wings!”
“Angels!” muttered Weatherby.

chuckled herby,
“and you

“Oh, my home is down

below; I’m only up for an hour or so. Yes, I heard
you palavering about me, and wondering where I was,

So I made up
with you.”

and thinking I’d been fired, and all that.
my mind it was about time I got in touch

“Why didn’t you show up when we arrived here?” asked
Glory.

“Couldn’t, without taking too- big a risk.
soon ais we got back from town, Bixler came out to the
batn while I was putting out the team and gave me the
G. B. Not only that, but he ordered me off-the place.

You see, as

~I guess he must have found out I had a talk with you

didn’t say so, but that’s the way I

figure it.”
“Blame me for that, Weatherby,’ said Glory.
“You?” echoed Weatherby.
Glory nodded. “When you ducked away from the pile
he went on, “Bixler Chip and
I had a bit of a talk with him, and I] got warm, and said
things I ought to have kept to myself.”

“Oh, well,’ returned Weatherby, “don’t be in a taking
about it, Glory. I couldn’t have stayed on here, anyhow,
with things going as they are. .Bixler is taking over the

came up.

whole ranch, and Tolliver is being shuffled into the back-

ground. I can’t take orders from that tinhorn, same as
I’ve got a little too much self-
respect to associate with a crook and a robber. Glad I’m
bounced. This isn’t the only job in the world. After I
got my walking papers, I hid out in the brush and waited.
} expected you’d be along—and I wanted to be where |
could dé something for you when you showed up. But,’
and here Weathetby grinned, “I reckon you got to talk
with Tolliver ‘without any help from me.
make out?”

“Fine!” said Frank.

“Tt sure looks like it! You're jugged in the storeroom
and the whole place seems to be turned upside down.”

Frank explained what had happened to cause the com-
motion at Bonita Place. Weatherby enjoyed the recital,
particularly the part that dealt with Red Feather:

“So you'’re°one of those ‘ventriloquist chaps, eh?” said

he. “You're up to snuff in more ways than one, Merri-

well. Seems to me I’ve read about your father pulling
off the same trick.”

“He could. do it, Weatherby,” answered Frank. “J’m
a ratik amateur beside him—at that and everything else.
Dad’s a wonder! But where’d you come from?” he asked,
bringing his wits back te the matter in hand. “What's
down below, and how did you get there?

-“J.jsten, and I. will tell you,’ said. Weatherby, who
seemed in a light and pleasant mood, in spite of the fact
that he had lost. his job. “I couldn’t stick around: the
premises without being. seen .and made to clear out, so
I cra awled into. the cellar. t knew the old adobe was full

of dark nooks and secret burrows, but I never guessed
_ I'd get next to any

of them. I was sitting in one corner

‘NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

How’d yo

   

of the’cellar, waiting for you fellows to come, when an
Indian stepped through the cellar wall. .
didn’t step through the wall, but that’s the way it looked.
The Indian was painted up, and had feathers in his hair,
and wore buckskin clothes and carried a blanket. I knew
then that I was looking at the old-reliable spook, called
Red Feather.
“Red Feather He walked to the middle
of the cellar, sat down on a box, and began to eat a cold
lunch and to drink something out of a bottle, He was‘a
hungry and thirsty spook, and no mistake, and it was a
good half hour before he got through eating and drink-
ing and went back through the wall. .1 watched the place
where he disappeared, and I found it was the neatest kind
of a trapdoor, painted the color of the rest of the wall,
so it couldn’t be detected. All I had to do was to push
it open. Then I found myself in the dark, and with more
room for moving around in than I knew what to do with.
[ felt my way along until I came to a stop at a wall.

didn’t see me.

Overhead was a floor, with a little rim of daylight shining :

around the edges of another trapdoor.. A short ladder
led up to the trap, and I climbed it, and found it led to
this storeroom. Then I went down again and waited for
something to happen.

“By and by I heard the commotion in the house, then

blatter of revolver shots, then heavy feet on the floor
of the storeroom. That was when you.and Glory rushed
in and barricaded. yourselves against Bob and Al. I heard
all that went on up here, and, after a while, made up my
mind I’d better show myself. That’s all, Merriwell. i'm
pleased to death with what’s ‘happened, for I think that
your work is going to settle for Bixler, and that Tolliver

is going to get back his senses and hang onto his prop-

erty. If I can be of any help to you, just tell me how.”

“lve been waiting to find these trapdoors and secret
passages,” murmured Merriwell, laughing. “Glory and 1
were a little in doubt about jthem, but now your evidence
settles the fact that they’re really here. Suppose we go
down and investigate? Maybe we can find something that
will be a help to us.” :

“If we can use the secret passages to make an escape
from the house,” suggested Glory, “that’s the best help
they could give us, Chip. The quicker we get to Phoenix
and send some officers out this way, the better it will be
all around.” "

“You've got your finger on the right button, Glory,” re-
turned Frank.

“Tt will be easy enough to get away,”
“All you've got to do is to get into the cellar, and then
out of the cellar the same way I slipped in.
clear, after,that.” '

“Wonder where our horses are?” queried Glory. \

“At the hitching posts in front, I reckon.

said Weatherby.

The way is_

  
    

Of course, the red

I don’t think

Bixler and the rest have had any time to take them away
—there’s been too much excitement since you fellows got

here.”

“If we get clear of the house, Glory,”

for the gate.”
“All right, Chip, let’s be about it.”

said Frank, “we
can make a dash for the: horses and then another dash a

Weatherby allowed his two companions to precede him

in the f

closed the trap behind him.

through the hole
carefully

That box,’ he remarked, “was put on the door after

floor, and then he followed! and

   
  

   
 
    
    
   
     
       
  
  

  

 
  
  
    
   
  
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
  
    
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
 

=

“hands, hadjopened the storeroom to bring in that stuff

16

T opened it the first time... Peterson, one of the ranch

outside’ I reckon Bixler called him away to help'take care
of you before he had fairly started the work. Come on,
now, and IJ’ll take ‘you into the cellar. Better lay hold
of my coat tails, Chip, and Glory better grab onto yours.
It’s dark as Egypt in here, and’ we've got to keep to-
gether.”

The three proceeded in single file through close, dank-
smelling passages. There were many crooks and turns,
and occasionally there were steps to climb or descend. It
was impossible to formulate any idea as to which way they
were going. Finally Weatherby paused.

“Where’s the cellar?” whispered Frank.

“Hanged if I know, Merriwell,’ was the puzzled re-
sponse. “I thought I-could go right to the place, but I’m
all at sea down here. Just where we are is more than [
know, but I’m positive we’ve come twice the distance I
covered in going from the trap in the cellar wall to that
room under the storehouse.”

“In which wall is the trapdoor ?”

“The one on the left hand.”

“Then turn around and go back, running your hand
over the wall as we proceed. In that way we ought to
find it.”

“T’ve been running my hand over the wall all the way
from the storeroom, but I didn’t locate the opening.”

“We'll try again and ”

“Hist!” cut in Weatherby, in a hissing whisper; “some
one’s coming!”

The boys fell quiet at once, almost holding their breath.
From somewhere beyond them could be heard a stealthy
fall of approaching feet. It was a soft, catlike tread,
and there in the Stygian gloom it brought a grisly feeling
to the nerves.

The person, whoever it ‘was, must pass the youngsters
there in the corridor. They crouched low and waited,
hoping the person would pass without detecting’ them.

But this did not happen. A form stumbled over Weath-
erby and fell sprawling upon Merriwell. A voice gave
vent to a startled, “Por Dios!” and then Frank’s hands
closed upon the speaker’s throat, and a struggle followed.

“Strike a match,’ breathed Frank. “I’ve got him, fel-
lows !”

Glory struck a light. As the little taper flared up, as-
tonished exclamations escaped all three of the lads. Their
captive was the bogus Indian whom Weatherby had fol-
lowed through the opening in the cellar wall!

“Blamed if it ain’t the spook!” murmured Weatherby.

“He’s onto us, now,” grumbled Glory, “and he'll kick
up such a racket that we can’t get away.”

“We can take care of him so he won't interfere,” said
Merriwell. “Don’t you make a noise,” he breathed, in the
prisoner’s ear. “If you do, you'll regret it.”

Slowly he relaxed his grip on the man’s throat and
dropped his hands to a belt about his waist.

“Don’t harm me, sefior,” whimpered the prisoner. *h
\will not interfere with you. I am an old Mexicano, and
Sefior Bixler might kill me if he knew of this !”

“Your name is Juan?” queried Frank.

“Yes, sefior, Juan Garcia.”

“What are you togged out with those Injun fixings
for?”

“T help Sefor Bixler.

 

He tells me what to say behind

the library wall, and T say it. Also, sometimes, at night
when the lights are low, I appear through the secret door
in the, library, so that Sefior Glory may look.”

“You're helping a thief,” snapped Glory, “and youte
as bad as Bixler!’

“Mercy, sefior!” mumbled the old Mexican tearfully.
“Sefior Bixler, would kill me if I did not. I showed him
these Passages, and he paid me money. Now he threatens
me if I do not do his will. I am an old man, and what
can I do against him? Do not be hard on old Juan.”

“W here’s Bixler now?” continued Frank.

“In the library, sefior. I was going to the cellar ig
a drink. After that I must be Red Feather, and talk to
Sefior Glory.”

“Get up,” ordered Frank, still hanging to the Mexican’s
belt, “and show us the way to the wall back of the library.”

"What's that for, Chip?” demanded Glory.

But’ Frank had no time to answer. Already he and
Juan were moving off in the gloom, and it was left for

Glory and Weatherby to follow and await further de-.

velopments. ie

CHAPTER X.
NIPPED IN THE BUD.

Only fifteen or twenty steps farther, and old) juan
came to a halt. It was unnecessary for the Mexiean t0
tell Frank that they were back of the library walle :
sound of voices could be heard coming faintly from the”
room: where Tolliver Glory and Bixler were talking.

“W here’s the door, Juan?” queried Frank, in a whispe?

Put out your hand, sefior, and you will touch it,” was
the stifled reply.

“Where does it open ?”

“Behind a rack of books covered partly by the flag,
sefior. Generally I walk out under the flag, and it helps
to conceal my coming and going.”

“When are you to talk?”

“When Sefior Bixler gives a

little cry to let me Knew

he is in the trance. Often I open the door and look OF
over the books to see that he is ready.”

_ What are you to say this time?”

at am to tell the white brother to give the (eed ©
Bixler, and that Bonita Place will be taken from him DY

John Glory if he does not”
A savage exclamation burst from Glory

Softly, John!” cautioned Frank.
to a whisper.
out there.”

“The scheming blackguard!” hissed Glory. “Eval 20”
he’s using me to get the ranch away from the om mal
I wonder if the scheme will work ?”

We'll see that it doesn’t /work,” answered Fratik Pes0-
lutely. “Take hold of Juan, Glory, you and Weatherby,”
he went on.
the tier of books so I can hear what’s being said. At the
right moment, Juan,” he added to the Mexican,, “you re
to step through the door and out from under te Mae
with——”

“Sefior Bixler would kill me!” wailed Juan.

We'll see that he doesn’t hurt you. When you get im
the room, you’re

“Lower your aise
/ ? ;
We don’t want them to hear us talkin

eRe to pull off those Injun trappings &
Tolliver Glory that you're, tired of playing the spc ane
that Bixler has been using you to get money fram ‘ie
Understand ?”

ae

In a moment I’m going out and ge! behind »

      
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
    
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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.
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a

 

“Madre mia? Bixler will slay me—he will strike me
down?

yf : . e TE wena dont Jd

I tell yo that. we.will protect-you. if you aont do

y
Be -
stern, “you will be arrested

this,” and Frank’s voice grew
and sent to prison, along with Bixler. Which do you
choose? Will you help us. to outwit Bixler, or will you

stand by Bixler and take the same medicine. that is com-
ing to him?”

Theiold Mexican shivered with dread, but he chose the
iof the two evils.
senor,”

lesser
“I will help you, he answered, with chattering
teeth, “only you must protect me. If I am not protected,
I Shall be killed. Oh, such a terrible man is this Sefor
Bixler! He is muy malo!”

“Well, he’s pretty near the end of his rope. Mind, Juan,
that you don’t move ¢ntil I reach through the door and
tou€h you. When you feel my hand, you are to step out
,into. the library. and do as I told you. Now, open the
‘loor for me.’

Shaking as with an ague, the Mexican reached out his
Shandednd touched the wall. A square panel gave outward
pence his fingers, and a dim patch of daylight showed

a background. of . books. Softly Merriwell
fed through the little door, and lifted himself erect.
3 r ad came up under the folds of the flag, and he was
i look over the top of the book-tier at the harassed
eran and the scheming swindler,

. Tolliver was saying, in. a shaking voice, “all
thiss betting to have a queer look to me.’
a ® you dare defy the mysterious forces I have at my
commana Tolliver Glory?” answered Bixler.
*" *y ©“I%m not defying anything,” answered the aged veteran.
pee just can’t understand how Red Feather told me to do
oné thing, a while ago, and then, a minute later, told me
to do something else.”
“A disturbing element was in this room, Those young
scoundrels interfered with the control. The spirit aura,

  
 
 
  

which emanates from Red Feather and makes his control

{raight and true, was interfered with. The astral forces
became mixed—the wires, as you might say, got crossed.
always happens when disturbing elements are
; Ee :
was buncombe, pure and simple. Frank
we laughed if he could have done so without endan-
‘his plan.
1in’t plain to me, Dan,” returned Tolliver,
te in his voice. “I want you to let those boys out
storeroom. Why do you keep them? If you:don’t
wort them here, then send them back to town.”

would

a plead-

" let them go away, Tolliver, as soon as we are
* irpeieh with our demonstrations. I feel that my. control
i aeeious to return, and that he will take charge of me
presently. . When he comes, you must listen and profit. by
at he says. -Always, as you know, his words are filled
with wisdom.” |
"Extept when the wires get crossed, Dan. Are you sure
the wires are all right now?”
They'll not. be meddled with, so long as those schem-
tae bOys are in the storeroom.”
‘Seems like I haven’t got anything to say around Bonita
Witee Any more,” murmured the old man. “I heard shoot-
| don’t like such lawlessness, but I am powerless to
fit it.”

he shooting did not hurt aay. Bob and Al fired

aM RL a Ne oS oy

toe —F OP

i Sapo
eS

WEEKLY

 

 

* io .

    

Merri-

gate.

hadn’t done that, Glory «and
of.the
control is

in the ae [f efhes
well would have got out
Now, I feel that the
Feather will not come unless you promise to abide by what

patio by the -fence

getting me. But Red

he says. Will you promise?”

Y -yes,
“Whatever he tells you to do you will do?”
cured me of the

that I am grateful.”

mumbled the old man.

“T must, I suppose. Red Feather

rheumatism, and [ want him to know

“Aht. A-h-h!”
Bixler sank back in his chair, uttering a loud cry. That
cry, of course, was intended to reach behind the parti-

tion and warn Juan that he must get ready for business.
To everybody but poor old Tolliver Glory the perform-
To him it must
settled

on the table

ance in the library was a farce comedy.

have been so real as to be almost tragic. He
1

tremblingly forward in his chair, both hands
edge. The sun trees,
there was no play of lights and shadows

a semigloom settled over him and

was below the by that time, and
upon his bowed
form. On the contrary,
his gray locks were a ghostly white in the faint light.

Bixler went through his contortions, and after twitching
and muttering, he slumped back in his chair and let his
Frank reached through the open-
Juan on the shoulder. The
carefully he came out

¢hin sink on his breast.
ing behind him and touched
Mexican shivered, but slowly and
into the room and squeezed past Merriwell.

“Red Feather,” came the awed, cracked tones of Tolliver
Glory, “what have you got to tell me? What Ah?”
gasped the old man, glancing up and seeing what he prob-
ably. supposed was an apparition. “A materialization! Red
Feather * His voice faded into a funereal silence.

3ixler partly raised his head. No doubt he was startled,
for he had not been expecting a so-called materialization.
Then, making the most of it, he dropped his head again.

Old Juan jerked off his feathered headdress, and flung
it on the floor. With a jerk, he opened the buckskin
blouse, tore it from him, and dropped it beside the mass

of feathers.

 

 

ns

he gulped. “I
Bixler

“Me, I fool you no more, Sefior Glory
spook, but I'am old Juan, the Mexican.
he wanted to keep John
any of your

3”?

am not a
wanted your money, your ranch;
Glory away from you so he would never get
wordly goods, but me, I will play the part no more, or
Tolliver Glory fell forward on the table like a man stupe-
fied. Bixler leafed to his feet with a roar of anger.

 

“You doddefing old idiot!” he shouted: “Backcap me,

will you? T’ll make you pay!”

His hand passed behind him under the skirts of his

long coat. . It reappeared swiftly, gripping a weapon.
Frank seized a book to throw at the man, byt Tolliver

was ahead of him in protecting the discredited “spook.”
Recovering swiftly from sd shock following the revela-
Juan, Tolliver leaped to his feet. As Bixler

the old soldier’s cane fell savagely upon

tion made by
lifted his weapon,
his arm.

A cry of pain followed the bellowing words Bixler had
cringing Mexican.. The weapon clattered
Merriwell rushed around the ‘tier of books.

hurled at the
to the floor.

‘Bravo, Mr. Glory!”
Bixler.

he cried, and threw himself upon

Bixler shouted’ frantically
“Bob! Al! This way!”

“Peterson !”’
with Frank.

as he struggled

   

     
       
 
  

  

 
 

Old Juan sat huddled on the floor.

48

  

wy

“Merriwell!” exclaimed the old veterati.
Sam, and John Glory! Well!” :

Surprise after surprise was coming to Tolliver, and the
rapid progress of astonishing events confused him. But
his wits were working, for all that. While Weatherby
and John Glory ran to help Frank, the veteran picked up
the fallen revolver.

Running feet were heard in the hall, and, in a moment,
a brawny Swede showed himself in the library door. This
was Peterson. Behind him could be seen Bob and Al.

The old martial spirit must have surged through Tolliver
Glory then. Erect he stood, resolute and his old eyes
flashing.

“Stand where you are!” he cried, a note of sharp au-
thority in his voice and the revolver in his hand. and
leveled. “One step inside this room and I fire! You
have been looking to Bixler for orders. From now on,
you will either take orders from me or leave my service.
1 give you your choice, but you must make it now. What
have you to say, Peterson?” Wer

Those in the doorway must have understood how com-
pletely the scheming rogue who posed as a spook doctor
had. lost his influence over the Owner of Bonita Place.
His Indian trumpery
lay in a heap beside him. Bixler was also a frothing
prisoner in the hands of the three boys.

“Bully for you, Mr. Glory!” cried Peterson.
you found that tinhorn out. I’m for you all the time

“Same here,” said Bob.

“Count me in,” supplemented Al.
in the storetoom, Merriwell?” he added.

“Take that man,” continued Tolliver, pointing to Bixler,
“and load him into the buckboard. If he isn’t in jail inside
of an hour, you men will look for a job some place else.
lf you are faithful to me prove it.”

Peterson, Bob, and Al cheerfully laid hands on Bixle
and hustled him from the room and out of the house. Then
Tolliver Glory dropped the revolver and reached out a
hand to the son of the son of his rebel brother!

“And—and

“Glad

3

“Thought you were
{

CHAPTER XI.
RECONCILED.

“John,” said Tolliver Glory, “a lot of things have been
going on here which I can’t understand, I’m all mixed up,
like. But one fact stands out through it all: You have
‘stood by me, when you had every reason in the world to
let me be fooled and swindled by that sneaking scoundrel.

_ I give you my hand, boy. I ath old, and I need friends,
loyal friends.
_ what he has turned out to be. John, will you continue to

I thought Bixler was a friend, but. you see

stand by me—as long as I live?”

“I'll stand by you always, Uncle Tolliver!” answered

“John Glory, his face shining and both hands reaching out

for the old veteran’s.

"Whoop !" jubilated Sam Weatherby. “I feel like a brass
_ band, and I’ve got to toot. Chip Merriwell, this is your

doing! TI reckon none of us will ever forget that!” —

“We all had a ‘hand in it, Sam,” returned Merriwell,
mn _ stepping to a window and looking out.
4 He was afraid that Peterson, Bob, and Al might not
_ prove Joyal’ to Tolliver’s trust, and that Bixler would,

perhaps, be allowed to get away. In the back yard, how-
er, he could see the three ranch hands binding the spook

 

_NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

if I played the part, talked behind the wall, and some b

‘and more,

eee

doctor with ropes and making ready to remove him to)

Phoenix. ‘The three employees had shifted quickly to an} |

about-face, but their change of heart seemed genuine.
ON A I oe ; ; ¥ ; |
Now,” said the old soldier, “I want to get this tangle

S

straightened out in my mind, Sit down, all, while I hear
from Juan.”

Merriwell, John Glory, and Weatherby took chairs.. Old
Juan was recovering from his fright and getting a little.
command of himself. He got up from the floor and kickec
aside the feathered headdress and the buckskin clothes.

“How did you get into this, Juan?” asked Tolliver.

“You will not send me to jail, sefior?” queried the Mexi:
can. “The muchacho there’—he nodded at Merriwell—
“promised me.I should not be punished if I helped reveal
the evil of Sefior Bixler.” sai

“I take it that you were no more than Bixler's tool,’
réplied Tolliver, “and whatever young Merriwell promised
will be carried out.” ; Fos

' es i

You must know, then, that" matty
years ago, when Bonita Place was used by the. Mexi-
canos for gambling, I was one of the gamblers » My
life was fulb of evil, of which I have repented.
was long, long ago. While 1] was one of the gz
[ learned the secret places in the old adobe.
months ago, Sefior Bixler found me out

“Gracias, sefor!

  
  

és
A”
a

   
 
 
   
  

and hired

show him the hidden passages and chambers. I $
him secretly, and he -paid me dinero. Then he

> wy ‘ i at :
of Red Feather, and said he would give me more

>: My heart sickened at such dec
but Bixler threatened my life if I did not do his Heal

appeared before you.
So, sefior, I have lived in the secret places of the old
adobe for manly weeks. shat T
was to do, and/I had to do it under pain of death.
day I had my orders. While I was carrying them. out,
I found Weatherby and these two muchachos”—he_ in-
dicated Merriwell and Glory—‘jn the secret. passages:
They made a prisoner of me, and told me what I must
do. I was glad to undo the wrong, only 1 was afraid.
But I was promised protection, and so it has. fallen out
that I have done what was right. That is all.”

“A fine scheme this was!’ muttered Tolliver. “T ‘must
be losing my mind with the creeping years. But I ‘believed
in Bixler’s powers. Aided by Red Feather—his Indian
control, as I supposed—Bixler cured me of a severe at-
tack of rheumatism. That tightened. the rogue’s hold upon
me. I grew to depend upon him and his control more

dollars, and Red Feather said that it miust be given. |

was fool enough to draw the money from the bank and.

turn it over.”
5

space, twisting uncomfortably

 

Tolliver fell silent for a
in his chair.

4d was old and lonely,” he went on, “and I wanted
friends, I—I don’t think you young men will understand
what it means'to be the last of a family,’ with |
in the world to call your own. 4
realize that as I realized it. I was warped in my. judg-—
ment, and my solitary life had laid me open to the wiles *
the sharper. I wanted to be’ reconciled with John and
his brother, but I nursed the old grudge. A quarrel ot
fifty years’ standing had wrecked and embittered my life
{—— But there is no use to harp on such things. res x ¥
“Bixler was not satisfied with the five thousand doliars,

/
; 2

Not long ago Bixler wanted five thousand.

no one’
I hope you may never

 

Bixler would. tell. me what. 14
Pos2

A a

ee

      
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
    
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
  

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Old

little.

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Lexi.
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‘7

ee

 

 

  

/

_have allowed that, if I had known.

grimly,

 

aa ‘other ‘mediums, I belie eved in him,
ae e had an ‘oily tongue, “and he_was ‘alee backed by his
control. I believed in Red Feather, too. It was only
‘4 little while ago that I began to lose faith in Red
Feather
_“When the wires got crossed, eh,
Prank,
“Yes,”

  

 

Mr. Glory?” queried

and a faint smile crossed the veteran’s face,
“When the wires got crossed. It seems all very foolish
to me now—a few hours have made such a -complete
Change in everything. I think Bixler saw that I was be-
cOming suspicious, and that he tried to hurry through that
matter of the deed. John,” and he turned to the lad and
rested a hand on his knee, “I have about outlived my
usefulness, I expect, and am in need of a guardian.”

“Nonsense, Uncle Tolliver,” John Glory answered, “you'll
be hale and hearty for a good many years yet, and we
all make mistakes occasionally.”

The old man laughed—a bit cynically, as Frank thought.
Then he turned to Sam.

“How did you come to be on my side of die fence,
Weatherby,” he asked, “instead of on Bixler’s?”

“Never had any use for Bixler, Mr. Glory,” said Sam.
“He discharged mé just after we got, back from Phoenix

‘this afternoon, and ordered me off the place.”

Tolliver. “I wouldn’t
3ut then, I haven’t

“First I’d heard’ of it,” ‘muttered
had much to say here for some time.”

He turned on John Glory.

“John,” he continued, “I haven’t heard from you and
Merriwell yet. What happened after you were chased out
of this room and got into the storehouse?”

“About the first thing that happened,” was the reply,
“Weatherby came pushing his way into the storeroom
through a trapdoor. He had got out of the place where
you keep your reserve supplies.” '

“I’ve heard the stories about those secret passages,”
observed Tolliver, “but they did not interest me. This old

house has an evil history—I learned that when I bought

it—but the bad old times were gone for good, and I saw
no reason why a black past should throw any discredit
on the place. It’s the men who live in a house that make
its record.”

At considerable length Glory told of events leading up to
the moment when Juan had appeared and renounced his
character of “spook.” To it all Tolliver gave absorbed

attention.

“You boys have. served me well,” he declared finally,
“and I shall always remember it. Juan, here, used to work
for me on the ranch, but he left to go into Phoenix.”

“Sefior,” spoke up the Mexican, “I left when Bixler came
and hired me to work for him. He said he would some
day own Bonita Place.” ;

“That’s what he was working for,’ said the veteran
“and he might have succeeded if John and young
Merriwell had not given me their aid. I haye had my
lesson, boys. The unknown is a great and little-explored
country, and the small excursion I have made into it has
taught me that it is well to let alone those things which
you cannot understand, Certain forces work in the dark
—but they are mainly forces of evil. Honest powers
love: ee get fg coy and re not ashamed to show them-

   

,

) “Was there!

  
  
  

under Falte pre- eae
de ined | Mand if there is a —
of sending him to prison, that 3 is ovine he is going to go.”

The old man got up, a little wearily.

“’m tired,” said he, picking up his cane, “but I can’t
rest in comfort until I look over the secret places of this
old adobe. Juan, you get a candle and show us the way.
The rest of youzboys come with us. It will be interesting
to go through those dark burrows—in view of the evil
use Bixler has been putting them to.”

Juan secured a candle, lighted it, and Tolliver and the
others filed after him around the end of the tier of books,
under the folds of the flag, and through the secret opening
in the wall.

   

”
penses,

+

was the «

   

      
       
         
         
         
   
   
    
 
  
    
  
 
   
   
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
    
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
    

CHAPTER XII.
““GOOD WORK.”

It was late that night wher Frank got back to the
private car. Some one called to him as he came swinging
down the track from’the direction of-the station. It was
Rufus Horton, and he was sitting on the pile of ties where
Frank and John ‘had had their talk with Weatherby and
with Doc Bixler:

“What are you doing out here, Rufus?” inquired Frank.
“I was beginning to get a little worried about you and
Giory,” was the answer, “and I thought I’d wait up for
you. Where’s Glory?” .
“T left him out at Bonita Place.” - (ah
“He wasn’t hurt?” asked Horton quickly. :
“Hurt?” Merriwell laughed. “I should say not, Rufus,
If there’s a happier chap in Arizona to-night than John
Glory, it’s Tolliver Glory. Tolliver See, that John

should stay with him to-night, and——”

“Then there was a reconciliation ?”

Well, I just wish you’d been around to
see those two Glorys come together and wipe out the
past. It would have done your heart good, Rufus.”

“That’s fine!” exclaimed the Yale man. “I was afraid
you'd have trouble.”

“We did have trouble. Bixler is now in jail, and he’s
going to get all that’s coming to him.”

“Begin at, the beginning and tell me all about it, Chip.
1 think you and John Glory must have done something
that js pretty fine, and I don’t believe I can sleep till I
hear about it.”

Merriwell settled himself on the ties beside the Yale man
and proceeded to give him all the details of events that
had transpired at Bonita Place. When he had finished,
Horton remained silent for some time, his gaze lifted to
the stars.

“What’s on your mind, Rufus?” queried Frank.

“A good many things, Chip,” was the answer. “Princi-
pally, though, I’m thinking of the war between the States,
and how a bit of trouble it caused, between two brothers,
has been wiped out by what you and Glory did this after-
noon. That conflict of the sixties aroused a good deal
of bitterness, but not much of it has been left. My own
father went with the South, while my grandfather was
with the North. The Hortons were about equally divided
between the Blue and the Gray, but they all’ lie together
in one lot in a Northern cemetery. I believe, Chip, that
we are a stronger and a better nation for that bloody con-

       
     
 

 

   
  
   
    
  
    
      
  
   
  
   
 
 
    
      
    
   
    
   
  
       
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
    
      
      
    
     
     
     
      
      
       

flict, and that we all ought to be stronger and better men
Seu of the heritage of loyalty it has left us.

‘This rancor) of Tolliyer Glory’stis like a bad echo
from those old battlefields. And yet, how little it took
to bridge over that difficulty when you and Glory started
out resolutely asa couple of peacemakers. In a few
hours you wiped away the bitterness that had been grow-
ing for fifty years. Good work, my lad, good work!”

“J don’t know but it has been a bad piece of work for
the Athletes, Rufus,” said Frank regretfifly.

“In what way?”

“Why, we're liable to lose John Glory from the team.”

“You think Tolliver will want the boy to stay with him?”

“That’s the way Tolliver talked, after we had got through

looking over the hidden rooms and passages of the old
adobe. We all had supper together, and I could see all
along what the old gentleman was leading up to.”

“Possibly Tolliver will be willing to let Glory stay with
us until were through with the tour. After that the
boy can come back to Phoenix and settle down at Bonita
Place.”

“Possibly. It’s a fine thing for John, though. Not
long ago Tolliver wouldn’t have a thing to do with John
because he thought the lad was after his money; now he
seems determined to take him in and make him his heir.
lf Tolliver insists on having John cut out the team now,
and settle down at Bonita Place, we can’t very well stand
in his way.”

-“That’s the last thing we ought to think of, Chip.”

\ “The old man needs him, there’s no doubt about that.
Tolliver is pretty old, and his money is the target for a
good many grafters. What's that,” Merry suddenly asked,
‘starting up and pointing, “hitched to the end of the car?

It was rather dark there in the railroad yards, and Merri-
well could not see the object plainly. He could make out,
however, that it was moving around restlessly.

“That,” laughed Horton, “is our new mascot.”

“New mascot?” echoed Frank.

- “Villum calls the brute Handsome Dan, and——”

“You mean to say that Villum rode the animal and
stayed on his back for two minutes?”
“Not Villum, Chip. Hop Wah was the lucky rider.

_Villum gave Hop a tip.as to how to ride the brute, and
now, we’ve got a burro on our hands? We'll have to get
rid of Handsome Dan somehow before we leave Phoenix.
But let’s go to bed, Chip.’ It’s nearly midnight.”

Frank had put in a hard afternoon and was eager to
ry “hit the hay.” But he believed, as Rufus had said, that
gdod work had been accomplished, and the thought con-
tented him and lulled him into pleasant dreams.

7

THE END.

  

Nod Coddington receives word that his father
‘mother and Ethel ‘Mayberry, to whom Cod has been very
attentive for some time, are coming to Phoenix to see
the athletic meet in which Merriwell’s Athletes are to
compete with the local athletes. Naturally, Nod oe eee
: anxious ‘tO win some important event, and he bewails to
Merriwell the fact that he is fairly good at a lot of things,
but nothing extra at anything in particular. The way Nod,
soon after making this statement, leaps out of the way of
a. landslide gives Merry an idea, and he enters Nod in
e high )jump. This makes trouble, as Penn had ex-

’

  

 
 

TOP WEEKLY.

and:

pected to represent the Athletes in that event. You will! *
find out how Nod succeeded, and will tread of a lot of |.
other stirring athletic events in the story entitled “Frank »
Merriwell, Junior’s, Sportsmanship; ‘or, Trouble in the
Ranks,” which you will find in the next issue of this
weekly, No, 54, out August oth.

 

THE SUNSET EXPRESS.

BY FRANCIS MARLOWE.
SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS.

Jim Harvey, a young chap from New York State, being
left alone in the world, goes to Montreal with the intention
of getting a job on the Sunset Railroad, the general man-
ager of which, Mr. Fletcher, was an old friend of his
father. ;

Mr. Fletcher, however, thinking the young man_ not
strong enough to stand the hardships of railroad life, gets
him a‘ position in a store, but this does not suit Jim, and
after a few weeks he succeeds in getting a job as a wiper
at the roundhouse of the Sunset Company.

He makes good, and is presently made fireman of 4
passenger train. While on this run he saves the express
car from robbers, and his daring act leads to the capture
of the thieves.

Partly as a reward for this act, and partly because there
is a strike on the line and men are scarce, he is again
promoted to fireman of the: Sunset Express, the most
important train on the road.

While on this job the engine is disabled by strikers, but
Jim cleverly plans to get another engine, in the hope that
they will be able to put the express through on time, and
thereby save the company’s ‘mail and express contracts.

Harvey is successful in his efforts, and, as a reward he
is transferred to the shops,,and later becomes an engineer.
It is autumn, and there are forest fires all along the right. ©
of way of the railroad. The telegraph operator at Wood-
lawn station sends a message to Kendal, the station near-
est the fringe of the fire-swept section, that a hundred
i at Woodlawn are facing death, and he asks for
help.

/

CHAPTER XV.
COWBOY AND RAILWAY MAN,

The stgtion yard at Kendal was crowded. The round-
house was full of locomotives, and a score or more of
drivers stood idle. The entire Sunset system was disor-
ganized. Freight had been hauled as near the fire line as

_ was consistent with safety, and the side tracks were full

of waiting cars. In more than one place the forest fire
was burning fiercely beside the roadbed between Kendal
and Woodland.

Jim Harvey was one of the engineers whom the fire

held up; he had brought a fast passenger train into Kendal

only to find that, for that day at least, it was impossible
to continue the journey. Some few months before he had
left the machine shops after five years of hard, steadfast
work. He was a skilled, reliable engineer, and had passed
direct from the shops to a first-class locomotive.
But the footplate of an engine, even in the coveted posi-
tion of engineer of the Sunset Express, was not the goal -
of his ambition; to him it was but a rung.of the ladder
that led to that charmed circle of successful railroad men
who had been through the mill, and by grit and brains
won their way to the top,
When he found that he could take his engine no farther
than Kendal, Jim Harvey switched the train orto a side-
track, and sought to make the best of his enforced idle-

\

aa

 

  

- 5 1
ad

|

\
\ ness
‘dal’.
‘whe
min
liau

 

 

 

 
  

ing
iOn
an+
his

not
‘ets
ind
per

ess
ire

ere
ain
ost

put
iat
nd

he
er.
rht.
yd -
ir-
ed

 

 

cowboys,

 

 

\ness. Being hungry, he sought the eating room of Ken-
\dal’s ‘only hotel, known locally as “McGuire’s Place,”
where the strangely combined odors of cooked foods
mingled unappetizingly with the fumes of the strong
liquors that were sold at the bar that flanked one side of
it, and found a place at one-of the crowded tables.

It was a queerly assorted company that he found him-

self among, and when he had finished his dinner he lin-,

gered over his coffee, curiously interested, in watching the
scene.

At the table next to him were half a baeke cowboys,
driven into Kendal by the forest fire, who were engaged
in the incongruous occupation of drinking an extraordi-
nary number of tiny glasses of liqueurs. He shared the
table at which he sat with two cowboys and some passen-
gers from the smoking car of his train; elsewhere through-
out the room, trainmen, Pullman passengers, emi-
grants were mixed indiscriminately, and the resources of
the hotel were taxed to meet the demands of all of them.

Presently the clatter of knives and forks diminished,
ahd the diners began to disperse, until soon there was
little more than a score of persons left in the room. These
included four of the cowboys who had been trying to
satisfy their thirst with liqueurs, about a dozen trainmen,
who sat about at various tables chatting, and a group
standing by the bar. Jim Harvey now sat alone at his
table.

The cowboys at the table near Jim Harvey b
grow boisterous; they had tired of toying with the liqueur
glasses, and were busy consuming a couple of bottles of
fiery whisky. One of their number, a gigantic Californian,

/ who was addressed as Monté by his companions, evidently
desirous of some more exciting ‘amusement, called sud-
denly to the barkeeper for a pack of cards.

This \suiggestion was hailed clamorously by the other
and in a moment or two a space was cleared
among the glasses and bottles. A faro game was then
laid out, at which the big Californian acted as banker.
Looking around him, clearly with the idea of drawing in
other players to swell the game, this man caught Jim’s
eye. ;
“Take a hand, stranger,” he called across to Jim.
to liven things up a bit.”

Jim shook his head in silent refusal- of this invitation,
but the cowboy persisted.

“Come along and give your money a chance,’
loudly. “You’ve got as good a chance of winning as an-
other.”

“No, I won’t play; thank you all the same,” replied Jim
decidedly. He was a little annoyed at having general at-
tention directed to him, and spoke rather more sharply
ethamehe intended.

com frowned blackly, and glared at him\fiercely for

and

egan to

“Help

” he cried

”

was a general laugh at this; but, though Jim
After another hard stare at

 
 
 
  
    
 

fit Harvey Ww
occurred to him that Monté would think that he? d tr
ened him away by his black looks. One of the trainmen és
an engineer, passing his table presently, stopped besides:
him. \

“Don’t buck up against Monté,. Jim,”, he said, in a low
“He’s mighty handy with his pistol, and he’s got
He'll die sudden some day,

 

voice.
a féw
and no one will be sorry.”

“All right, Mac,” replied Jim.
him, and there’s an end of it.”

It appeared that his words, or part of them, had been
overheard by Monté, for the cowboy darted a swift glance
at him, then half raised himself in his seat. Jim
had just got on his feet to follow his friend from the
room.

OT

H ey,

notches in it already.

“T won’t play cards with

and

you thére!” shouted Monté to him; “take a drink
before you go.”

Jim turned and looked at him. \

“No, thanks,” he said curtly, “I’ve had enough.”

The words had scarcely left his lips when the cowboy
raised his right hand; there was a glass in it, and before
Jim realized what was happening the contents of the glass
were flung full in his face.

Blinded for the moment by the liquid, he yet heard

Monté’s harsh voice cry out jeeringly:

“If you won't drink, have a bath.”

There was a howl of laughter from the ruffian’s com-
panions, and a murmur of indignation from the trainmen —
Then Jim Harvey got his eyes clear and
took a quick step toward the cowboy’s table; but though
his rage was at white heat, it was no mad, blind rush he
made. Reason, always uppermost in his mind, even in his
most excited moments, told him that in an affray with the
gigantic cowboy, and without a weapon, he must inevitably
get the worst of it. Almost involuntarily he paused, seek-
ing a way of slaking his vengeance and administering pun-
ishment for the unprovoked insult. Face to face with
Monté he stood, not two paces from him.

The Californian awaited him calmly, a fierce fighting
light in his eyes, and a grim smile on his face.. His right
hand was halfway to the revolver in the holster at his
hip, anticipating gun-play ; he towered above Jim, securé in
strength and prowess. ;

Jim Harvey marked all this in one quick glance, and
almost with a sob he shivered in humiliating realization
of his helplessness, and stared with dumb hate at his ter-
rible opponent. .

Monté answered his stare with an inquiring, sneering
lift of his brows. Then he sat down and took the cards
again, while his long legs almost swept against Jim’s feet.

“Won't play, won’t drink, can’t fight,’ he drawled slowly,
with jeering emphisis.

in the room.

Every eye in the room was fixed on Jim, and most abe
them expressed contemptuous pity.

Thus the scene was when the yardmaster of Kendal hur-
tiedly entered. He disturbed it so that it could not be re-
cast, for his face told that he carried some dread news.
The attention of every one in the room was magnetically
attracted to him, He held a slip of paper in hig hand,
and from it he read the last message from the Sunset. tele’
graph operator at Woodland:

“Wind changed.
One hundred aes

 

fies will reach us in less than an hour...
acing death. Can you help us?

 

   

 
  

 
  

 
  
  
 
 
   
     
  
    
       
         
   
     
   
         
     
   
  
  

  
     
  
 
 

”

ss ; CHAPTER XVI.
* HOW JIM HARVEY WON THROUGH.

_» Many of the passengers and a number of trainmen had
pushed their way into the room to hear the fateful mes-
sage read. The yardmaster looked silently: over the crowd

as he finished reading it.
emphasize the peril of the hundred lives at Woodland;
every man who heard him read the message knew it only
too well. He did not call for volunteers. To try to get
through to Woodland was like taking a through ticket to
death,

Moments passed; the crowd broke up into small sections
and dispersed into the open air, to the railway yard. Lit-
tle groups of men stood about there discussing the ter-
tible news and—did nothing.

Except Jim Harvey.

Jim Harvey was one of the first to leave the hotel eat-
ing room. He walked straight to Foreman Stone’s office
window, leaned his arms on the sill, looked in with an
expression of quiet resolution on his face, and said:

“Are the four box cars there empty, Stone?”

He jerked his head backward toward a sidetrack where
four freight cars were coupled to a locomotive that was
still under steam.

Stone nodded.

“T’m going to take them out, then,” said Jim Harvey
‘calmly. “T’ll try and run through to Woodland and beat
that fire. Give me a clear track.”

The roundhouse foreman stared at Jim Harvey as
though a madman had suddenly confronted him, and as
the young engineer left the window and hurried away he
rushed to the door and. yelled after him:

“Hey, you, Harvey!” he cried. “You madman, you'll_be
fried like a cake on a griddle!”

But Jim Harvey hurried on and climbed aboard the
heavy freight engine. It was not until he had opened the
throttle, and the four empty box cars were rattling from
the sidetrack to the main line that the crowd in the yard
realized what his errand was. \

At first a wild cheer was raised to speed him on his
way; but then, as the heroic madness of the thing dawned
on them, a grim silence fell on the crowd.

“Aw! he’s making a bluff,” jeered: Monté, who stood by
the water tank at which Jim pulled up his engine to re-
plenish his boilers.

But the sneer passed unnoticed, for the others, though
they thought that Jim Harvey would never get through,
but would waste his steam to no purpose, respected the
pluck which it took even to approach the fire.

With the sneer still on his face, Monté was watching

Jim; soon his mocking expression vanished, and a look of
curious interest crept into his eyes. At last, just as Jim
was about to pull-out, he turned to his companions with a
shout.)

“By thunder, he’s goirt®!” he exclaimed, with undis-
_ guised admiration. | 3

_ Then he sprang to the engine and looked straight into
_ Jim Harveys eyes.\

“Wait a bit, mate,” he cried. “If you’re going, I’m go-

ing with you to fire your old engine.”
' Jim turned his head“to look at him; but the cowboy had
dashed to where his own’ and his companions’ blankets
were lying. He seized three of these and ran with them

It was unnecessary for him to

    

‘NEW. TIP TOP WEEKLY.

to the water tank. Just as the engine got under way he

 

sprang onto the footplate, dragging the dripping blankets
behind him.

“These will, maybe, come in useful,” he exclaimed, as
he threw them down and turned tothe coal bunker.

Meanwhile the freight engine and the empty cars were
noisily thrashing along the straight stretch of line just
outside Kendal station.

Jim Harvey looked straight ahead of him, while the
cowboy, not inexpertly, seized the shovel and fed the en-
gine’s fire. He had not yet spoken to Monté. A tongue
of flame licked across the line about a mile in front of
them. They were approaching the first belt Of fire.

He turned suddenly and looked down at his ‘bending
companion, §

“It’s going to be a hot job,” he remarked quietly. “Stoke
her up well, and then I’H slow down so that you can jump;
I don’t want to risk another man’s life on this job.”

Monté straightened himself swiftly and looked Jim full
in the eyes.

“I’ve come to stay,” he said soberly, ~ “Will you shake
when I say I feel like a mean skunk for what I did to you
back there?” el
_ Jim Harvey stretched out his hand, and the two gripped.
in silence.

Monté then bent to his work, and when they reached
the fire line the ponderous engine was throbbing under
such a head of steam as she had never known before:
She was whirling along at a pace that even the Sunset
Express had never exceeded, while the empty freight
cars behind were dancing madly over the tough roadbed.

“We're getting there,” Monté shouted out, at last, as
he flung one of the soaking blankets over Jim’s head and
shoulders. .

With his hand on the lever, Jim leaned out from the
cab of the engine, his cap visor shielding his eyes from
the smoke and flying sparks, and peered ahead along the
rails. a" .

Suddenly a wall of flame. seemed to spring. up to bar
their way. It extended across and far beyond the roadbed,
and it wrapped the cars and engine in a seething mantle
as they plunged through it. It seemed as though no man
could go through that sea of fire and live, but. Monté’s
blankets served their purpose well, and when the train
staggered. out of the fire zone Jim Harvey still stood up-
right at the lever. Monté leaned across to him and tore
the blanket from his head; it was already flaming. Monté’s
clothing was on fire in several ‘spots, but as he extinguished
them he turned with a grin to Jim, and waved his hand.

A minute later they reached Woodland. ;

It was a weird, hysterical scream, rather than a cheer, .

that greeted them as Jim Harvey pulled up the cars at
the station clearing. The Sunset telegraph operator had
been warned that Jim Harvey was trying to get through,
and as he knew the young engineer he pinned his faith to

“*Xhis pluck and determination.

One hundred and ten people, who had given up their
last hope of life, were marshaled by the side of the rail-

way line. The little railway building had already caught

fire behind them, sparks fell like rain among them, and
they were inclosed on all sides by walls of flame that

. crept steadily toward them. On to this scene Jim Harvey
‘

and the giant cowboy came, grimy and scorched like
fiends. ex

“With the flames darting from all directions toward
them, the hundred and ten souls were piled like cattle into hi

ome

   
 
 
    
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
   
   
 
     
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
    
    
      
       
         
   
       
   
    
 
     
 
 
    

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ma?

NEW

the four box cars. The doors were closed, and then
Jim and Monté, with their protecting blankets again soaked,
climbed aboard the blistering engine to run them ‘back .to
Kendal.

They might have gone forward; but a.known danger
was better than an unknown. ;

At Kendal the station yard was filled with a husthng
when the train
yardmaster

crowd that shrieked and yelled madly
pulled in. But out of this chaotic, mass the
soon organized a squad of willing helpers.

The box cars were afire, and the passengers were
dragged out fainting and ‘half suffocated.
almost at his last gasp; Jim Harvey was found uncon-
scious on the plates of the cab. He had fallen there,
even as he shut off steam at the Kendal signals.

For many weeks Harvey lay in the hospital, and it was
in the yards that he had lost his sight.
scars,

iil

Monté was

gravely whispered
But, at last, he returned to duty,
but otherwise fit and well, and with
of except that he found popularity embarrassing to a
naturally modest young man, :

showing some

nothing to complain

CHAPTER XVII.

WITH THE SNOWPLOW.

Snow flurries ushered in winter, and then, a week later,
a blizzard swept from the north and buried the entire
countryside in a dazzling white shroud. The tracks of
the Sunset line were hidden under twelve inches of snow;
drifts on every section of the road delayed trains, and all
the resources of the Sunset Company were taxed to keep
the traffic moving.

Jim Harvey had just pulled his train to Montreal,
glad to be only an hour overdue, when he was caught
just as he was starting for home by Murray, the round-
house foreman, and impressed to take charge of a snow-
plow outfit.

“All the regular gang are busy up to their eyes,” said
Murray, “and I’ve got to have a plow go ahead of the
express. There's a storm. zone about forty miles out
where she'll be held up if I can’t clear the track for her.”

“Right!” said Jim Harvey. promptly, “that will . give
me about two hours’ rest. I'll be here on time. I sup-

so before the express is due to leave?”

“Pll have to give you quite three-quarters of an hour
start of the express,’ replied the foreman. “I wouldn’t
‘ask you to do it, only you know the line so well, and f
haven’t another man I can call on. You need not turn
weetttestidh.the last moment; Ill have everything ready for
ge:

—Twe hours later, when Jim Harvey reported for his
jergetity duty, he found a powerful locomotive, under
awaiting him. From the front of the engine a
on plow projected, while coupled behind was a
_a “flanger” attachment.

host was not on the engine, but m the car, where
iwere already waiting to act as his assistants with
' er. To act as engineer: on this trip was compara-
ly an easy matter ; the arduous work was in the ear,
here it was necessary to have some one in control who
miliar with practically every inch of the ground over
the + Soin was to oh

 

  

  

  

TEE ee.

pose you won't want me to start until about an hour or

  

/ WEEKLY.

  
 

of the engitie and car behind it, ;
lation of surface snow, but the work of 1 ‘flanger was”

Ww ould =
he roadbed, cutting well below tte: top of the

to clear >t
rails.

The construction of the flanger was simple, but it needed
a_ skill It was actually a
large double plow suspended below the floor of the car,
and raised or lowered by a long, heavy lever that reached
almost from end to end of the car.

Apparently it was an easy business to operate this
lever; but, as a matter of fact, it was as nerve-racking a
duty as a railroad man could be called upon to perform.
When the great double plow is down, it will clear every-
thing movable from between the rails; if it strikes any
obstacle that it cannot shift, and the engine is moving at
a decent speed, it will either smash what it hits,’ destroy
itself, or throw the car from the rails.

It is a most important matter, therefore, to know pre-
cisely when:to raise it to avoid switch points, the planks
at level crossings, et cetera; but in order to be usefully
worked it must be kept down until the
and dropped again

ed guiding hand to control it.

last possible mo-
ment before reaching an obstruction
directly the obstruction is passed.

Cool as he seemed when he gave the signal to start the
engine, he was, in fact, m a fever of danxiety,/trying hard
to still the nervous fears that assailed him as he thought
of the responsibility which he had to shoulder.

Slowly at first, but with rapidly increasing speed, the
monster engine drew out from Montreal. The great pro-
jecting plow plunged its nose into the soft surface snow,
and flung it in white waves on either side, leaving an ever-
growing, undulating wake, like a double ridge of frozen
surf. Behind the engine the flanger was at work, delving
industriously between the rails and driving before it, as
shavings from the rush of a giant plane, two flaky break-
ers of foamlike snow.

Inside the car Jim Harvey stood by the window, keenly
watching the shifting landscape, alert for the signs that

would warn him when the flanger should be raised or

dropped. From time to time he cried out to the two men
at the lever, and with automatic certainty they obeyed
his sharp-flung commands. With a sigh of relief he at
last turned to them; he had successfully threaded his way
through the network of switches and level crossings in
the first ten miles, the last suburban station was passed,
and now for a full twenty miles the flanger could remain
down eee fear of encountering an obstacle.

“Phew!” he exclaimed, “I’ll be glad when this job, is
over. It’s stiff enough work now, but it will be a long
sight worse when we get into the storm zone.”

' “Tt seems to me we won’t be able to see ten yards ahead
of us if the snow’s anyway thick,” remarked one of the

‘men. “Best give the flanger a rest and let the front plow

do the best she can by herself.”

“we've got to do this job
There must be no shirk-
the flanger as long as we can; !
tight unless something out of the

“No,” said Jim sharply,
properly now we've tackled it.
ing. We must work
can get prreue all

way happens.’

Jim spoke with more Seadhenin than he felt, but it would
not do for the men to get hold of the idea that pete was »
any special danger in the trip.

‘ The engine and. its attendant car were moving along
_ comfortably now, but Jim noted that the speed was not

          
 
  

  

   
 

   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
   
 
  
  
   
 

 

    
     
       
    
   
       
     
  
        
     
   
 
 

   
 

  

  

: ‘en oo ee ea

Pir BA ges gee
what it ought to be.
have started on its westbound trip, and would soon over-
take them if they did not travel at a bétter rate. The
next station was in sight; he signaled the engineer to
pull up so that he might talk to him on the matter, and

hey?”

The Sunset Express would already

then called to his men to raise the flanger to clear’ the
points just ahead.

“We'll have the express running over us, Hobbs, if we
don’t-move a bit faster,” he shouted, as the engineer looked
out from his cab to learn the reason of the stoppage.
“We've got to clear the whole section, and it won't do
to let the express catch us up halfway.”

Jim spoke pleasantly enough, but Hobbs seemed rather
aggrieved at being taken to task.

“Oh, I can give you all the steam there is, if that’s what
you want,” he exclaimed gruffly:’ “I should think you'd
have your hands full) looking after the flanger, without
trying to run the engine, too. Ill send her along as fast
-as you like, but don’t blame me if you come to grief.”

Jim laughed lightly at the engineer’s ill temper.

“Don’t get sore about it, Hobbs,” he cried; “I know

you don’t need any one to tell you how to run your en-
‘gine, but, all the same, we'll never get over the section
ahead of the express at the pace we’re going. Let her out
a bit more. I can look after the flanger all right.”

“All right, get aboard,” said the engineer, slightly molli-
fied by Jim’s manner and speech. “I’ll send her along fast
enough to satisfy you.”

He shifted a lever as he spoke, and the engine moved

forward so sharply that Jim had to jump to swing aboard
the flanger car as it passed.

Jim had no complaint to make of the speed now; before
the station was out of sight the engine Was whirling along
at a good forty miles an hour. At the end of five miles

_ this pace was appreciably increased, while the snow sprayed
furiously from the quivering steel of the forward plow.
Soon it was apparent that they were on the fririge of the
storm area; fine, powdery particles of snow floated in the
air, growing denser as the engine plunged forward, until
they swept past the engine and car in blinding white

clouds. °

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE ACCIDENT,

From his post of observation, Jim Harvey found it in-
creasingly difficult to judge of his position by the features
of the landscape. But still he kept the flanger down, and

with instinctive judgment ‘raised it just in time to escape

‘the planks of a level crossing. The next obstacle was
the switch of a sliding just outside a wayside station about
five miles farther on. Unwilling to take a risk that could
be avoided, he lowered the window as they approached
this station, so that he might see it as they swept past,
and raise the flanger in time to avoid the switch. At the
same time he hit on the plan of counting the miles
by means of the telegraph posts.

With watch in hand he peered out at the swiftly passing
poles, and found soon that the engine was rushing along

at a fifty-mile gait. When he passed the wayside station,
he breathed more freely, for even if he failed to keep
track of the telegraph poles, he could time the miles as
they were reeled off, and in this manner form a very
definite idea of his position. | »,

. The worse part of the road was now almost immediately

a 4

 

‘NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

_In front of him. In the next thirty miles there were four

sidings, with eight switches to lift for, and three level
crossings, There was only one thing to be done; the only
guide he could rely on now was time. ‘,

He turned, facing the men at the long lever, and with
his eyes closely following the movement of the second
hand of ‘his watch he waited for the first obstruction.
He knew to a few’ yards the distance between each of the
switches and level crossings.

“Up!” he shouted suddenly, and the flanger was lifted
as though his word alone had raised it.

“Down!” he cried, five seconds later. The flanger
dropped, and for some thrilling moments Jim stood with
tense nerves, fearing lest he had spoken too soon. But he
had made no mistake; the great plow still moved smoothly
between the rails.

Half a minute later he spoke again; the points at the
other end of the siding were at hand. They were passed
without mishap, and in | their turn a level crossing and

two other sidings were encountered with equal success.

“Another siding, and the hard work is over,” cried Jim
to his men, without raising his eyes from his watch.

The next siding was a new one, For some reason an
old one had been abandoned a few months earlier, and the
new one constructed ‘about a quarter of a mile east of it.

Glancing through the window, Jim saw that the air had
cleared considerably; the flying snow was less dense, and
the wind had perceptibly fallen. He leaned across the
window ledge ‘and looked along the line. Ahead of him
some few hundred yards he saw something that looked
at first sight like a huge drift of snow, but he realized
in a moment that it was a line of freight cars om the
siding. For the next few minutes he was snapping out
orders to the men at the lever, and then, with a feeling

‘of great contentment at having got safely over the most

perilous section of the trip, he turned away from the
window.

Released for some little time from work at the lever,
one of the men had pulled out a pipe and was ‘busy
lighting it. The other had squatted himself in front of
the stove. Jim thrust his watch in his pocket, and moved
toward the second man. Suddenly he came to an abrupt
halt, swung swiftly to the lever, and cried madly to his
men to help him while he made frantic efforts to drag
it downward.

\ Seared by the suddenness of his outcry, the men hung

back for.a moment, staring at him with frightened eyes.

Then the man by the stove understood, and jumped for
the lever. But he was too late; there was a terrific jar’
beneath the car, the lever was jerked from Jim’s frenzied

grip to crash against the roof; the car was flung bodily

into the air and fell again, but now it was off the rails,
bumping and swaying horribly in the rear of the flying
engine. . '
But the worst had not -happened yet, or rather, there
was more to come. Jim Harvey, flung halt ‘stinned: ante
a corner of the car, knew that he alone was to blame for
the disaster; he had forgotten the old siding, and the

y

flanger had hit the disused switch. In one swift glance he -

saw that the lever was thrashing furiously .from floor to
roof, and that. one man lay groaning frightfully’ at its

base, while the other clung desperately to the stove to -

keep out of the reach of the terrific flai ’

.

       

    

)
ae ; 7 Pips fyi eethas te ?

; h ‘ j . ?

With a groan, Jim staggered to his feet and’ sought to

     
 

   
       
     
     
     
     
  
 
  
  
  
    
   
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
   
 
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
   

 

 

      
    

 
 
  

  

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"several of ’em wore fresh scalps in their belts.
hind “em, settin’ on the ground, with her head bowed upon
3 her. bosom, an’ her white hands tied behind her with
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Y Exe”

grip the window ledge to steady himself; but his hand never
reached the sill, for once again the car was flung violently

upward, and then it seemed to turna series of somersaults
before it came to an abrupt rest. The couplings had
parted, the car had broken away from the engine, and
fallen headlong down an embankment.

TO. BE CONTINUED.

 

THE FATAL DUEL

’ By OBADIAH C. AURINGER.

Beside a little camp fire that illuminated the summit of
a grassy eminence in one of the Western prairies were
seated two men in the rough garb of hunters. One was a
young man of about twenty years of age, possessed of a
form tall and well proportioned, and of pleasant, hand-
some features.

His companion was an old hunter, of short stature,
whose weather-beaten visage showed the scars of more
than one fierce struggle with the savage bear, and: the
little less savage red man.

“Rube,” said the young man, breaking the silence, “how
long have you been on the prairie?”

The old hunter pondered a moment as if to recall to
memory the number of years that had passed since he
had begun his adventurous career upon the’ plains, and
then replied:

“Waal, it are just thirty-one years ago this fall that I
fought the duel with Dick Burgess, for which I war
obliged ter leave my native State forever. .Boy, did I
ever tell ye of that ’ar scrape?”

“No; but if you have no objection, I would like to hear
it,” was the answer.

“It are a long story, fraught with wrong and bloodshed;
but as I have never told it to ye before I think I’ll grat-
ify ye.

“At the time I war nineteen years of age I lived with
my father on the banks of the Ohio, in the State of Ken-
tucky, an’ as. I war fond of the hunt I spent most of my
time at hunting and trapping in the forest, and along my
native stream. Often I would hunt for several days with-
out returnin’ home, campin’ wherever night found me, an’
war always sure ter go home with as many peltries as I
could pack, besides a lot of small game.

“One mornin’, as~I set out on my return from one of
these hunts, I suddenly stumbled upon the trail of a party
of redskins. As an Injun trail in them parts at that time

war seldom seen, I concluded ter foller it a ways an’

find out, if I could, what the red gents war about. Ac-
cordingly, I struck out’an’ tramped all day without gittin’

} a squint at ’em; but jest at sunset, as I war
abeu '’ up the job, I discovered thar camp fire ‘bout
hald a ahead, in a thick grove of timber.

7) waltel till it war dark, an’ then crawled up within
& few yares o’ the fire, whar I’d git a squint at ’em with-
Out bein’ Sten myself.

"Thar war six of ’em, all told, in full war/paint. They
War seftin’ in a circle round the fire. I could see that
Jest be-

 

ever seen.
“The sight of the poor, sufferin’ creatur’, an’ the bloody

oer
Ae

; Re cE NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. i

scalps; that no doubt had been torn from the heads 4
murdered parents, .nvfade my blood bile, an’ I took my oak
on the spot that everyone o’ them red heathens should ~
bite the dust, or I shed lose my own ha’r.

“Leavin’ one Injin-ter guard the camp, the rest goon
stretched ’emselyes around the fire to snooze, little thinkin’
As soon
as all except the sentinel war buried in slumber, I .crept
softly up behind the unsuspectin’ red, and, fixin’ my) grip
on his throat, pressed my knife inter his heart. I held
him tight till he stopped strugglin’, an’ then I stepped
around among his sleeping comrades an’ put my steel inter
every dusky bosom.

“It war a bloody deed, boy; but thar war no other way
to save the gal.

“The female that I rescued war a gal named Nellie
Hayward, the daughter of an old hunter an’ scout who
lived in the southern part of Ohio. One night his cabin
war attacked by a gang of wanderin’ Shawnees, who toma-
hawked an’ skulped the rest o’ the family, after losin’
three o’ thar number by the rifle o’ the old pioneer, who
fought like a catamount afore he went under.

“As the poor gal no® had no home,’ I took her home
to my kind old mother, who endeavored to make her happy
and forget her great sorrow.

“A year went by, and durin’ that time I war the happiest
feller alive. I loved Nellie Hayward, and as I war simple
enough ter believe she loved me, I war in no hurry to tell
her on. it; but before long I found that my delay war a
fatal one, for one night, as I war returnin’ from a long
hunt, with my back loaded with pelts an’ game, I found
the gal I loved settin’ under a tree a little distance from
the house, an’ beside her war a chap named Dick Burgess
—as big a rascal as ever cheated an honest hunter in a
game o’ keerds. His arm war round her waist, and he
war pourin’ a string o’ love trash into her ears that would
puzzle an old hunter like me to repeat. At last I heard
him ask her ter be his wife, an’ heard her soft voice
answer. ‘yes.’ Then, with a deep determination in my
heart, I left the scene and went to the cabin.

“T had jest got my pelts taken care of, when Dick and
Nellie entered. As soon as Dick seed me he turned
ter go.

“*Dick,’ I said, stoppin’ him, ‘come with me; I’ve got
somethin’ ter tell ye.’ ;

“He follered me out inter the moonlight, an’, after goin’
a short distance from the cabin, I stopped, and, layin’ my
hand on his shoulder, said, in a voice so deep an’ strange
that he turned pale:

“Dick Burgess, one or t’other of us Has got ter die
to-night! We can’t both live an’ love thé same gal.
You’ve stole the love o’ Nellie Hayward, an’ blood alone
can wipe out the crime.’

“*Rube,’ said Dick, when I had ceased’ speaking, ‘ye’ve
insulted me, and I accept yer challenge ter fight. Name the
time an’ place, and we'll have fair play.’

“The spot selected for the duel ter take place war a
lone, sandy island in the middle o” the river, an’ the time
one hour before sunrise the next morning. Half an hour
afore the tinve I entered my canoe an’ paddled to. the
spot.

“T found Dick there, pacin’ up and down the sands.

that they’d awake in the happy huntin’ grounds.

““The weapons!’ he said, as I landed.
“Knives, I replied.
“An’ knives it was.

  
@? Throwin’ aside our huntin’ shirts, rifles, an’ pistols, we
"Grew our blades an’ steod gazing upon each other fur
'~ $ev’ral minits. \

“Suddenly Dick made a spring at me, our knives en-
countered, an’ I got a severe cut in the arm. Maddened
by the pain o the wound, I gave a fearful lunge, an’
buried my blade to the hilt in his breast, an’ he fell back
upon the earth.

“*You’ve conquered, Rube,’ he said’ in a faint voice.
‘Bury me here, whar I fell, an’ tell Nellie that I loved her
to the death.’

“He gasped, an’ was dead.

“With my knife an’: hatchet I dug a grave in the sands,
put Dick’s body in it, heaped the dirt over it, and, spring-
in’ into my boat, soon reached the cabin.

“Nellie was the first ter meet me there.

“Qh, Reuben! are you hurt?’ she cried, springin’ to
my side, an’ pointin’ to a spot of blood that stuck to my
huntin’ ‘frock.

* ‘Nellie,’ said I, in a hoarse tone, ‘that ar’ the blood of
‘Dick Burgess. He stole your love from me. We had a
fight, an’ he war the one tu fall. He lies buried in Coon
Island,’ .

“She gazed at me wildly while I war uttering these

. words, an’ when I had concluded she uttered a wild cry—
a cry that has rung in my ears a thousand times since—
an’ fell to the floor, I raised her up, thinkin’ she, had only
fainted ;.but her eyes never opened ag’in. She was dead!

+ “With my heart filled with remorse, I conveyed her body
to Coon Island, an’ buried it beside the man she had loved;
an’ takin’ my rifle, I plunged into the great wilderness that
stretches to the West, an’ from that day to this my life
has been one of wild adventure. But, boy, if I should
live ‘a thousand years I should never forget my fatal
duel.”

As the old hunter concluded his eventful narrative, he
wrapped the folds of his blanket about him, and, lying
down by the fire, glided away into the dim land of
dreams.

MONKEYS DEMANDING THEIR DEAD.
A true story is told by a well-known traveler of a female
monkey shot by a friend of -his, and carried, to his tent.
Forty or fifty of her tribe advanced, with menacing ges-
tures, but stood still when the gentleman presented his gun
' at them. One, however, who appeared to be the chief of
the tribe, came forward, chattering and threatening in a
furious manner. Nothing short of firing at him seemed
likely to drive him away, but at length he approached
the tent with every sign of grief and supplication, as if
_ he were begging for the body. It was given to him; he
took it in his arms and carried it away, with actions ex-
eat. _pressive of affection to his companions, with whom he dis-
appeared. The effect upon the traveler was such that he
vowed never to shoot another monkey,

 

INVENTION OF THE TYPEWRITER.

It is a mistake to suppose that the typewriter is of re-
-) cent origin. It was invented as long ago as 1714 by one
Henry Mills, who in that year obtained a patent in Eng-
land for a device that “would write printed characters,
~» one at a time, or one after the other.” There is no de-
scription of this device to be had now, but there is no

 

  

 

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

doubt that Mills’ invention was the parent of the present

terest.

 
  

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typewriters. In 1823 a French patent was granted to
MA Aweadece Dear oe é : +1
Monsieur Progrin (Xavier), of Marseilles, for a type-
writer, which he called a typographic: machine.

count of

 
        
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 

The ac-
the machiné ig somewhat obscure, but enough is

ac:

given to show that it was an opetative one, by which type-
writing could be fairly well executed. Monsietir Foucault
sent to the Paris Exhibition of 1855 a writing machine

 

 

 

 

   

for the blind, and several typewriters were invented. by Se
Wheatstone. After successive improvements, Messrs. Rem- th
ington, in 1873, contracted to construct twenty-five thou- ya
sand. ° the
gay un
Ru
TEA TASTERS AND THE SENSE OF TASTE. | all
There are about 200 tea tasters in New York. The the
habits of the men are exceedingly curious, Some of them fr¢
refuse to ply their trade save in the morning, on the | po!
ground that the sense of taste cannot be trusted after it ;
has been bewildered by hours of work: Most of them a
avoid the use of tobacco and of highly seasoned food. “
Their accuracy of taste is astonishing. A tea taster will eet
grade and price a dozen qualities of tea all from the same rc
cargo, ae eee
} Me
! | me
A TIGHT FIT. ee C
The excursion train for Blackpool was very full and Bet
very late. Passengers were growing exasperated. j° fun
Presently, however, a shrill whistle was blown, and- it boa
seemed really as if the train was about to move, when pie
suddenly ‘a middle-aged couple came hurrying down: ‘the iter
platform and tried to fight their way: into one of the ‘al- Rui
ready overcrowded compartments of the train. 7 .
“Only room for one?” shouted the occupants, as if with pl
one voice. ae
“All right,” replied the husband. of the invading couple ss
as he thrust his wife into the carriage. Then, in: a baie oe
dential whisper: “Sir,” he asked one of the passengers, - | re
“might I trouble you to keep an eye on this lady?’ She -f
is subject to violent spasris and fits.” i sig
The man gave no answer, For a moment: he hésivnied: ae
Then, with a scared expression on his face, hé leaped: out a
onto the platform just as the train was moving. And the
husband got in. M
Sn nAerRBOTI coac
FIRST USE OF MONEY i ob
Somewhere between the years s60 : : - ' | ae
in the form of gold and sil ink ees

 

 
   
 

iver. coins came into use in-
Lydia, an ancient country of Asia Minor. Croesus was
the monarch whe introduced the System of coinage gold
being held as more valuable in the Proportion of hiaeks ig
four, Darius of Persia, soon adopted the idea of such a
medium, as it simplified trade. o.
The Greeks issued their first metal coin some time igs
ing the seventh century, B. C., and the entire civilized | |
world had adopted the money system in the fourth ‘cen
tury, B. C. ial ee
Up to the time of the death of Alex
coins bore on them sacred objects in the form
deity. Pasion of Greece was probably the fitst
develop the idea of lending money at a high rate
He opened a house on the ord Lh
Athens. zs : .

    
 
        
     
     
     
     
   
  

 
 

 
   
   
 

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TOP.- WEEKLY. | 27

INTEREST

 

NEWS ITEMS OF
|

Russian Seaman Artested in Egypt.

The Russian seaman, Karl, who led the Russian Black
Sea mutiny in 1905, and since then has been secretary of
the Seamen’s Union and the editor of the periodical Mor-
yak (The Sailor), has been arrested by the Egyptian au-
thorities on the demand of the local Russian consul, ‘and
unless the British government intervenes may be sent to
Russia for trial on several charges, including revolution,
all of which could not be sustained outside of Russia, as
they are political. But extradition for political offenses
from Turkey to Russia is not unknown, and the Egyptian
police have evidently acted on orders from Constantinople.

After Karl, or Arles, as he now calls himself, had es-
caped from Russia after the mutiny, he settled down for
a time in Antwerp. From there he succeeded in re-
establishing the Russian Seamen’s Union as an “under-
ground” society. Subsequently he went to ‘Constantino-
ple as a place nearest to Odessa, and started the paper
Moryak, which was then smuggled into Russia on board
merchant ships.

On the outbreak of the Balkan War he, feeling no longer
safe on the Bosphorus, and being unable through lack of
funds /to return to western Europe direct, took the first
boat coming to Egypt, and reached Alexandria. It was
there, while waiting for the opportunity to cross the Med-
iterranean, that he was arrested at the instance of the
Russian authorities.

It is well known that under the régime of the capitula-
tions prevailing in Egypt as throughout the Ottoman em-
pire all foreigners are subject to the legal jurisdiction. of
their consuls. They cannot be tried for offenses by na-
tive courts; they cannot be arrested without the previous
consent of their consuls, and they must. be handed over on
a charge of criminal offense to the consular courts. In
the present case, however, Karl, being a Russian subject,
the consulate authorities of the czar would naturally pre-
vail.

M. C. Mutphy, Dean of Trainets, Dead.

Michael C. Murphy, the dean of American athletic
coaches, and probably the best-known man in the profession
of developing college athletes in the world, died at his
home at Philadelphia recently. It was said that his death
was due to a combination of diseases, principally caused
by stomach trouble, with which he had suffered for a

years.
me of his death he was nominally in charge of
the Vee ssity of Pennsylvania teams, the track squad of

+ 5

Abi Se) point winner of the intercollegiate champion-
ambridge—the first series Murphy had missed
became connected with amateur sports in 1887.
"“Mike”* Murphy, as he.was called by every .one, was
born in Natick, Mass., in 1860, and early in life took up
athletics, developing into one of the best of professional
Sprint runners of the middle ‘80s. He was engaged by Yale

ships

since

“8 in 1887 to prepare its teams for contests against other uni-
wersities, and Harvard in particular, which from 1880 to

1886, inclusive, had won the intercollegiates.
For fifteen years Murphy had been ailing, and about
right ae ago was said to have been at death’s door.

At that time,
remarkable

as in his most recent illness, his. somewhat
physique stood him in good stead, and until
within a week his physician, Doctor Robert Torrey, one
of the lads hé had coached under the colors of the Red and
Blue, had hopes of pulling the veteran trainer around.

An idea of the remarkable vitality of the man is gained
from the fact that after the most recent victory of his
protégés, when every one about his bedside had given up
all hope of his recovery, the sick man said: “I knew they
would do it for old Mike.”

It was at once evident that the Yalensians had made
a good selection in Murphy in-1887, as in that year, his
first in training work, the athletes of the Blue put an end
to the winning streak of the Crimson, and won the cham-
pionship. During the next nine years the intercollegiates
always developed into a duel between Yale and Harvard,
with the balance of victories falling to the Blue with five
wins to four.

In 1897 the University of Pennsylvania made a bid
for Murphy’s services and got them. The veteran con-
tinued his winning propensities, and “Pennsy” was re-
turned the winner of the all-important athletic series for
four years straight. From 1902 to this year, teams from
Yale and, Pennsylvania coached by him won eight of
the yearly series, incidentally gaining possession of the
five-year intercollegiate cup for the latter institution.

In 1895 he was the man behind the training for the
memorable track and field series between England and
America, when the Yankee athletes swept the boards, win-
ning the entire eleven events, with several of the men
hanging up marks which stood for fifteen years.

It was Murphy who brought out the first man in the
world to do better than “evens” for too yards, when, in
1890, as trainer of the Detroit Athletic:Club, he flashed
John Owens on the athletic world. In the championships
of that year Owens ran the century in 9 4-5 seconds.

In 1900 it was Murphy who had in charge the combined
teams of the New York Athletic Club and the University
of Pennsylvania, who made an invasion of France in quest
of the honors of the Olympic games in Paris. When the
matter of coach of American Olympic teams came up for
discussion no one else had been considered, so that at Lon-
don in 1908 and again at Stockholm last year, it was Mur-
phy who directed the competitive efforts of the American
athletes, as is known by all followers of the fortunes of
our teams.

Murphy prophesied the defeat of Jeffries by Jack jokau

_son in their battle at Reno in 1910, when he got a peep

at the condition of the then champion, although the ex- /
perts had reported that Jeffries was in his best form. It |
was this sort of rare judgment and insight which gave
him his high position in the world of sport.

Cistern Full of Hard Cider.

The discovery of a cistern filled with “hard” cider on
a farm near Bonner Springs, Kan., has solved a mystery
that baffled the law-enforcement officers of Wyandotte
County for more than a year.

Frequent complaints have been filed with the prosecut-
ing attorney that men and boys were being ruined by strong

  
 
   
  

drink, but the utmost vigilance on hig part failed to locate
-eitHer joints or “bootleggers.” § ©

he cistern was found by one of the prosecutor’s as-
sistants, who had been in the neighborhood a week dis-
guised as a farm hand.
thé cider was about six per cent pure alcohol,

A chemist’s analysis showed that

Italy Will Dig Three New Lakes.

The Italian government is promoting a

‘taking. Three huge artificial lakes are to be constructed
in the granite mountain tange of Sila, better known as
Asptomonte, which lakes, besides irrigating a vast stretch
of table-land, will furnish 150,000 horse power electricity
fot industrial purposes in Calabria and Apulia, practically
the whole of the heel of Italy.

Another rather similar resetvoir is being created in Sar-
dinia, in a malarious region bordéring the Tirso River,
which is destitied to drain about 50,000 acres of marsh
land and store up 330,000,000 ctibic-meters of water. It is
expected there will be sufficient surpltis power to provide

Be a aa te
co1iossali under-

and silver mines throughout the island.

Private companies engaged in the task will enjoy special
grants and privileges from the state, into the hands of
which the entite plant will pass gratuitously after sixty
yéars’ coficession. In the meantime the government has
the right to bé supplied with all requisite power for public
services at cost price. The estimated outlay on the project
is about $20,000,000.

Mexico in Worse Plight than Ever.

Conditions in Mexico are worse than ever, according to
repofts received by the state department. Smallpox is
several northern states of the republic. Rebels and ban-
dits have brought about a condition of anarchy in southern
states. “

The situation about Tampico, Mexico, on the Atlantic
coast, midway between Matamoras and Vera Cruz, is so
had that Americans are leaving. Many have applied to

Ambassador Wilson for assistance to return to the United
+ States.

_ + Conditions are quite as bad in the vicinity of San Luis
Potosi and Aquais Calientes. There is no railway commu-
x nication between these points. 5

The state department has under consideration the send-
ing of/money to Ambassador Wilson to defray the éx-
|. peige of the Americans in the Tampico and Aguascalientes
districts in leaving the country. Most of them are’ des-
titute,
_ Indications that the American naval force in Mexican
_ watérs is to be maintained for an indefinite time appear
in orders to the battleships Louisiana, New Hampshire,
and South Carolina to relieve the Connecticut, Minnesota,
and Jdaho, which have been at Vera Cruz and Tampico for

some time. 4 .

. President Wilson has made it clear that the United

States is not considering givirig recognition to the Huerta
government. It is believed that the oufeéome of the presi-
_ dential elections will be awaited. They will be held in
October, according to present plans.
President Huerta has failed to make the final steps in
. his attempt to borrow $r100,600,000 ftom the French bank-

_€f8 with whom he was negotiating. The Mexican House
of Representatives did not favor the loan, and the bankers

Thy

 

te
Fees 7 j

  
 

a eee

NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

electric light and traction for all the zinc; lead, copper, -

epidentic among the troops of both Federals and rebels in -

   

 

| were frightened by a dispatch from General Carranza
leader of the rebels, who cabled this message to the rahel
, 1c ) j

       
     
       
      
  
 
   
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
   
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 

 

   

agents in France and England: very
“The unconstitutional government of Huertd may pos- seal
sibly obtain a pretended authorization from Congress KS W
contract a loan with citizens of France. But as the eben pot
Mexican nation has risen in arms, repudiating the see q® Eigt
Oo f the so-called government of Huerta, serious difficulties lel West
might ensue, even war, in case the French government on ye
the triumph of the military movement of which I ariy the by.
first chief, should support demands for the Payment of ae Stuy
loan made by Huerta.” z mF.
Dayton Raised $2,000,000 F se hg
yVUUy und, Pre;
After a week’s campaign to raise $2,000,000 to make the W
city of Dayton, Ohio, safe against future floods the suc- part
cessful culmination of the work was greeted with wild rails
demonstrations of rejoicing. In all the churches the min- an
isters urged their congregation’ to contribute liberally S
Many workingmen mortgaged their homes in order ‘a wall
contribute to the funds. eo : nigh
Pe up
Gone Fifty-two Years, He Drives in the Cows. eigh
Whistling merrily “Way Down in Dixie,” the tune he —
was rendering fifty-two years ago when ‘he left his home re
in East Lee, Mass., one summer day to drive the cows ~ ing
the pasture, Charles Gates rettirned to the old homestead hou
after an eventful career as a soldier in the Union arty ee
a cattle rancher, and a gold miner, ; ae V
He passed down the family lank técently just in time He
to drive home the cows again. His parents, who matched mec
for their boy’s return for many years, have been fous in t
since dead, but the homestead, although in other hands, is tion
but little changed. The lane was a part of the old stage |
road from Lee to Springfield, and, after driving the cows
to pasture that morning yeats ago, Gates went on to ki
Springfield and there enlisted as a Union soldier. This is it h
the first return to his native town since he left. Gates | are
made a fortune digging gold in the Klondike. =. Thi
i { any
Weston Off on Hike; 1,500 Miles this Time, | ei SOE
Just as the bell of the College of the City of New vos : } fd
clanged the hour of noon one day recently, a wiry little Fir
man, dressed in a khaki suit, hobnail boots, and a white Bal
silk helmet, walked across the campus and out into Con- mi
vent Avenue amid the cheets of sevetal hundred people, q pea
| including a university president, two railroad Presidents, oe
and a batiker. : lj eve
Edward Payson Weston, 75 years old, had started ona of OW
little trip ori foot to Minneapolis, some 1,500 miles away i up
from here. a7 obs

   

Had it not been for his dutiés at the college, ‘President
John H. Finley would have accompanied Weston. As it
is, President Finley says he will join Weston Srietiachinles
in Pennsylvania later on, and tramp the rest of the dis- :
tance with him. Mr. Finley received Weston in his study
just before noon, and gave him a little book called “The
Joys of the Road” to take with him on the journey.

“As you start out to-day,” he said, “I will give to yor
the advice that I give to all of my students when they ar
leaving for a! vacation: 1 hi ee

“Take a long walk, read a good book, and mak
friend.’ i
“It isn’t necessaty to give you any advice abou
ing, but here is the book, and, as for the friends

’

 
       
        
 
      
       
     
 

  

      
    
 
  

  

 
   
   
   
  

      

—_

    

  
   

 

4

ne ee
along the road.

 
   

a Here is a letter

   
  
   
 

 

 

  

t, of the University of Minnesota, a
on very good friend of mine, and I know that after you have
sad seen each other, he will be your friend, too.”
~ W eston was followed by an enthusiastic crowd down
ai Morningside Avenue to Hancock Place, and then over to
leg Eighth Avenue, to Twenty-third Street, where they turned
ted west for the ferry. That distance is not counted in the
ae walk, as Weston wanted it to offset the distance he gained
the by crossing the river on the ferry. In automobiles were
in Stuyvesant Fish, Colonel William Jay, President Thomas

‘&  P. Fowler, of the Ontario & Western Railroad, General
a Thomas H. Hubbard, E. N. Morgan, Henry Clews, and
; President F. D. Underwood, of the Erie Railroad.
i Weston will follow the tracks of the Erie for a large
ra part of the walk. He will have right of way ,over all
ild railroad bridges and through cities. In the daytime he will
in- carry a flag and at night a lantern. 5 a
ly. “I don’t feel very strong to-day,” Weston ms - ne
to walked down! Eighth Avenue. “I hardly slept at all last
night, I was so busy getting ready to start. I'll get rested
up on the walk, though. I am going to walk seven or
eight hours a day. I am not out for any records, you
he know, but just to show the younger generation what a
oa moderate, healthy exercise walking is. Were only stroll-
to ing along now, at the rate of three and a half miles an
ad hour. When we get out in the open country we Il hit it
by up a little more.” .
ne Weston expects to arrive in Minneapolis on August 2.
fis He is counting upon being present that day at the athietic
ed meet of the University of Minnesota and paturEss
1g in the ceremony of laying the corner stone of the associa-
is |. Hon’s néw building.
6 }. : Heavy German Emigration.
‘6 4 Emigration from Hamburg and Bremen 1s heavier than
is } it has been in years. ‘During April more than 43,000 per-
2S , sons left for the United States from these two ports alone.
} — This was nearly double the number that left in April, IQI2
—76 per cent more, to be exact. Not since the tidal wave
Bes VOE emigtation in 1907 has the exodus been so great. a
ee Two causes are assigned for the active emigration.
Es First, political uncertainty and rumblings of war from va
. Balkans—echoed throughout eastern Europe for months
Y ~—have caused the less warlike to long for homes where
> peace appears to be more stable. The volume of emigra-
: tion swelled from Russia and Austria, too, in the face of
Z # every discouragement the governments could place in the
,: way of their subjects. Many persons were called to take
, up atms temporarily in both countries, and in Russia direct
: obstacles were placed in the path of would-be emigrants.
t _ The second cause is the prevailing low steerage rate to
t » Canada. This is the outgrowth of a rate war among sev-
‘ - eral steamship companies. The fare has been shaved down

to less than $20, thus making it possible for anybody
to go. % :
oh Chinese Customs Changed.

‘A recent traveler in China notes a number of things
among the Chinese who are endeavoring to live up to their
idea of Western civilization, which, if they cause the Amer-
nd European to smile, that smile must be one of en-
Bite a ite. eo
\dern Chinese prefer tinned salmon, canned meat,
densed milk to. bird’s-nest soup, dried sharks’ fin,

  

! ~ '

   

  

and bamboo
creams. Chinese boys-and girls accept these

   
  
    

  
 

    

jelly. They are greedy buyers ‘ofwe
anit
confectionery from abroad with an ecstasy of delight.

Less than ten years ago the Chinese’ made sport of the
dress of the people of the West. They thought our clothes
ugly. Now, it is said, especially in the provinces neighbor-
ing to the ocean, there is not a Chinese man or woman
who makes any pretensions of being “advanced” who has
not a European costume. ;

“This change of clothing,” says an authority, “has not
helped to make the Chinese look more picturesque, and one
is rather: inclined to laugh when he sees for the first time
a representative group of Ewuropeanizéd Chinese. The
tweed cap seems to have been adopted as a badge for the
reformer, and most ridiculously rakish does the wearer
often appear.” \

A part of the instructions issued by the new Chinese
government requires that “the hat of great ceremony”
shall be worn by those of position who call on the Chinese
National Assembly. The “hat of great ceremony” is known
to the Western world as the silk, or “plug,” hat.

~ Costs Still. Mote to Die Now.

The high cost of dying was boosted another notch re-
cently when 700 epitaph chiselers, vault constructors, and
tombstone cutters on Long Island struck for more pay
and a Saturday half holiday. The International Monu-
ment Workers’. Union was only recently organized, but
already Evergreen, Cypress Hills, Salem Fields, aid Mount
Zion Cemeteries are affected by the strike, which threatens
to keep on spreading.
| The monument workers, who are not greatly dissatisfied
with their union wage of $4 a day, struck on general prin-
ciples, to’ show their sympathy for the vault builders, who
demand $4.50 per day. The tombstone engravers, however,
consider $3 and $3.25 a day entirely inadequate for chisel-
ing epitaphs, and insist on $4 a day.

\ The Causes of Fires.

\ :

Of the 380 fires in Ohio during April that caused $382,-
o88 loss, according to the report of State Fire Marshal
Zuber, carelessness of smokers caused seven, incendiaries
seven, and carelessness with matches forty-one. Cleveland
led, with $68,000 loss, and Columbus was. next, $25,300.
Canton lost $9,100, Zanesville, $5,850, and Lima $2,360.
Zuber left office recently, being succeeded by E. R. Def-
fenbaugh. ;

Czar Nicholas a Simple Man,

When Czar Nicholas II., of Russia, was in Berlin, Ger-
many, recently, to attend the wedding of Princess Victoria
Luise, the kaiser’s only daughter, to Prince’ Ernest August,
of Cumberland, the public perhaps learned more about him
than it knew before, for his imperial majesty was more on
view than is his wont. Y

Said a high member of his entourage while in Berlin: —

“His majesty, the czar, loves what you Americans call
the ‘simple life’ Frankness and simplicity are the key-
notes of his character. In the Russian court, so far as his
immediate family circle is concerned, the czar leads a life
of simplicity quite different from the reports so often
spread abroad of the pomp, ceremonial, and inaccessibility.
surrounding him. ean : sere

“He is not the stern despot sitting on the white throne
forever condemning nihilists to death or sending political Pe

Cx

“

  

 
 
  

         
   
   
       
      
   
 
       
   
 
   
 

 

30

offetidets to Siberian exile, but
by his life and hard work,'sets an example of industrious-

a kindly hearted man, who,

ness for those about him.”

There is no monarch in the world to-day of whose real
life and character so little is known: and who is surrounded
with so much secrecy and mystery than Nicholas Alexan-
drovitch, of the house of Romanoff, czar of all the Rus-
sians, whose population number about 163,000,000.

Unlike Emperor Franz Joseph, of Austria, who gets up
at the unearthly early hour of 3:30, Czar Nicholas arises
at 7 a.m. By 9g he has finished his breakfast, and goes to
his cabifiet to-begin his day’s work. He reads such news-
papers as have been laid on his desk with the items that
might interest him. marked. He looks over letters, min-
isterial communications, and documents. He then glances
at the calendar pad on which he has made notes himself
with a lead pencil as to what is before him for that day,
perhaps adds some or already makes notes of the things
that come to his mind for the following day.

At 10:30 the czar goes for half an hour’s walk in the
palace park, in which he is often accompanied by his son,
Alexis, the czarevitch. When he returns, there is usually
one or more of his ministers to be received. A little later,
that is shortly after 12, comes the “official tasting” of the
food for the imperial table. This is brought to the czar
in closed and sealed silver dishes by a member of his body-
guard. He luncheons at 1 o'clock. It is usually a family
meal. Occasionally a member of the Romanoff house or
some one from his suite is invited. More often it is just
the little family circle in which Nicholas feels his best.
The food is plentiful, but plain and simple. It consists
of few\courses. His favorite dishes are roast young pig,
“borschtsch,” the famous Russian creamed-vegetable soup,
and “blinny,” a kind of pancake. For drinks he prefers
“kvas,” specially made for him, and a small quantity of
Russian champagne. \

Bigger German Army Yet Urged.

Even the pending “billion-mark bill,” appropriating $250,-
000,000 for German armaments, is not enough to ‘satisfy
German militarists. A campaign for further increases in
the German army, to begin as soon as the present legisla-
tion is out of the way, already is signalized, and the direc-
tion in which nonofficial pressure on the government, so
successful in the case of the pending measure, will be ap-
plied, already is indicated.

The proposed additions to Germany’s armed forces, great
as they are, constitute only “the extreme minimum” of
what is necessary, in the opinion of the National Defense
Society. This society, which has a membership of 78,000,
and with allied oganizations a further total of 200,000 mem-
bers, went on record at its annual meeting recently in
favor of the addition to the empire’s force of two full
army corps; a further extension of obligatory military
service; the formation of cavalry divisions at present con-
templated only for war times, and further drill periods for
reservists.

General Keim, president of the society, opened the ses-
sions with a warlike speech, in which he attacked the re-
cent Berne peace conference, and said:

“Furthermore, the peace movement is‘dangerous for Ger-
many. One hundred and forty Protestant pastors have
made public a peace manifesto, and we find similar views
among the teachers. .We must work energetically against
these manifestations. “A people which ceases to seek its

NEW LIP” “FOP “WEEKLY:

highest aim in manliness is lost.

To be manly is to have
the capacity to hate.

Bismarck hated day and night. I
hate every man who threatens the life of the German peo-
ple. Occurrences like those of Luneville and Nancy must
fill thé German folk with wrath, and this wrath must grip
also our young men.”

Kern Cured by Rabbit Serum.

The introduction of a resolution by Senator Overman
in the Senate calling for investigation by the public health
service of a new antituberculosis serum revealed the fact
that Senator Kern, Democratic leader of the upper ‘house,
had been treated with the serum in 1906.

“After several physicians had diagnosed my ease as tu-
berculosis,” Senator Kern explained, “I went to a sana-
torium at Asheville, N. C., conducted by Doctor Karl von
Ruck and remained four and a half months. I was abso-
lutely cured. I know many others there with me who have
since. completely recovered. Some cases were far ad-
vanced. |

“Doctor von Ruck uses a vaccine made from tubercu-
losis germs taken from rabbits and guinea pigs. He has a
large laboratory in which are employed several distin-
guished bacteriologists. They injected the serum into my
arm once or twice a day. I brought some of it with me
and\ injected it myself. I am sorry the matter was men-
tioned by Senator Overman.”

A Really Venerable “Boy,”

Men are being substituted for boys as messengers by
the Western Union Telegraph Company in} Washington.
These men are of all ages, ranging from 45 to 70 years.
More than thirty men are now employed. Some of them
wear the full messenger-boy uniform, with cap; all wear
the cap, and they work for the same) wages formerly paid
to boys.

Scarcity of boys is the reason given by the telegraph
company’s. local management for employing old men. It
was found much easier to get men between 45 and 70
years of age than to get boys above the age of 16, since
Congress passed a law forbidding the employment of boys
below 16 years. Boys of over 16 wouldn’t do the job.

The local manager says he now has in his employ three
house painters, one groceryman, one steamfitter, four mer-
chants—men who had been in business for themselves and
failed—and the others are from miscellaneous employ-
ments, celrks, et cetera. :

One man now earning from $9 to $10 a week as Phew
senger boy is the father of seven children; his wife is dead
and three of the children are in institutions, and the other
four he is supporting directly. Many cases are similar to
this one in their human appeal. :

The men work on the same arrangement that the boys
worked.

Ugliest of Men Has 300 Wives,
Although the Congo Chief Lupungu is, according to the
picture drawn of him by Vice Consul Casteus, the ugliest
man on earth, he has taken unto himself upward of 300

wives, for each of whom he readily pays the state tax of |

2f. For Lupungu is a rich man by virtue of the tribute
paid to him by his subjects, the Basongi.

The vice consu¥ made the acquaintance of the chief dur-
ing a tour along the eastern border of the Kasai: district.
Lupungu was at Kapirda, a place of much political im-

   
 

   

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pon oad to its being his home. for he is one of the
Severin chi@fsiin the Congo
pearance,”
Native, having but one eye, and
© 9y smallpox, and ftom all accounts he is almost
S$ as he is hideous.

Mgu has had an extraordinary
was abandoned by his father, but was
dy a subchief called Senti, whose son is Lupungu’s
hister to-day. When quite a young man he dressed
4p in fantastic garb, and, persuading the natives
fiat blind eye gave him the power of dealing with the
f, in. other words, that he was a witch doctor
eve lay his eye is feared by the natives, and particu-
TY SS women—he soon collected a good many followers.
: this period he made friends with the Arab trad-
Whom there were a number in the neighborhood at
HEN WAd. assisted by them, made war upon his father,
1 He conquered. He was forthwith installed as chief

me Pasongi, a position he has held ever since.”

says the vice consul, “he is a villainous-

a countenafice

for as a
afterward

career,

Draws Gloomy Picture of Labor in America.
Mth London papers have recently been considering the
WDOF Question in America in the light of the proposed tariff

legislation. The Daily News and Leader comments on the
Situation however, from an entirely different point of
Trew -

oe

Nob dy who knows America need be surprised at two

Hem of American labor news appearing in the papers on
the same day. The one describes the horrible conditions
Oxy isting j in the mining camps of West Virginia, where the
Poverty of the miners is said to be desperate, the men to

a tefror-struck by the violence of the minihg officials, and

Clitldren and women along with men to be the victims, of
an exploitation which recalls ‘the tragedy of the Si berian
exiles and the horrors of the Black Hole of Calcutta.’
‘The other item of news: describes pitched battles - in
New Jersey between strikers and ‘special police,’ special
presumably, being a euphemism for the private
armies which it is the custom of the steel, cotton, and wool
, to maintain. The social disease from which
ais suffering is not individualism but anarchy. The
i the good citizen is the accumulating of dollars, and
achievement of that purpose the State interferes as
3 possible. a
T€ is practically no such thing as factory legislation,
cre is a huge supply of immigrant laborers who: have
anization and do not know the language of their em-
3, and, often enough, even of their fellow emp nloyees
oe could hardly be a more favorable milieu for the
; of the industrial anarchist, and it is not surprising
ubor rétaliates in fierce fashion, which happens to be
lawless chiefly because the employers control the
ettures and the courts.”

Cutrent’s Queer Duty.
Mother use has been found for electricity, that of aging
e.. An industrial electrician of Rotterdam, Holland,
gh a long series of experiments, found that he could
an absolute fresh cheese and/in one day actually “age”
© years. In other words, by means of electricity he
d make this fresh cheese have all the consistency,
} and appearance of a fine cheese that had been stored

»7 and carefully aged for two years.
"¢ takes a‘fresh cheese and subjects it to an alternating

:

ae Te

 

 

P WEEKLY: 31

 

j

cutrent. At the end of twenty-four hours of constant al
electrical through this
sesses all the properties of a fine two-year-old cheese.
This has great Holland,
cheese making is one of the great industries. It is
other things

currents cheese it pos-

ternating

naturally aroused interest in
where
said the electrician claims he, can do many
with cheese by means of electricity, including an appara-
tus that will enable the manufacturer to so
direct electrical action of this nature
taste desired and any consistency that may be needed to

y the wants of a fastidious market.

graduate and

as to give cheese any
supp!

Locating Fites Seventy Miles Away.

On the top of a huge bowlder
Hot Springs Mountain, north of War-
ner’s Hot; Springs, Cal., frame build-
ing that has been built to serve as a lookout tower for
jJeveland National

on the extreme top of
about seven miles

a little one-room
the rangers of the C Forest to be used
in locating fires.

Windows have been fitted the build-
ing on all four sides to afford a view of as much of the
forest as possible

[In the center of the room stands a table with a map of
the territory within a radius of ten miles of the station.
{t is drawn in detail, and around it all is a circle graduated
into degrees.

The forest the tower is
with a pair of field glasses and a compass.

As soon as he locates any smoke on the horizon heat
once gets its direction from the tower by the use of the

into the walls of

ranger on duty in furnished

compass. 3

Then he turns to the map and’ lays out. the line on
it. Other rangers in similar lookouts spot the smoke and
locate it from their positions.

Then all telephone headquarters, where all the lines are
drawn on one map. They converge on the exact location
of the fire.

This enables the chief forester to send his fite fighters
directly to the scene of the fire.

Fires have been located in this way at a
65 to 70 miles.

distance of from

Foiled, Plot to Blow Up Prtison.

Reytolds Forsbrey, who has killed four men, and who
is considered\by the police of New York and State prison
officials to be one of the most’ dangerous criniinals. alive,
is in solitary confinement, following the discovery of the
most daring plot to escape known at the Clinton prison.
Borsbrey is serving a life sentence for murder.

The story of his latest plot, showing even more daring
and cunning than was exhibited by Forsbrey in his re-
markable escape from the Tombs Prison, was related by
Warden Harry Kiser, at his home in Dannemora, N. Y.

When the plot was discovered by Warden Kiser, Fors-
brey was in the act of manufacturing a gasoline bomb.

Forsbrey and his confederates had already constructed
scaling ladders which were to carry them over the walls
and to liberty. They were hidden in the basement of the
workshop.

In hiding in the mountains, six miles from the prison,
was Margaret Ryan, Forsbrey’s sweetheart, who, the. New
York police believe, smuggled the saws into the Tombs
with which Forsbrey cut his way out of that. prison while
waiting trial for murder.

The prison officials have learned that the girl, in her

  

 

        

   
32 | NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY.

hiding place: tad the clothes which were to replace the
prison garb of Forsbrey and his partners in the escape.

Her mountain retreat was less than sixteen miles from
the Canadian line, and the road is clear and down grade
all the way to the border. Horses and carriagéS were at
hand,

Forsbrey’s plan was to blow up the building in which he
worked just before quitting time. The plot was discov-
ered, and since that time Forsbrey has been kept in soli-
tary confinement.

Put on Skitts and Fooled Big Bandit Band.

George Gogartis, a Mexican-American rancher of
wealth, attributes his personal safety and the possession
of his money to his success at feminine impersonations.
He arrived at Douglas, Ariz. to relate how by wearing
woman’s clothes he escaped bandits who had demanded
his money.

Captured near Opulo, Sonora, Bogartis was ordered to
pay $5,000 for his life. He took the bandits to his ranch
house and told them to wait outside while he got the
money. In the house he put on woman’s clothes, and,
hiding his money, boldly passed the picket lines which had
been set about the premises. The bandits took off their
hats as the supposed woman passed and the rancher safely
made his way to the border, depositing his money in a
bank here.

Doctor C. Dussart, secretary of the Sinaloa state. met
the constitutional committee at Douglas, Ariz., recently,
after which it was announced that Governor Felipe Rivera
would not be reinstated as governor of the Pacific coast
state. Rivera, at the time of Madero’s downfall, was
taken a prisoner to Mexico City, where he escaped to
Havana. 'He has agreed to act under the present consti-
tutionalist government of his state.

Conferences held at Nogales, Sonora, between Gov-
ernor Pesqueir and officials of the Banco de Sonora has
led to a decision to reopen the banking institution, which
was closed for some months on the arrest of Max Muller,
its manager. Muller has been released, and his misun-
derstanding with the state officials has been settled.

Rhinocetos in England.

What are stated, on the authority of the geological sur-
vey and the officials of thé British Museum, to be the re-
mains of the head of a hippopotamus and two pieces of
an ivory tusk, probably that of a- mammoth, have been
discovered on the estate of the Cane Hill Asylum, at
Coulsdon, in Surrey. There are several considerable frag-
ments of the head of the hippopotamus, which include por-
tions of the jaw with teeth in position, the articulation
of the jawbones, two of the larger teeth, and some of
the vertebra, and there are also a number of small parts
.of bone which so far it has not been possible to piece
together.

Discoveries of this nature are not unusual, though the
remains, as a rule, are not in a good state of preservation.
About fifteen years ago the skull and some bones of a
hippopotamus were found near Kew Bridge. A little
later, in a brick pit at Ilford, a numbér of remains of the
pleistocene period were uncovered, including those of a
mammoth cave bear and a woolly rhinoceros. When dig-
ging for the foundations of the new admiralty buildings
the»hones of animals belonging to the same period were
found. But most of these latter relics were in such a

state that it was difficult to say to what species they be-
longed. ; we
The most important find of this description in recent
years was made nearly ten years ago—in July, 1903—in the
course of excavations between Whitefriars Street and
Salisbury Square. Bones of several extinct animals were
unearthed. These included a very fine skull of the woolly
rhinoceros, together with part of its lower jaw and por-
tions of its limb bones. ,
The continuation of these excavations led to the dis-

covery of further remains—bones of the rhinoceros, the
‘mammoth, the reindeer, the horse, and the great extinct

ox. The woolly rhinoceros is represented by a: beauti-
fully complete skull of a young animal, in which were
still the milk teeth. Curiously enough, the second half of
the lower jaw of the rhinoceros whose skull was found in
1903 was also discovered, and the two are now reunited.

The remains were all entombed in mud, deposited in the
valley of the ancient Thames, or perhaps more probably
of some small tributary or backwater. Various estimates
of the time which has elapsed since these animals lived
in the Thames Valley have been made, and it is probably
more than 150,000 years. At that time the North Sea was
a big bay, into which the Thames and the Rhine flowed
into a common estuary, and there were no Straits of
Dover. ‘The climate must have been a cold one, for the
woolly rhinoceros and the mammoth were born thickly
clothed with wool and hair, and the presence of rein-

deer, which is essentially an inhabitant of cold countries,
,

is a further proof.

Freed After Twelve Yeats.
George Ury has been pardoned by Governor Cox, of

Ohio, after serving twelve years of a life sentence for
the murder of William Johnson, the “celery king,” of’

Wyandotte County. The State pardon board had twice

declared Ury innocent, and recommended his pardon, but

no action was taken because of the vigorous protest of for-
mer Prosecutor Meek.

Five men were convicted of Johnson’s murder, which
occurred in September, 1900. One, Lock Foster, is stil]
serving his sentence.

The widow of the murdered man positively identified

the men, but, according to members of the pardon board. .

Ury establishes a complete alibi.

“Roating Frank Victor,”
“Comanche,” a 2,000-pound buffalo bull, rated by Pro:

fessor William T. Honaday, president of the American

Bison Society, as the finest specimen of the breed, was
killed recently in a battle with a younger rival for the
supremacy of Colonel Trexler’s herd at Schnecksville.

The victor, Roaring Frank, was a much smaller animal,
weighing only about 1,400 pounds. He was spryer than
the old bull, however, and succeeded’ in goring him the
length of/his horn three times.

:

- Small Spelling Reform,

Simplified spelling in a modified form has been adopted
by the University of Illinois. A list of words for use in
university publications was made public recently,

The;university decides in favor of the “er”. rather than
the “re” ending, as in “center,” and drops the “u” in ail
words ‘ending in “our,” such as “honor.” Words ending in
double consonants, as “burr,” lose the last letter.

‘

 

 

 

 

    

 

   

 
 
 

SOME OF THE

BACK

NUMBERS OF

WEEKLY

 

THAT CAN
BE

SUPPLIED

 

 

Dick Merriwell’s Driving.
Frank Merriwell’s Theory.
Frank Merriwell’s Encouragement.
669—Frank Merriwell’s Great Work.
670—Dick Merriwell’s Mind.
671—Dick Merriwell’s “Dip.”
672—Dick Merriwell's Rally.
673—Dick Merriwell’s Flier.
674—Frank Merriwell’s Bullets.
675—Frank Merriwell’s Cut Off.
676—Frank Merriwell’s Ranch Boss.
677—Dick Merriwell’s Equal.
678—Dick Merriwell’s Development.
679—Dick Merriwell’s Eye.
680—Frank Merriwell's Zest.
681—F rank Merriwell’s Patience.
683—Frank Merriwell’s Fighters.
684—Dick Merriwell at the ‘‘Meet.”’
685—Dick Merriwell’s Protest.
686—Dick Merriwell in the Marathon.
687—Dick Merriwell’s Colors.
688—Dick Merriwell, Driver.
689—Dick Merriwell on the Deep.
690—Dick Merriwell in the North
691—Dick Merriwell’s Dandies.
692—Dick Merriwell’s Skyscooter.
693—Dick Merriwell in the Elk
tains.
694—Dick Merriwell in Utah.
695—Dick Merriwell’s Bluff.
696—Dick Merriwell in the Saddle.
697—Dick Merriwell’s Ranch Friends.
698—Dick Merriwell at Phantom Lake.
Frank Merriwell’s Hold-back.
—Frank Merriwell’s Lively Lads.
ir re ink Merriwell as Instructor.
< Merriwell’s Cayuse.
< Merriwell’s Quirt.
—Dick Merriwell’s Freshman Friend.
< Merriwell’s Best Form.
706 —Dick Merriwell’s Prank.
—Dick Merriwell’s Gambol.
< Merriwell’s Gun.
-Dick Merriwell at His Best.
—Dick Merriwell’s Master Mind.
—Dick Merriwell’s Dander.
—Dick Merriwell’s Hope.
3—Dic k’s Merriwell’s Standard.
—Dick Merriwell’s Sympathy.
—Dick Merriwell in Lumber Land.
—Frank Merriwell’s Fairness.
—Frank Merriwell’s Pledge.
—Frank Merriwell, the Man of Grit.
9—F rank Merriwell’s Return Blow,
i—F rank Merriwell’s Quest.
—Frank Merriwell’s Ingots.
—Frank Merriwell’s Assistance.
—Frank Merriwell at the Throttle.
—Frank Merriwell, the Always Ready.
-Frank Merriwell in Diamond Land.
26—Frank Merriwell’s Desperate Chance.
Frank Merriwell’s Black Terror.
—Frank Merriwell Again on the Slab.
oF rank Merriwell’s Hard Game.
0—Frank Merriwell’s Six-in-hand.
iF rank Merriwell’s Duplicate.
—Frank Merriwell on tattlesnake
Ranch.
8—Frank Merriwell’s Sure Hand.
-Frank Merriwell’s Treasure Map.
—Frank Merriwell, Prince of the Rope.
—Dick Merriwell, Captain of the Var-
sity.
ee k Merriwell’s Control.
s—Dick Merriwell’s Back Stop.
Dick Merriwell’s Masked Enemy.
—Dick Merriwell’s Motor Car.
- —Dick Merriwell’s Hot Pursuit.
WE k Merriwell at Forest Lake.
—Dick Merriwell in Court.
—Dick Merriwell’s Silence.
tee k Merriwell’s Dog.
—Dick Merriwell’s Subterfuge.
—Dick Merriwell’s Enigma.
a ete Merriwell Defeated.
—Dick Merriwell’s ‘‘Wing.”’
—Dick Merriwell’s Sky Chase.

664
666
668

Woods.

Moun-

PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY.

news dealer, they can be obtained direct from this office.

Street & Smith,

Ot ce Merriwell’s Pick-ups.
2—Dick Merriwell on the Rocking
3—Dick Merriwell’s Penetration.

ick Merriwell's Intuition.
< Merriwell’s Vantage.
— Dick Merriwell’s Advice.

5 7_Dic k Merriwell’s Rescue.

58—Dick Merriwell, American.

9—Dick Merriwell’s Understanding.

760—Dick Merriwell, Tutor.

761—Dick Merriwell’s Quandary.

762—Dick Merriwell on the Boards,

763—Dick Merriwell, Peacemaker.
764—Frank Merriwell's Sway.
765—Frank Merriwell’s Comprehension,
766—Frank Merriwell's Young Acrobat.
767—Frank Merriwell's Tact.
768—Frank Merriwell’s Unknown.
769—Frank Merriwell’s Acuteness,
770—Frank Merriwell’s Young Canadian.
771—Frank Merriwell's Coward.
772—Frank Merriwell’s Perplexity.
773—Frank Merriwell’s Intervention.

774

TT:

7 7

t7

77

Ba atetetatatat

-Frank Merriwell's Daring Deed,
5—Frank Merriwell’s Succor.
—Frank Merriwell’s Wit.
-Frank Merriwell's Loyalty.
8—Frank Merriwell's Bold Play.
779—Frank Merriwell's Insight.
780—Frank Merriwell’s Guile.
781—Frank Merriwell’s Campaign.
(82—Frank Merriwell in the
Forest.
783—Frank Merriwell’s Tenacity.
784—Dick Merriwell’s Self-sacrifiee,
785—Dick Merriwell’s Close Shave.
786—Dick Merriwell’s Perception.
787—Dick Merriwell’s Mysterious
pearance.
788—Dick Merriwell’s Detective Work.
789—Dick Merriwell’s Proof.
790—Dick Merriwell’s Brain Work.
791—Dick Merriwell’s Queer Case.
792—Dick Merriwell, Navigator.
793—Dick Merriwell’s Good Fellow ship.
794—Dick Merriwell’s Fun.
79: 5—Dick Merriwell’s Commencement.
796—Dick Merriwell at Montauk Point.
797—Dick Merriwell, Mediator.
798—Dick Merriwell’s Decision,
799—Dick Merriwell on the Great Lakes.
§00—Dick Merriwell Caught Napping.
801—Dick Merriwell in the Copper
try.
802—Dick Merriwell Strapped.
803—Dick Merriwell’s Coolness.
804—Dick Merriwell’s Reliance.
805—Dick Merriwell’s College Mate.
806—Dick Merriwell’s Young Pitcher.
807—Dick Merriwell’s Prodding.
S08—Frank Merriwell’s Boy.
809—Frank Merriwell's Interference.
810—Frank Merriwell’s Young Warriors.
811—F rank Merriwell’s Appraisal.
812—F rank Merriwell's Forgiveness.
813—Frank Merriwell’s Lads.
814—Frank Merriwell's Young Aviators.
815—Frank Merriwell’s Hot-head.
816—Dick Merriwell, Diplomat.
817—Dick Merriwell in Panama.
818—Dick Merriwell’s Perseverance,
819—Dick Merriwell Triumphant.
820—Dick Merriwell’s Betrayal.
821—Dick Merriwell, Revolutionist.
822—Dick Merriwell’s Fortitude.
823—Dick Merriwell’s Undoing.
824—Dick Merriwell, Universal Coach,
825—Dick Merriwell’s Snare.
826—Dick Merriwell’s Star P upil.
827—Dick Merriwell’s Astuteness.
828—Dic’: Merriwell’s Responsibility.
829—Dic k Me ‘rriwell’s Plan.
830—Dick Merriwell’s Warning.
—Dick Merriwell’s Counsel.
—Dick Merriwell’s Champions.
—Dick Me rriwell’s Marksmen.
Dick Merriwell’s Enthusiasm.

6
7

National

Disap-

Coun-

35—Dick Merriwell’s Solution.

>6—Dick Merriwell's Foreign Foe.

337—Dick Merriwell and _ the

‘ Warriors.

838—Dick Merriwell's Battle for the Blue.

839—Dick Merriwell’s Evidence.

840—Dick Merriwell’s Device.

841—Dick Merriwell’s Princeton Oppo-

nents.

842—Dick Merriwell’s Sixth Sense.

8453—Dick Merriwell’s Strange Clew.

844—Dick Merriwell Comes Back.

845—Dick Merriwell’s Heroie Crew.

846—Dick Merriwell Looks Ahe sad.

847—Dick Merriwell at the Olympics.

848—Dick Merriwell in Stockholm.

849—Dick Merriwell in the
se Stadium.

850—Dick Merriwell’s Marathon.

gs
8:

Carlisle

Swedish

NEW SERIES
New Tip Top Weekly

1-—Frank Merriwell, Jr.
2—Frank Merriwell, Jr.,
38—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
4—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
> ‘rank Merriwell, Jr.,
6—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’

~
‘

ih the Box.
s, Struggle.
s, Skill.
in Idaho.
: s, Close Shave.
‘rank Merriwell, Jr., on Waiting
ders.
8—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Danger.
9—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Relay
: thon.
10—Frank Merriwell,
Ranch.
1—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
-Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
4—F rank Merriwell, Jr.’
—Fre ink Merriwell, JY.,
—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
-Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
18— _Frank Merriwell, oc
19—Frank Merriwell,
2-0—Frank Merriwell, ad
21—F rank Merriwell, Jr.
<2—F rank Merriwell, JT,
25—Frank Merriwell, Jr.
ge, rank Merriwell, Jr.’
—Frank Merriwell, Jr.
26 rank Merriwell, Jr.’
27—Frank
Foes.
28—Frank Merriwell, Jr., and the Totem.
29—F rank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Hockey Game.
350 —Frank Merriwell, pie i. Clew.
1 —Fr ink Merriwell, . Adversary.
=- Pri ank Merriwell, Tn ’s - imely Aid.
3—Frank Merriwell, aX ‘in the Desert.
4—Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Grueling Test.
’—Frank Merriwell, Tee Special Mission
S —Trank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Red Bowman.
(—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Task.
-Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Cross-Country
face,
—Frank Merriwell, Jr.
Frank Merriwell, Jr.’
—Frank Merriwell, aDis
Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Teamwork.
‘Frank Merriwell, J 1's) Step-Over.
—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Monterey:
Frank Merriwell, q ae Athletes.
-Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Outfielder.
—Frank Merriwell, ar s, “Hundred.
48 —Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Hobo Twirler.
s
8,

Or-

Mara-

Jr., at the Bar Z
s, Golden Trail.

s, Competitor.

s, Guidance.

s, Scrimmage.
Misjudged.

s, Star Play.

s, Blind Chase.

s, Discretion.

r.’s, Substitute.
Justified.

Incog.

Meets the Issue.
s, Xmas Eve,

s, Fe arless Risk.

, on Skis.

.’s, Ice-boat Chase.
Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ambushed

»
»
26
o
Oe
oe
9
»
>
oe
9
»
a)
»
2
»

s, Four Miles.
.s, Umpire.
Side tracked.

49—Frank Merriwell, he . Canceled Game-

50—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Weird Advels
ture.

51—Frank Merriwell, Jt. Double Header. ;

52—Fri a Merriwell, Jr.’s, Peck of Trower
y1e,

53—Frank Merriwell, Jr, and
Doctor. 4

54—F rank Me ‘rriwell, Pb hg Sportsmanship:

the spook

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