fit oT |
\

Bihalil?
MERUGE

\
Wis

\
\ VY \\
) Mis

a

Ratieckaa ly” Wales

RIES OF BOYS WHO SUCCEE

Issued Weekly. By Subscription, $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1907, in the office of the Librarian of Congress,
Washington, D. C., by THE WINNER LIBRARY CoO., 765 West Fifteenth St., New York, WV. Y.

NEW YORK, AUGUST 31, 1907 Price, Five Cents

 

ne

ES Se

 

 

The villain crept noiselessly toward the unsuspecting boy. There was a quick movement, and then,
with a loud cry, Frank Foster disappeared over the edge of the precipice.

 
 

 
  
 

    

     
  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

 

_ STORIES

 

 

 

 

 

=IEIDIn

 

 

 

OF BOYS WHO SUCE

 

 

dssued Weekly. By Subscription, $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1907, in the office of the Librarian of Congress,
: Washington, D. C., by THE WINNER LIBRARY CO., 165 West Fifteenth St., New York, N. Y.

No. 80.

NEW YORK, August 31, 1907.

Price Five Cents.

 

 

OR,

THE MYSTERY OF A PHOTOGRAPH.

 

By “ONE OF THE BOYS.”

 

CHAPTER I,

: THE MURDER.
“Who's that?”
Frank Foster, returning from an evening party, had seen

a dark form crouching beneath the library window.

It was nearly midnight, and the sight of the intruder,

-whose presence on the grounds could bode no good, startled

the boy not a little.

~“Who’s that, I say?” he repeated.

The man sprang suddenly to his feet and rushed down the
gravel walk and out into the highway.

Frank followed him a short distance, but he soon plunged
into a wood a few rods from the house, and, knowing that

it would be useless to pursue him farther, the boy retraced
_ his steps.

The man’s form was unfamiliar:to him, and he had not
caught even a glimpse of his face. A strange foreboding

seized him as he slowly returned to the house—a premoni-
tion, perhaps, of a terrible tragedy that had been enacted

during his absence. “There is a light in the library,” he
murmured; “father is still there. I will go in and see him
before I go to bed, and tell him about that man. . Besides,
I must ask. his forgiveness for what I said this afternoon.
I frankly acknowledge that I was in the wrong.”

He entered, and proceeded directly to the library.

There was no response to his licht tap upon the door. He

knocked again, this time a little louder, but still all was si-

   

 

>

mused Frank. “I will

lent. “Perhaps he has fallen asleep,’
see.”
What was it that made him’ pause, irresolute, with his

hand upon the door-knob? What was. this strange impulse
that seized him to turn and flee from the place?

The boy was unable to define or analyze his feelings—he
only knew that a sickening horror for which there was ap-
parently no reason whatever, had taken possession of him.

With an effort he threw open the door. The next mo-
ment he reeled back, and a cry of terror escaped his lips.

A dreadful spectacle had met his gaze, a sight never to be
forgotten in all the years to come.

Lying upon the floor, in a pool of blood, his eyes fixed with
an awful glassy stare upon the ceiling, an expression of hor-
ror frozen upon his face, was Egbert Foster, his more than
father. He had been stabbed to the heart, and by his side lay
the knife/with which the deed had been done.

Frank rushed forward, bent over the body, and placed his
hand upon the cold, clammy brow of the man who but a
few short hours ago had been so full of life and hope.

“Dead, murdered!” burst from the boy’s lips. “And I have
permitted the assassin to escape!”

The next moment he rushed frantically out into the hall,
crying:

“Help! help! Murder! My father has been murdered !”

Two servants came rushing down-stairs, half-dressed, and
in wild excitement. Kneeling by the body of their dead mas-
ter, they filled the room with their lamentations.

“Weare wasting time,’ cried Frank impatiently. “The

 
  
~ murderer has escaped and a ‘hunt must be made for him. I
believe that I have seen him.”

“When ?—where?” denianded the coachman.

‘Frank was about to reply, when a tall, rather fine-looking
man of about forty entered the room, rubbing his eyes as if
just awakened from a sound sleep, and exclaiming:
_ “What’s the matter? Anything wrong? My God!” he
. added, recoiling at the sight of the body of Mr. Foster,

“what has happened ?”
“My father has been murdered, Mr. Danvers,” said Frank;
“and if we wish to capture the assassin we have not a mo-

ment to lose.”

“Murdered 1" gasped the newcomer, not heeding the boy’s
suggestion. “Oh, this is too horrible! Who can “have done
the deed? Why, he had not an enemy in the world! ue

“Master Frank says he has seen the murderer,”  mterposed
the coachman.

“You have seen him!” exclaimed Mr. Danvers excitedly.
“When? Where? Speak, boy, speak!’

“Just before I came in,” replied Frank. “I saw a man
crouching under the library window. When I spoke to him
he ran out into the road. I followed him as far as the wood,
but he escaped me, and

“What sort of a looking man was he! ” interrupted Dan-
vers, fixing a penetrating glance upon the face of the boy.

“T cannot tell. I do not think I should know him if I saw
him again. It was very dark, you know, and I could not dis-
tinguish his features.”

“Exactly so,” said Danvers meaningly.. “I do not think
you would know him. He will never be captured.”

“I do not understand you,” said Frank, in surprise.
do you think he will never be captured?”

 

“Why

“Because he has no existence, except in your imagina-

tion.”

“You do not believe me?”

“T do not. We shall have to look nearer home for the as-
sassin.”

“What do you mean?”

By this time three other servants—the entire household, in
fact—had entered the room. All listened breathlessly for
Mr. Danvers’ reply.

“What do [ mean? I mean that you are Mr. Foster’s mur-
derer.”’

The boy rushed forward, and would have seized his ac-
cuser by the throat, but Danvers caught both his wrists in
a grasp of iron.

“You wotld murder me, too, if you dared, wouldn’t you?
That infernal temper of yours is bound to bring you to the
gallows; I always said it would. My poor friend! this is
his reward for taking you from the streets, an unknown
waif, and giving you his name.”

‘Tt is a lie!” burst from the boy’s lips.
accuse me of this horrible crime?’ ~

Danvers stooped and picked up the blood-stained knife,
which lay beside the body of the murdered man.

“Ts not this your property?” he. asked.

“It is my pruning-knife!” exclaimed Frank, recognizing it
for the first time. .

“TY thought so. If you did not murder Mr. Foster, how did
the knife come in that place?”

“As God is my witness, I do not know.”

“Mr. Danvers,” interposed the coachman, “begging your
pardon, sir, | think you are on the wrong scent. Master
Frank could never have done a thing like that. I wouldn’t
believe it unless I heard it from his own lips.”

Frank silently clasped the speaker’s hand.

“My good fellow,” said Mr. Danvers, “your feelings do
you much honor, but in cases like this we must be guided by
reason, and not by prejudice. Did not this boy have a quar-
rel with Mr. Foster only a few hours ago?”

mie: aid, sits

“You overheard a part of it, I believe?”
“Yes, sir; it took place in the sta? ae where I

}

“How dare you

‘was at work. ‘

MIGHT AND MAI

he has a good heart, and I know he didn’t mean half that he

Baa, The a ae certain threats, I think} ”
“Yes, sir; but though Master Frank has a high temper, .

said.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“Mr. Foster and he had a little dispute abqut the black
pony, sir, and the old gentleman said that Master Frank had
lamed her, sir—that was all.”

“They were both excited, were they not?”
we es, sir, and one word led to another,. but

“Tust so. I’ve heard something of this quarrel from Mr.
Foster himself, and I want you to answer my questions —
truthfully. Did not the boy ‘threaten Mr. Foster’s life: a

“Mr. Danvers, Master Frank has a hot temper, but

“Answer my question,” persisted Danvers.

“Well, sir, he did make such a threat.”

“What were his words?” |

“He said: ‘I could kill you for that, and if you ever use
such language to me again I will”

“Ves,” interrupted the boy passionately. “I did use those
words, ‘and I shall never forgive myself for having done so.’

“You hear the admission,” said Danvers, looking tri-
umphantly around him. ‘He confesses having made the —
threat.

“As all of you know,” continued Frank, “T have a hot tem-
per, and when it is thoroughly aroused I ‘scarcely know what
I am saying or doing. Mr. Foster, my good, kind father”—
and the boy’s voice trembled—“often reproved me for it, and
I have tried to overcome ih

“Exactly so,” said Danvers; “and it was while under the
influence of this same evil temper that you killed him.”

“T did not kill him!’ cried Frank. “I swear before
Heaven that I am as innocent as yourself of the crime. And.
while we are wasting our time here, the real murderer is
effecting his escape. If no on else will go in search of him
I will do so myself,” and he turned to leave the room.

“No, you will not,” said Danvers, stepping between him
and the door. “You shall not escape so easily as that.”

“Do you dare ” cried Frank, with a threatening ges-
ture.

Then he ae realizing his temper, the curse of his life,
his* worst enemy, had again mastered him.

Ves saia vir. Danvers sternly, a do dare to detain you
until you have proven your innocence.’

“Master Frank,” said the coachman, “Mr. Danvers is right,
for things do look black against you. But I, for one, am sure
you'll come out all right.”

“And I—and I!” shouted the other servants, for the boy
was a favorite with them all.

“Jack, here, and J,” added the coachman, “will go in search
of the man you say you saw under the library window. He:
went into the woods, you said, didn’t you, sir?”

vie es, 39

“Tf he’s there we'll find him.” :

“Vou will find no one,” said Mr. Danvers, “for the man is
a myth.”

The two servants left the room without replying.

“Mr. Danvers,” said Frank, “you have never liked me, pe
I did not think you would accuse me of a crime such as
this.” .

“You misunderstand me wholly,” said the gentleman, “if-
you believe me to be actuated by any personal feeling in
what I have said and done. My only desire is that justice be ©
meted out to the offender, and my poor friend’s murder
avenged. It is true that I have never liked you, and I have

33

 

 

 

NO

 

     
  

 

 

   
 

 
  

c

    

 

 

 

 

 

   
  
 

 

on

not been hypocritical enough to attempt to conceal my dis-

like. I have always thought that Mr. Foster was unwise
in taking you, a boy of unknown origin; the inheritant of a
fierce, uncontrollable temper from some ancestor who was

perhaps a member of the criminal classes—I have always  '
thought, I say, that in taking such a boy into his home, he
I have told him so, but, unfor- nie,

was assuming great risks.
tunately for him, poor fellow, he did not share my views.’

a

 

    
 
    

  

 
   

   
 
   
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

eR

2
suebhete

ip

nee

SO gin a eee: eared on Be

‘ SO NFO RB Fe, a ae

 

    

“you are wrong, utterly wrong.

 

 

 

 

“Mr. Danvers,” said the boy, with the utmost earnestness,
I shall not, I cannot be
convicted of this crime, and if the real murderer-is not
found, I myself will bring him to justice.”

The man laughed incredulously.

“You do not believe me, you think me guilty, but you will
change your opinion soon. I will find a clue to the true
criminal; I will hunt him down.”

_ The boy paused suddenly, sprang forward, and knelt beside
the body of the murdered man.

The next moment he had forced a bit of cardboard from
the stiffened fingers of Mr. Foster’s right hand.

“I have obtained a clue already,” he cried triumphantly.
“This shall aid me in bringing my father’s murderer to the
gallows.” \

It was a small card photograph that he had taken from the
dead man’s hand—the photograph of a young and rarely
beautiful woman.

reine

CHAPTER If,
A NOBLE ACT.

Mr. Danvers sprang forward excitedly, and the servants
crowded about the boy, all eager to see the photograph which
might lead to the detection of the assassin.

It was a sweet, sad, Madonnalike face that looked up at

- them from the card; the face, not of a girl, but of a woman,

who, though young in years—she could not have been more
than twenty-five or six—had evidently drunk the bitter cup

of sorrow to the dregs: A singularly striking face it was; a

face which, once seen, could never he forgotten. It was des-

_ tined to haunt Frank Foster for many a long day.

“Who is she?” the boy cried. “Does any one here know ?”

The servants assured him that none of them had ever seen
the original of the picture.

“Nor have I,” added Mr. Danvers. “Whoever the woman
may be, she is a stranger in these parts.”

“Perhaps,” said one of the servants, “she was the person
who murdered poor Mr. Foster.”

“No, no,’ interposed Frank earnestly, “the owner of that
face would be incapable of such a crime.”

“You have the best of reasons for pronouncing her inno-
cent,” said Danvers significantly, “and I believe you.” |

Frank made no reply. He felt that it would be useless
to attempt to combat the strong prejudices of his accuser.

We will not relate in detail the events which followed.
Suffice it to say that the coachman and his companion re-
turned in due time from their search without having found
the slightest trace of the man whom Frank had seen.

The verdict of the coroner’s jury, which assembled the next

morning, was, in effect, of course, that Mr. Foster had been

murdered; and Frank was held on suspicion of having com-
mitted the crime.

The town of Bankville, of which the victim had for many
years been a resident, was in a white-heat of excitement.

Public opinion as to the boy’s guilt was divided.

Some were convinced by the circumstantial evidence

, against him that he was guilty of the crime; but the majority

held it to be impossible that a boy of his age could have com-
mitted so atrocious and cold-blooded a murder.

_ Frank’s previous good character, and the absence of a mo-
_tive for the crime, were much in his favor.

It was dificult
for most persons to believe that the threat which he had ut-

_ tered in a moment of passion had been seriously meant, but

there were a few persons, Mr. Danvers among the number,

_who firmly adhered to’the theory of his guilty.

The mysterious stranger whom Frank had seen in the gar-

den on the night of the tragedy could not be found. He had

disappeared as effectually as if the earth had swallowed him
up.
It was learned that a man, who was described as of me-

E dium height, thick-set, heavily bearded, and having upon

‘ enough life.

MIGHP AND MAIN WEEKLY: = = = = = aa

his right cheek a deep.scar, had taken an early train for 4

New York at the Bankville station on the morning of the
tragedy. 2 F :

The identity of this stranger could not be discovered, and
it was believed by some that he was the murderer of Mr.
Foster.

A search was made for the original of the photograph
which had been found in the dead man’s hand, but without
success. Hundreds of persons saw it, but none could give
the slightest clue to the identity of the original.

The picture had been taken by a photographer in Boston,
and, naturally, he was one of the first persons sought by the
police when they undertook to find the mysterious lady. But
only disappointment awaited them from this source, for it
was learned that the photographer’s establishment, including
his entire stock of negatives, had been destroyed by fire sev-
eral years before, and that the artist himself had died a few
months later. ~

It was universally believed that could the original of the
photograph be discovered, some clue to Mr. Foster’s assassin
would be found, but the mystery of the owner of that sad,
beautiful face seemed to deepen day by day. .

What was the motive of the crime? Certainly not gain,
for a large pile of bank-notes, which Mr. Foster had been
counting, lay untouched upon the table when the body was
discovered.

Was it revenge? This seemed improbable; for, as Mr.
Danvers had said, the murdered man had not an enemy in
the world—at least there was no one who had ever openly
avowed himself such, or whom there was any known reason -
to suspect.

A theory that Mr. Foster had committed suicide was ad-
vanced, but it was easily proven that this was a physical im-
possibility, and that the blow must have been inflicted by
another hand than his own.

The efforts of the police being productive of no results
whatever, public opinion, at first favorable, began to turn
against Frank, and one by one his friends deserted him.
There were a few who steadfastly maintained their belief in
his innocence, but many who had at first promised him their
assistance and support, proved themselves unable to stand
against the strong current of public sentiment. :

Perhaps these persons were influenced, too, by the fact that
Mr. Foster had died intestate, and that Frank, instead of be-
ing heir to his property, was penniless.

It was known by all his friends that the old gentleman had
intended making his adopted son his sole heir, but he had
neglected to take the legal steps necessary to this end, and
the boy had no claim whatever upon his property.

What a terrible change for Frank—yesterday the adopted

-son and heir of a millionaire, surrounded by all that heart

could desire, with scarcely a wish ungratified; to-day a pen-
niless, nameless outcast, deserted by his friends, and accuse
of the most dreadful of crimes.

Seated alone in his cell in the county jail at Bankville on.
the night preceding the day appointed for his trial, Frank
gloomily reviewed the past.

His had been an eventful life.

His earliest recollections were of a miserable, squalid

room on the top floor of a New York tenement-house. This

was his home. For years he:lived here, in company with
a man known in the neighborhood as Pop Cooper, and be-
lieved to be a miser.

This man, who called himself the boy’s uncle—although
Frank always doubted the relationship—led him a hard
He was forced to work from early morning
until late at night, and all that he earned went into the pocket
of the man to whom he was nothing better than a slave.

He blacked boots, sold papers, even begged, and would
have become a member of the criminal classes at a very ~
early age could Pop Cooper have had his way in the mat-
ter, for it was the old man’s wish to make’a thief of him.
But Frank steadfastly and firmly refused to steal. It was

   
oe a MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY.

strange that he should have done so, he having been from
an early age subjected to the most degrading influences; but
the boy had an innate sense of right and wrong, of which
even his surroundings had no power to rob him.

And so our hero was reared in the midst of poverty and
misery, tncared for, uneducated, a companion of the vilest
of the vile.

He was discontented and miserable; he yearned for a
different life; and he had almost made up his mind to run
away from his tyrannical master, when an event occurred
which changed the whole current of his existence.

Late one bitter December night he stood near the Fulton
Ferry, a large bundle of evening papers under his arm. He
was thinly clad, and was shivering from head to foot, but
he dared not return home until he ‘had disposed of his stock
in trade.

A crowd of men came hurrying from a boat that had just
arrived, but they rudely pushed him aside, heedless of his
timid offer of his papers.

Suddenly, a dark form darted across the street.
started back in terror, recognizing Pop Cooper.

“Why ain’t ye home?’ demanded the old man. ‘I’ve been
waitin’ for ye these two hours. Where’s yer money? Ah!”
catching sight of the bundle of papers which the boy had
been endeavoring to conceal, “stuck again, are ye? Ye lazy
young whelp, I’ll wake ye up, see ef I don’t!”

He raised the heavy stick he carried; a moment later it
would have descended on the child’s back, but his arm was
suddenly caught in a firm grasp, and a voice cried:

“Don’t you dare to strike that. boy!”

Pop Cooper turned angrily, and found himself confronted
by a tall, well-dressed man of about fifty.

“Who are you?” he demanded angrily.

The stranger paid no attention to him,
Frank, and asked:

“Ts this man your father?”

Frank

but turned to

No sit.”
“Who ie ee
“He says he’s my uncle.”

“And so I am yer uncle, ye ungrateful young dog,” inter-
posed the old man. “Come along home with ye, now,” and
he seized the boy by the wrist.

“Wait a moment,” said the strange gentleman. “Where

are your parents?” he added, entree Frank.

“Dead, sit.”

“Yes, an’ I’m his legal eardecn
again.

~The gentleman asked Frank a few more questions;
turned to the old man.

“I do not believe that you are in any way related to this
Jad,” he said. “He is a bright, intelligent boy, considering
the position in which you have forced him, and I am going
to take him home with me.”

“No, you ain’t, neither,”
head to foot with rage. “Try it, an’ Ill have ye arrested
fer kidnapin’, swell though ye be.”

“Very good,” said the gentleman quietly, “there is a po-
liceman yonder, call him if you see fit. The boy is going
with me. I have taken a fancy to him, and will provide for
him, if I find him to be all that I imagine. Here is my
card; call at the address given to-morrow morning with
proofs of your relationship to the lad, and I will satisfy any
claim you may have against him.”

The stranger then hailed a cab, and a few moments later
he and his protégé were on their way up-town.

The gentleman was, as the reader has guessed, none other
than Mr. Foster.

Pop Cooper did not call on the following morning, nor
did Mr. Foster ever see him again. From his non-appear-
ance the gentleman rightly inferred that he had no legal claim
whatever upon Frank. :

Hoping to learn more of the boy’s past, his new protector
called at Cooper's home a few days later, but the old man

interrupted Pop Cooper

then he

   

“age, no matter what happens.

said Pop Cooper, trembling from -

 

had. disappeared, and no clue to his whereabouts ‘could be

obtained.
Mr. Foster then formally adopted Frank, who was at that
time about eight years of age.

he could have bestowed upon him had he been his own son.
And Frank proved worthy of his devotion. Our hero’s

greatest fault was his uncontrollable temper, under the in-

fluence of which he said and did many things which he after-
ward bitterly regretted. It was the cause of much pain,
both to himself and to his benefactor.

Although Mr. Foster had a residence in New York City,
he spent most of his time at his home in Bankville, where —

both he and his adopted son were very popular.

At the time when our story opens, seven years had passed
since the events just related. Frank was a bright, promising
lad of fifteen.

him.

There were, however, some who had always maintained
that the old gentleman had been unwise in adopting a boy of
unknown antecedents, and that he would in time have reason
to regret his kindness. Among these, as we have seen, was
Mr. Danvers.

Horace Danvers was an old friend of Mr. Foster’s, and — a
was in the habit of spending a few weeks each year at his

country residence.

He‘had never liked Frank, but on no previous occasion had
he‘so plainly shown his antipathy as at the memorable inter-
view recorded in our first chapter.

As he sat in his cell reviewing the events of his past life,

and contrasting his present condition with that of a few

short weeks ago, despair seized the boy, and for a time it Y
seemed to him that it was useless to struggle any longer

against fate.

But such moods are as short-lived as they are unusual in

the young, and hope soon reasserted herself.
“This won't do!” the lad exclaimed.
I will prove myself innocent
of this dreadful crime, and I will find the real assassin. [
will justify myself before the whole world. Mr. Foster gave
me his name, and it shall never be said that I disgraced it.”
And so the next morning, when a statement of his guilt
or innocence was demanded of him in the crowded court-

room, he replied in a voice which carried conviction to many

a Nears oa)
“Not guilty’

CHAPTER III.

THE ORIGINAL OF THE PHOTOGRAPH.

It is not our purpose to relate the events of the trial in de-
tail.

It occupied two days, and the evidence against Frank,
though strong, was purely circumstantial.

His quarrel with Mr. Foster, and the threat he had ut-
tered, were clearly proven, as was the fact that the knife,

found lying by the body of the murdered man, was his prop-

erty.

But the boy’s clear, frank statement of his side of the case
evidently made a deep impression upon both judge and
jury.

was his; but he solemnly asserted that he had scarcely ut-
tered the words before he regretted them, and that he had
not seen the weapon with which the murder had been com-
mitted for several days before the tragedy.

He also gave a circumstantial account of his adventure in —

the garden on the night of the murder, and of his discovery
of Mr. Foster's body.

It was evident from the charge of the judge to the jury,

The gentleman | was a child-
less widower, and he lavished upon the boy all the love that —

He had fulfilled all his foster-father’s ex-
pectations, and was a favorite with nearly all who knew —

“Tll keep up my cour- |

   

He acknowledged that he had made the threat against his :
. foster-father in a moment of anger, and also that the knife

  

 

 

 

 

 
   

 

   
  

 

  
   
 

 

 

      
 

  
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 
   

  
   

Seok eae

Gi nee Fi et et

Tee

1d

  

 

ta

  
    
   
 

     
  
  
  
  
    
    
  
  
   
 

 

 

 

that he was prejudiced in ae of the accused, as, indeed,

were nearly all in the courtroom.
After an hour’s deliberation the jury returned, and, in re-

ply to the usual question from the judge, the foreman uttered

the words which nearly every one present had expected:

“Not guilty!”

The courtroom rang with applause,
checked.

Friends crowded about Frank, and many were the warm
congratulations offered him.

In the first flush of triumph, our hero felt that his good

-name had been effectually cleared of the stain upon it, but

he very soon found that he had been mistaken.

His vindication had not yet come.

Those who had offered him their congratulations in the
courtroom, were the few friends who had stood by him from
the first; the applause with which the verdict was received

was the expression of the opinion of those who had attended

the trial only; a very small portion of the community.

As he left the court he heard a voice say: “A wretched
miscarriage of justice,’ and another reply: “The fellow
ought to have been hung.”

And almost the first person he met was Doctor Brown-
low, the village physician, who made no response to his
friendly greeting, but turned his face away.

Before twelve hours had passed, Frank discovered that
many of those whose regard and esteem he most valued still
believed him guilty.

In the eyes of the law he was innocent, but the verdict of

society was that he had committed the crime of which he
was accused. His good name was gone.

“T cannot remain in Bankville,’ he said to himself that
night. “I must go back to New York and begin life anew
where 1 am unknown, and where suspicion does not rest
upon me. But I will find the true criminal and bring him to
justice, if it takes me years. Those who have refused me
their hands to- day shall yet beg my pardon for the wrong
they have done me.’

He soon perfected his plans. He had a little money—
enough to support him several weeks, with economy. He
would go to New York and seek a situation. All his leisure

7 dame he would employ in a search for the man for whose

crime he was suffering and as soon as he was able he would
employ detectives to hunt down the wretch.

Youth is full of hope, and already, in imagination, our
hero saw his efforts crowned with success. He little dreamed
of all the perils he was destined to undergo in his efforts to
clear his good name,

Early the next morning Frank started for New York.

One of the first persons he saw as he entered the train at
the Bankville station was Mr. Horace Danvers, whom he
had not met since the night of the murder.

To his amazement, the gentleman came up to him with ex-

tended hand, and said smilingly:

“My boy, I congratulate you upon your acquittal.”

Frank stammered an inaudible reply.
“You seem surprised,’ continued Mr. Danvers, as he seated
himself by the boy’s side.

“T am,” said Frank bluntly.

“Naturally. I acknowledge that I judged you harshly, but
I have had reason to change my opinion.”

“What reason, sir? You knew all about the case sooner
than any one else.”

“True, but I judged you too hastily. I did not give myself
time to weigh the matter. I attended the trial, and have he-
come convinced that you are wholly innocent of the crime

of which you are accused.”

“IT am very glad to hear you say so, sir.’
“Horace Danvers is always ready to a de a wrong,

my boy. Well, what do you intend to do now?”

“T am going to New York to seek employment.”
“Indeed! perhaps I can help you. Here is my card: Let

   

which was quickly

 

i | MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY | 3

me know if you have any trouble in finding a position. I
have some influence, and perhaps can place you.’

Frank thanked him, rather coldly, it must be confessed, for
he could not forget his past unkindness at a time when he so
sorely needed a friend.

But Mr. Danvers seemed determined to gain his confidence.
ie repeated his offer of assistance, and showed so friendly
a spirit that before they reached the city ‘Frank began to
talk much more freely.

When he spoke of his intention to search for Mr. Foster’s
murderer, his companion interrupted him with:

“My dear boy, the idea is absurd! What could you do?
The best detectives have failed to obtain any clue to the mys-
tery; how, then, could you hope to succeed?”

‘Nevertheless, I shall try,” said the boy firmly. “I believe
that my father—I must still call him so, Mr. Danvers—was
murdered by the man whom I saw in the garden that night.”

“Possibly, but you could not identify that man.”

“No; but it may be that he was the same who was seen
taking a train for New York at the Bankville station early
the next morning—the thick-set man with a black beard and
a scar on his right cheek.”

“That is highly improbable,’ Mr. Danvers assured him,
“and I would advise you to dismiss the whole matter from
your mind.”

“How can I?” cried the boy, almost indignantly,
good name depends upon it?”

“Well, well,” said Danvers, “I do not blame you for feel-
ing as you do; but I cannot advise you to waste much time
in hunting for this man in New York. It would be like look-
ing for a needle in a hay-stack. You had better trust to time
to solve the mystery.”

Frank made no reply.

The train reached New York a few minutes later. As
they left the depot, a roughly dressed man approached Mr.
Danvers, and seemed about to speak to him. Then, in re-
sponse, as the boy fancied, to a peculiar look from his com-
panion, he suddenly turned away without uttering a word,
and walked rapidly down Fourth Avenue.

“Well,” said Mr. Danvers, “I’m going up-town.
my address; let me know how you get along.”

“T will, sir’

Danvers jumped into a Madison Avenue car, and frank
started down-town.

A block ahead of him was the man whom he had fancied
was about to speak to his late companion.

There was something in his appearance, or rather in his
gait, that seemed familiar to the boy.

He qtiickened his pace, and soon caught up with the stran-

“when my

You have

‘ger, who, hearing footsteps behind him, turned quickly.

As Frank caught a glimpse of his face for the first time,
he rushed forward and seized him by the arm, exclaiming:

“Who are you?”

The man was of medium height, thick-set, and upon his
right cheek there was a deep scar.

With the utmost swiftness the stranger tore himself from
the bey’s grasp, and the next moment had dealt him a blow
between the eyes which felled him to the ground.

When Frank staggered to his feet, his assailant was no-
where to be seen,

Deeply chagrined at iis failure to detain the man, whom
fate seemed to have thrown in his path—a failure due only
to his own impetuosity—the boy made his way to the modest.
down-town hotel which he intended to make his home until
he had secured a position.

At about two o’clock that afternoon he started out in quest
of a situation.

He had several addresses of business men in his pocket,
given him by friends at Bankville, and he hoped to find em-
ployment with one of them.

As he turned into Broadway at Grand Street, a face in a
carriage window arrested his attention—the face of a beau-

 

 

 

 

 
 

an - MIGHT AND MAIN WEERLY.”

tiful woman, with dark, mourniul eyes, which gazed sadly
into his own.

Where had he seen this lady before? he asked himself.

In another moment it flashed upon him that he was look-
ing upon the original of the mysterious photograph.

He was about to rush forward and address her, when his
arm was seized in a grip of iron, and a voice hissed in his
bari).

“Go no farther in this matter.. You are treading on dan-
gerous ground,. and if you persist, you will pay for your rash-
ness with your life.” ~

CHAPTER TV,
WIL O WAS) SiH Boe

Frank struggled to free himself from the grasp of his un-
seen assailant. The words of the mysterious warning fell
upon his ears without conveying any meaning to his mind.
He had but one thought—to reach the carriage in which
was seated the original of the photograph found clutched in
the murdered man’s hand.

Some inexplicable impulse seemed to draw him to the lady.
Aside frém the hope he felt that she would in some way be
able to assist him in solving the mystery of Mr. Foster’s
murder, he seemed to be drawn to her by some strange in-
fluence which he was unable to understand, and powerless
to resist.

But, finding that he was unable to release himself, he
turned and faced his assailant. -

The man who had uttered the strange warning was tall
and powerfully built, and wore a heavy black beard, which,
in connection with a slouch-hat, that was drawn down over
his eyes, nearly concealed his features.

“Let go my arm!” cried. Frank, renewing his struggles.
“Who are you?”

“One who has your interest at heart,” was the reply. “Did
you hear what I said?” ‘

fee:

“But you did not heed it.”

Uhep me col?

“You wish to follow that carriage?”

eves.”

“You cannot.”

“Who are you?”

UA friend”

Just then a policeman, whose attention had been
by the struggle, came hurrying up.

“Fwhat’s all this?’ he demanded, in
brogue.

Before Frank could reply, the stranger said:
“This boy has attempted to pick my pocket.
in the act. Take him in charge.

him.”

He then turned and walked rapidly away.

“Arrest that man!” cried Frank excitedly. “He is the
criminal, not I. I believe him to be the murderer of

“That's too tin, me fine felly,” interrupted the policeman.
ute, that racket was played out before ye was born.
Come along wid ye, now.”

Appearances were certainly against Frank. The stranger’s
presence of mind had enabled him to make his escape, and
at the same time bade fair to prevent the boy from follow-
ing the carriage, which was now more than a block distant.

Frank caught sight of it in the midst of a throng of other
vehicles. Acting upon a sudden impulse, he tore himself
from the officer’s grasp and rushed toward it.

Of course this confirmed the idea of the boy’s guilt in
the mind of the policeman. He at once gave chase, and
overtook Frank just as he again reached the carriage.

“Come along now, ye young spalpeen,” he cried, as he
seized the lad roughly by the collar. ‘‘Begorra, av ye give
me any more throuble Oi'll use the club on ye,’so Oi will!”

attracted

a rich, Milesian

I caught him
I will appear against

 

   

  

\

      
  

  

Our hero was in despair. Again he had seen those ane
mournful eyes fixed upon his face with a strange, question-
ing gaze, and again he had been prevented from addressing
their owner. yy
But to his joy the lady signaled to the driver to stop. As ©
he obeyed she asked, in a voice which sent an indefinable |
thrill through the boy’s frame:
“Policeman, of what is this boy accused?”
OE pocket- -picking, ma’am,” was the respectful teply. =
“He a thief!” burst from the lady’s. lips. “Impossible !”
“IT am not guilty, madam,” cried Frank. :
“TI knew it. No one could look upon your face and believe
you capable of so base a crime.”
“Indade, an’ yer wrong there, ma’am,
ficer. “Wasn't he caught in the act?”
“By whom ?” | if
“Sure, I dunno the gintleman’s name, but 1 he’s goin’ to ap- “]
pear agin the young rascal. @ a
“It was a false charge made by the man for purposes of
his own,” said Frank. “He will ngver appear against me.”
“Come an wid ye, now,’ interrupted the officer. “Oi’ve no #%
right ter stand here talkin’.”

“Wait one moment,” said the lady. “I am interested in |
you, my boy, and will be your friend, if you need one. Iam |
sure that you will be acquitted of this charge. When you |
are once more free, call and see me, and I may be able to |
help you in some way. Here: is my card =

“Come. alang, now.” said the policeman roughly. :
I’m not goin’ ter shtand here wid ye all day.”

With these words, he rudely dragged the boy away, not |
waiting to give him an opportunity ‘to reply tothe lady 4

Frank thrust the card into his pocket, overjoyed at the
thought that he had so soon found the object of his search,
and wildly impatient for the time to come when the absurd
charge against him would be disproven, and he would be at
liberty to go to her and tell her his whole story, and hear,
perhaps, from her lips, the solution of the mystery surround-
ing Mr. Foster’s murder.

In a few minutes he and his custodian reached the police-
station, a crowd of fifty or more boys and men at their heels.

But Frank did not feel the humiliation of his position, as
he would have at almost any other time.

The hope that his innocence of the crime of murder was
soon to be proven banished all other thoughts.

At the station-house the usual questions were asked him.
The officer in charge was a surly, crabbed old man, who was
evidently prejudiced against him at the outset.

oe you were innocent, why did you try to escape from ae
officer?” he asked, scowling down at the boy.

“T wanted to overtake a catriage.”

“Humph! A likely story! Who was in the carriage?”

“A lady whom it was of great importance that I should
See

“And who was this lady?”

“T don’t know her name, sir.”

“Don’t know her name, and yet you ran after her car-
riage?”

Tt was hecessary for me to speak to her. I have her card
in my pocket—the policeman saw her gave it to me.’

Let me. see the card,’

Frank felt in the pocket in which he had placed the card.
It was gone! A brief examination showed him that there
was a hole in the pocket, through which the card must have
slipped.

“T have lost it!’ he cried, in dismay.

“Humph! I expected as much. Hoolihan!”

“Sor-r-r,” responded the policeman.

“Did you see the prisoner receive a card from the lady?”

“Ot did not, sorr.” ae

“Of course not. I have wasted too much time with you »
already, boy. You are evidently a hardened young criminal,
and ought to be made an example of. The gentleman whose
pocket you attempted to pick will no doubt appear against

   
   
    
 
    
  
  
  
 

” interposed the of-

   
  

 

“Shure

 

 

 

     
 
   
  
 

    
  

ie

  
 
 
  
 

  
       
      
       

— Ch pete CY

“

Av

ae ee

 

  

 

 

oe ee

 

_ “That’s all right,” interrupted his companion.
_. ways glad to do a friend a good turn. Suppose we go down

 

who stood near the entrance.

you in the morning, and under the circumstances I can as- .

sure you that you will receive what you deserve—the full

penalty of the law.”

_ Frank attempted to make no further explanation, seeing

that this was neither the time nor the place to do so.

- He followed the officer to a cell, quite unconcerned about

his present position—for he knew that the charge of pocket-

picking could not be sustained—but filled with despair at

the loss of the card. ‘

- Had he received it under almost any other circumstances,

he would, no doubt, have read it at once, but as it was, he

had thrust it into his pocket without even glancing at it.
As he had anticipated, the man who had accused him of

the crime for which he had been arrested failed to appear

_ when the case was called the next morning, and he was dis-

charged.

The judge questioned him closely, expressed his belief in
his entire innocence, and sharply reprimanded the officer who
had arrested him.

As Frank: turned to leave the courtroom, he was surprised
to see a familiar face among the spectators, the face of Hor-
ace Danvers, who smiled pleasantly, elbowed his way out,
and joined him as he reached the door. °

“We will walk a little way together,’ he said, placing his
hand familiarly on the boy’s arm. “I accidentally happened
to be in court this morning—the judge is an old friend of
mine—and I was astonished to see you there. Let me con-
gratulate you on your complete vindication.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“The charge was an.utterly absurd one. But tell me how
you happened to be placed in such a position at.all.”

In reply, Frank related in detail all the events of the pre-
ceding day. When he had finished, Danvers said:

“The stranger was undoubtedly a crank, nothing more nor
less. As for the lady in the carriage, I would not bother my
head about her.”

Frank looked at him in surprise. _

“What do you mean, Mr. Danvers?”

“TI mean that I attach no special importance to the discov-
ery of that photograph in Mr. Foster’s hand. I do not be-
lieve that it is a clue worth following. Besides, this lady

> was’ in all probability not the original of the photograph—

it was, doubtless, merely a chance resemblance.”
“T do not think so, sir,’ said Frank quietly.
“Well, well, we will not waste any time in discussing that

point. Have you found a situation yet?”

PING) Sif”

“Well, I think I can assure you of one.. Have you ever
heard of the house of Charles Trafton & Co?”

“T think not, sir.”

“They are large importers of woolens—a large importer,
J should have said, for the ‘Co.’ is merely nominal, Mr. Traf-
ton being the sole owner of the business. He is a very old
friend of mine, and will refuse me nothing, nothing.”

As he made this statement, Danvers laughed in a peculiar

way which the boy did not understand.

” began our hero.
“I am al-

 

*. “T shall be very much obliged

to Mr. Trafton’s office at once?”
“TI should be glad to do so, sir.”
“Very well; and if you are not engaged at once, my name

4s not Horace Danvers.”

- Ten minutes later they reached the great importing house
of Charles Trafton & Co., then one of the largest on lower
Broadway. ie ue

 

CHAP VEER VY.
A STROKE OF LUCK.

As Frank and his companion entered the store, Mr. Dan-
vers nodded carelessly to a. flashily dressed young fellow

‘MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY. _

‘all sow our wild oats, my dear Trafton.

et

“How are you, Sedgwick?” — vo ie
“Pretty fair, thank you, Mr. Danvers. How’s yourself?”
“So, so. Sedgwick, this is your fellow’clerk that is to be,
Mr. Frank Foster. Foster, let me introduce Mr. Richard
Sedgwick, a trusted employee of this house, whom you are

sure to like.”

“Glad to know you,” and Sedgwick extended his hand.
“Mr. Danvers, you do me too much honor.”

Frank was not particularly pleased with the young man’s
appearance, but reflecting that they might be fellow em-
ployees, and that it would be unwise to make an enemy of
him at the outset, he concealed his feelings and accepted the
proffered hand.

“T see that you two will get along finely together,” laughed

Danvers.

“Why, cert,” added Sedgwick. “Why not?”

“You are taking it for granted,” said Frank; “that I shall
be engaged. Perhaps Mr. Trafton es!

“Oh, Trafton will take anybody that Mr. Danvers recom-
mends—eh, Mr. Danvers?” interrupted Sedgwick. |

“Mr. Trafton is pleased to repose a certain degree of con-
fidence in my judgment, Sedgwick,” said Danvers, apparently
offended at the fellow’s air of familiarity. “Come, Frank,”
he added, “we will go to Mr. Trafton’s office at once.”

The merchant’s private office was situated in the reat of
the store. Just as they reached it their way was barred by
a clerk, who said:

“Mr. Trafton is very busy, sir, and can see no one.”

“He will make an exception in my favor, I’m sure,” said
Danvers. “Teli him that Mr. Horace Danvers wishes to
see him immediately.”

“T will tell him, but it will do no good, sir.”

The clerk entered the office. A few minutes later he re-
turned, saying:

“Please step right in, sir.”

“T thought my old friend Trafton would not refuse me an
interview,” laughed Danvers, as he entered the office, fol-
lowed by Frank.

A portly, gray-haired man was seated at a desk, a large
pile of papers before him.

 

“Why are you here?” he began angrily; but, seeing Frank,

he immediately checked himself, and said: “Please be seated,
Mr. Danvers.”’

“Thanks, my dear Trafton,” replied Danvers, with that pe-
culiar laugh of his, which, somehow, irritated Frank far
more than an angry word would have done. “I will not de-
tain you long, for I see that you are very busy. Let me in-
troduce my dear young friend, Frank Foster, who is desirous
of obtaining a situation in your establishment.”

“IT am very sorry,” began Mr. Trafton, “but

“My dear Trafton,” interrupted Danvers, “in this matter
let there be no ‘buts,’ 1 beg of you. I shall esteem it a per-
sonal favor if you will give my young friend employment.”

“The last person you recommended,” said Mr. Trafton hes-
itatingly, “has not turned out well. I refer to young Sedg-
wick. He is idle, dissipated .

“Ah, well, boys will be boys,” laughed Danvers. “We must
Even you were

9

 

 

young once.”
His manner was almost insolent, but Mr. Trafton showed
no resentment.

“T like your looks, young man,” he said, addressing Frank,

“and I have a vacant position, but it has hitherto been filled
by a man, and I fear that a boy could scarcely discharge
its duties. My private secretary has just sent in his resigna-
tion, having accepted a position with another house, and——”

“Tust the thing!” cried Danvers. “I cannot think of any-
thing that would suit Foster better.”

“Tt requires an intimate knowledge of the business,’
posed Mr. Trafton.

“That Foster would soon gain by experience, as any one
else would have to do.” 1 a ae

 

9

inter-

ve

 

Aaa

   
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
      
      
 

 

   
 

 

«y will ask you a few questions, my boy,” said the mer-
chant, turning again to Frank.

_ “Tf you please, sir.’

At the end of a ten minutes’ interview, Mr. Trafton said:

“T think you will do, At any rate, I will give you a trial.”

“Thank you, sir,’ replied the boy, scarcely willing to credit

the evidence of his senses, for the position was a “far better”

one than he had dared hope to obtain.

“T foresee that you two will get on famously together,”
laughed Danvers, who treated the merchant with no more
respect than he did Frank. . “I told you I would find a good
place for you. My dear friend Trafton can refuse me nothing
—can you, Trafton?”

Frank was amazed to see the old gentleman spring to his
feet and rush toward the speaker with clenched fists.

- The next moment. he sank back into his chair, his face
deathly pale, muttering an almost inaudible, apology.

“Don’t mention it, my dear sir,” said Danvers, perfectly
at his ease. “But you really have not been quite yourself
‘of. late. Overwork, Mr. © Trafton, * overwork—that’s the
_trouble. You really ought to take life easier. Well, I won't
detain you any longer. When do non want my youre friend
to commence work?”

“He may remain now

“Very good; will that suit you,

“Certainly, sir.’

“Then, good morning, and good luck to you.
_Trafton. »

‘For some time after Mr. Danvers’ departure the merchant
sat with closed eyes, apparently oblivious to his surroundings ;
and judging from the expression of his countenance, his
thoughts were not of the pleasantest description. At last he
buried his face in his hands, and a low moan escaped his
lips.

 

there is one for him to do.”
Foster?

Good day,

“T beg your pardon, sir,’ cried Frank, in ares, “but are
you ill?’

Mr. Trafton looked up with a start.

“T had forgotten that I was not alone,” he said. “No, my

boy, I am not ill, only tired and—and overworked—yes, that’s
it—overworked, as Mr. Danvers said.”

After a brief silence the merchant turned to Frank again,
and gazing searchingly into his face, said:

“IT have some knowledge of physiognomy, my boy, and I
like your face. I believe that you have an honest, straight-
forward nature. The position 1 have given you is a respons-
ible one. JI shall be obliged to repose much confidence in
you; I trust that you will prove yourself worthy of it.”

“Tam anxious to do so, sir.”

“Very good. As it will take you a long time to acquaint
yourself with all the necessary details of the business, the
sooner you begin work the better. Yonder is your desk.
Take your place at it and I will give you something to do
at once. I warn you that the place is no sinecure.”

Mr. Tratton spent some time in explaining to Frank the
nature of his new duties. The boy proved apt, and employer
and employee were mutually pleased.

At one o’clock Mr. Trafton said:

“Now you had better go out to lunch, Foster. You have
done well this morning. Return soon; for, as you see, I am
greatly rushed. I may have to ask you to stay over hours
for a few days.”

Frank left the store much gratified at his success.

Before he reached the corner he was joined by Sedgwick,
who greeted him with:

“Hello, Petey; going to lunch?”

Frank replied in the affirmative.

“Where you going?”

“T’ve got to hunt up a place.”

“That so? Ill steer you to a dandy hash-mill. It’s a place
where I go every day myself, They'll lay ’emselves out to
please any friend of mine.’

And without further Cy Sedgwick linked his arm in
WPrank’s, adding:

 

‘MIGHT AND. MAIN WEEKLY. oS

“Tye taken a fancy to you, young flee You ane me’ll

stand by each other, and I'll put you onto lots of good things.
I know all the ropes of Trafton’s—could run the business : as
well as he does himself—blamed sight better, I think, some-
times. Say, did he give you a job?”

air of familiarity, yet not wishing to offend him.
“Good enough.

anyway ?”
Frank told him; he uttered a low whistle.
“Great Scott! Why, there isn’t a fellow in the store that

don’t want the posish. I asked his nibs for it myself, but he

wouldn’t hear to it. How’d you work it? But I know Dan-
vers can do whatever he likes with the old man. Well,
you've struck a soft thing, and we'll go in here and drink to
your luck.”

He paused at the door of a gorgeous saloon.

“No, thank you, I don’t drink,” ‘said Frank,

“Eh? don’t drink ? Why, how do you manage to live?”

“T don’t have any. particular difficulty,” laughed our hero. —
“Oh, well, come in.and have one with me, anyhow. I 4

couldn't get away with my lunch if I didn’t have a cocktail
first.”

“T’m much obliged: but I’ll wait here for you.”

“Well, just as you say; I won’t press you, but Tl try to
convert. you to my way of thinking before you've been in
Trafton’s long.”

Sedgwick disappeared through the ened. -glass doors of
the saloon. A few minutes later he reappeared, his breath
redolent of cloves»

“They make a daisy cocktail in there, pard,” he said; “‘you
don’t know what you’re missing. Well, let’s be off. That’s
the restaurant yonder.”

The employees in the eating-saloon did not “lay themselves
out” to please Sedgwick, as he had said they would; on the

contrary, Frank noticed that they treated him in a rather. |

brusk, unceremonious manner.

When they had finished their meal, Sedgwick said:

“Now, Foster, as this is our first feed together, you must
let me foot the bill.”

Ghee,

“T insist, and—but hold on! Great Cesar! I must have
lost my purse! Old man, Vil have to ask you to settle with
the cashier,
tothe. store.’

Frank paid the bill, and we may add that the matter was
never referred to by Sedgwick again.

On the way back to the store, Sedgwick became more con-
fidential.

“Have you known Danvers long? ?” he asked, fixing a pene-
trating glance on his companion’s face.

“Several years,” replied Frank.

“Well, he’s done you a good turn to-day. He can do any-

thing he likes with old Trafton. I’d give a few dollars to
know the secret of his power over his ‘nibs.””

Frank stared at him in surprise.

“Oh, yes,” went on Sedgwick, as if in answer to his glance,
“there is a secret—you can bet your life on that. Danvers
has got Trafton under his thumb.
flies on Horace: Danvers: But there's one man in New
York that even he is afraid of—and, by jingo, there’s the
fellow, now!”

Frank looked in the direction indicated and saw the man
with the scar on his right cheek!

 

. : CHAPTER VI.
A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION.

Once more fate had thrown across Frank Foster’s path the
man who had, perhaps, pees the cause of his greatest mis-
fone

“Yes,” replied Frank, not quite pleased with-the iellow’s :

1 wondered what you were doing in tue
private office all the morning. What is the job you ve got, -

 

Pil hand you the money when we get back ~~

T tell you, theye are no

  

    
  
   
   
  
   
  
   
 

 

  

  

   
    
  

 

Se a a ey oN OT
pitt way PE CE: ‘ :

=~353

 

 

 

 

 
  
 
     

 
  

wee eb ee

CR SN YO Nw

   
   
  
   
  
  

 
 
   
 
   
   
   
   
  
  
 

 
   
 

 

   
    
  
 
 
 
 

 

 

Reese ;
eS
a ' i

 

   

congratulate himself upon it.

. what made you rush off in that way? I

(curiously, .“

tude and unusual discretion.

hie fellow stood on the opposite side of the street, appar-
ently waiting for a car.
Resolved not to allow him to escape again, the boy darted

out into the crowded thoroughfare, not noticing in his excite-

ment the approach of a carriage drawn by a pay of spirited

bays.

When he saw the Tce: they were almost upon him; in
another moment they had knocked him down, and ‘were

- trampling upon his prostrate body.

The driver reined up the animals just in time to prevent

_ the wheels of the vehicle from passing over’ the boy. °

Frank scrambled to his feet, covered with ae and badly

: bruised, but with no broken bones.

His escape had been miraculous, but he did not ee to
He had still but one thought
—to reach the object of his pursuit.

But the man with the scarred cheek had disappeared.

Frank looked in all directions for him; he was nowhere
to be seen.

The boy returned to Sedgwick, and was greeted with:

“By Jove! that was the narrowest escape I ever saw. But

39,

 

“That man?” interposed Frank excitedly.
of him?”

“What man?”

“The one you pointed out to me—the man with the scar
on his cheek.”

An expression of cunning appeared upon Sedgwick’s face.

“T. didn’t notice,” he replied.

“You did not see where he went ?”

“No; I was watching you.”

“Do 5 you know who he ise’

‘No.

“What did you mean by what you said about Mr. Danvers

being afraid of him?”

“Oh, nothing; a mere surmise of mine, that’s all. It’s not

worth ‘talking about.”

Sedgwick was evidently not inclined to be communicative.
“But it is worth talking about!” cried Frank passionately.
es ou do not know how much depends on my finding that

Sanat’

-“Honor bright, old man, I don’t know anything about him.

ae him once with Danvers—and, come to think of it, I
guess that wasn’t the man, after all. But, say,” he added
‘what depends on your finding him?”

Frank was not disposed to gratify his curiosity, and made
an evasive answer. Sedgwick asked no more questions, and
they returned together to the office.

As the days passed on and our hero became familiar with

the duties of his position, Mr. Trafton had frequent occasion

to:congratulate himself upon having engaged him.

Though young, Frank Foster possessed great business apti-
He was quick, too, and never
had to be told a thing twice, a quality which his employer

s thoroughly appreciated.

Of course he and Sedgwick were thrown together a good
deal, but time did not alter the feelings with which he had
regarded his fellow clerk from the moment of their) first
meeting.

As the weeks passed on they saw less and less of each
other. Frank found more congenial associates among the
other clerks, and Sedgwick, finding all his advances quietly
repelled, ceased to seek our hero’s society.

“I ain’t good enough for Foster,” he was heard to say one
day. “Old Trafton’s dead stuck on him, but I’ve got money
that says he’ll change his opinion before long.”

These words, which made no impression at the time they

were so spoken, were vividly recalled a few weeks later under _
' circumstances which we shall presently detail.

_ “Foster,” said Mr. Trafton good-naturedly, one day, “you
must get tired of boarding-house life occasionally. Suppose

you come home to dinner with me to- day ?”

This invitation, we may state, was in pursuance of a sug-

“a
bse

MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY.

“What became ©

gestion of Mr. Trafton’s daughter, Florence, who, having |
heard her father sound his new clerk’s praises for several
weeks, had asked him to bring the boy home to dinner that

she might “pass judgment on him,” as she expressed it.

Frank accepted the invitation with some diffidence, and
that afternoon he returned home with Mr. Trafton in the
merchant’s private carriage, to the wonder and envy of his
fellow clerks.

At dinner he met Mr. Trafton’s pices daughter, Flor-
ence, a beautiful girl of fifteen, whose frank, engaging ways
captivated him at once.

“It was I who told papa to invite you here to-day,” she
said, when, dinner: being over, they had returned to the
drawing-room. SY Ou. sec, aie thas said so much in your
praise that I was curious to see such a paragon. And I must
say,’ she added softly, “I fully endorse his opinion.”
Our hero blushed furiously, and wished that Mr. Traiton,
who had gone into the library, would return.

“It was Mr. Danvers who sent you to papa, I believe,” the
young girl went. on.

" “Yes, Miss Trafton.”

“Dear me, how formal that sounds! I am so used to being
called by my first name by everybody, you see. Well, do
you like Mr. Danvers?”

Frank hesitated.

“Because,” continued the girl,

“Why Pp?

“T don’t know; but there’s something about him that repels
me. And, just think, they want me to marry him!”

“You marry Mr. Danvers!” burst from the boy’s lips.

“Yes; doesn’t it seem ridiculous? Papa says I must marry
him when I am seventeen, but I don’t mean to. Why, he is
nearly three times as old as I am.”

Just then Mr. Trafton returned, and the subject was
dropped.

After that Frank was a frequent visitor at his employer’s
house. The old merchant took him home to dinner at least
once a week, and he was always warmly welcomed by Flor-
ence.

It was on the occasion of his third or fourth visit that he
met Danvers at the merchant’s dinner-table.

“You here, Foster?” exclaimed the gentleman, in surprise,
evidently mingled with displeasure.

“Why shouldn’t he be here as well as yourself, Mr. Dan-
vers?” cried Florence pertly, irritated by his manner.

“Florence, you forget yourself,” said her father reprov-
ingly,

Danvers said nothing, but he watched Frank and Florence
closely throughout the remainder of the dinner.

When the meal was over he requested a private interview
with Mr. Trafton in the library.

“Trafton,” he said, when they were alone,
invited that boy to dinner ?”

“Why should I not?’ asked the merchant, in surprise.

“What do you know of him?”

“You recommended him to me.”

“As an employee, not as a guest.”

“IT give employment to no one who is unfit to be a guest at
my table.”

“That is nonsense. Are you blind? Don’t you see that
Florence is becoming very fond of the young fellow ?”

“They are both children, Danvers.”

“Humph! Is your daughter to become my wife, or is she
not ?”

“T have promised her to you.”

“Very good; then, as her affanced hobhena I strongly ob-
ject to her continuing this fellow’ S acquaintance. He must
come here no more, Trafton.”

*'Phis is folly.” ae

“Think so if you please; it is my wish. I have no more
to say on the subject. Let us rejoin the young people.”

ae the remainder of the evening Danvers was ex-

“T don’t. I detest him.”

“why have you

  
  

   
 

 

10 MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY.

 

tremely courteous to Frank, but the boy saw that his’ ee
ness was merely assumed, and wondered at it.

Two days later an event occurred which ihrectetes to ruin
on hero’s bright prospects, and overcloud his whole future
ite

On his return from lunch, on the day in question, he ford
Mr. Trafton and several of the clerks, Sedgwick among
them, in the office, and as he entered, the merchant greeted
him with: Ses

“We have been waiting for you, Foster?”

“Is anything the matter, sir?’ asked the boy, surprised at
the unwonted sternness of his employer’s tone.

“Do you not know what has happened; ?” asked Mr. Traf-
ton.

Ol do not,’ sir.’

“The safe has ae robbed.”

Frank uttered an exclamation of amazement and alarm.
“The safe robbed, Sirk: Whens’

“To-day—this morning. At ten o’clock, as you are aware,

I put five packages, each containing one thousand dollars, in
that safe; two of them are gone.’

“But how could any one have stolen them?” cried the

boy. “No one knows the combination but you and myself.”
exactly. I did not steal my own money,’
“Why,” exclaimed the boy, a sudden realization of the

horror of the situation bursting upon him, “you cannot mean
that you suspect me!”

“Foster, I refused to believe you guilty of the crime till
one of the packages was found in the pocket of your duster
just now.’

“I did not put it there,” ‘cried Frank, in a thrilling voice.
“Mr. Trafton, I swear to you that I am innocent of this
crime.’

“Would that I could believe you,”’. said the merchant.

“Heaven knows I would rather lose twice the amount than
have my: high opinion of your integrity thus shattered.”

“Wait one moment, Mr. Trafton,”’ said Sedgwick, stepping
forward. “Excuse me, sir, but do you know anything of
Foster’s record ?”

| What do you mean?’ demanded the old gentleman.

“Just this, sir; that he has stood trial for murder within a
year; and that although he was acquitted, there are many
who still believe him guilty.”

“1s this true?” asked Mr. Trafton hoarsely.

“It is,” replied Frank, looking him straight in the eyes.

“And,” continued Sedewick, “if Iam not misinformed, he
was also accused of picking a gentleman’s pocket before he

had been in the city twenty-four hours, and spent a night in
the station-house.”

“Ts this true, Foster?” repeated the merchant.

“It is, sir,” was the low response. ua

“Then,” said Mr. Trafton, “I can hesitate no longer. I
have been greatly deceived in you, Foster, and I am going to
make an example of you. Mr. Sedgwick, oblige me by call-
ing a policeman.”

CHAPTER Vit

tHE Bt DER) BL ToT BON.

It is no wonder that for a moment the thought that fate
was against him, and that it was useless to struggle any
longer, held possession of Frank.

For the third time he was accused of a crime of which he
was wholly innocent; and again the nature of the evidence
against him was such that almost any one would have been
convinced of his guilt. It was almost a superstitious feeling
that seized him. It appeared as if some mysterious power,
which it was mere folly to resist,-was continually fighting
against him. But this feeling was only momentary, for it
was not in our hero’s nature to quietly submit to an injus-
tice, and when he heard Mr. Trafton request Sedgwick to

  

   

and the door.
“Wait!” he said authoritatively.
“Stand out of my way,”

you outot it) .
“I think not,” said Frank quietly. SMg. Trafton,” “he
added, “will you request Sedgwick to wait a few moments ?”’
“Remain where you are, Sedgwick,”
impressed by the boy’s manner.
you to say?”

a0y..

“A conspiracy!” exclaimed Mr. Trafton. ;

“A conspiracy!” laughed Sedgwick. “Unless I am mista-
ken, that is what you said when you were tried for mur-
der.”

“Be silent, Sedgwick, ” interrupted the merchant, with a
look of displeasure. “Your remarks are prompted ‘by some
personal feeling, rather than by a love of justice.”

“Sir, I-——”

“That will do. It shall never be said that T condemned any
one unheard. Now, Foster, tell me what you mean by say-

ing that you are the victim ‘of a conspiracy.’
“This, sir; that I never put that package of money in ne

pocket of my duster; it was placed there by some enemy.
“That seems very unlikely, Foster.”

“Does it seem any more unlikely, sir, than that I wade

steal the money, put it in my pocket, and then go out to
lunch, leaving the duster where any one could find it?”
This idea seemed to impress Mr. Trafton.
“Tf I were cunning enough to plan and commit the theft, ”

continued Frank, T certainly would not be so stupid as to

leave the evidence of my crime where it could not fail to be
immediately discovered, would Lossin

“This is all nonsense,’ * interrupted Sedgwick, who, for
some unaccountable reason, seemed to be getting very nery-
ous. “Shall I go for the officer now, Mr. Trafton?” .
“Remain where you are,’

said the merchant sternly. “Fos-

ter,” he added, “there is reason in what you say.. This mat- —

ter shall be sifted to the very bottom,”

“Two packages of one thousand dollars each were stolen,
you said, I think, sir?” continued the boy.

“Ves. 33

“One was placed in my duster- -pocket by the real thief, the
other is still in his possession.”

Mr, Trafton began pacing the room excitedly ; Sedo
was shifting about nervously; the other clerks, who had been
silent listeners to the interview, began conversing in low,

agitated tones; Frank was the coolest person in the room,

He felt that now or never he must prove his innocence, and
he controlled his natural excitement by a strong effort.

What you say may be true—nay, it seems entirely reason-
able,” said Mr, Trafton. “But do you suspect any one?”

“T do!” replied our hero boldly.

“Whom! ps

“Richard Sedgwick !”

“You scoundrel! do you dare——
ing toward the boy.

But Mr. Trafton stepped between them.

“Wait,” he said. “If you have been wronged, Sedgwick,
full justice shall be done you. But a thorough investigation
must and shall be made.”

“You surely cannot suspect an old and trusted employee
of so foul a crime!” whined Sedgewick.

“T cannot say that I have ever trusted you to any great
extent,” said Mr.\ Trafton significantly. “However, mere
prejudice shall not weigh in this matter, Foster, why do you
ae Sedgwick ?”

- “Because,” replied the boy promptly, “T have found him
false and treacherous. He has always professed to be my
friend, and has tried to gain my confidence, but now he shows
himself to have been my enemy at heart. Some one in this

  

summon a policeman, he stepped between he idee clerk

said Sedowick, with what he _
intended to be an air of virtuous indignation, ‘ “or I will put _

ordered the merchant, : a
“Now, Foster, what Gace

“This, g replied Frank, “that I am the victita of a conspir- —

” began Sedgwick, rush- _

    
   

 
   
  
    
   
 
 

ety

ee ee ee eee

  
  
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
    

  

 

 

er Oe

A?

  

  

    

 

 

 
 

ASN gO crt ah EP ia

 

 

MIGHT AND

_ store has planned this scheme for my ruin, and he is the only

one who could have done it.”

“You shall suffer for this!” hissed Sedgwick, his face livid
with contending passions.
“Where is the second package of bills?” went on Frank,

not heeding the interruption. “Mr. Trafton, will you permit
a search to be made for it?”

“Certainly, Foster.”
“Very good,” said Sedgwick; “and I demand that, since I

. : have been accused of the theft, I be searched first.”

“Hold on,” interrupted one of the other clerks excitedly.

“T\ beg -your pardon, Mr. Trafton, but I begin to see how

i land lies. I think I can throw some light on the mys-
ery.

“You, Brown ?”

_ “Yes, sir. If Sedgwick stole the money, I believe I can
tell you where it is hidden.”

All eyes were turned upon the speaker.

_ Sedgwick, who was no favorite with his fellow. clerks,
stood staring at him with pale, ghastly face.

“Go on!” commanded Mr. Trafton.

“Abext an hour ago,” continued Brown, “I happened, by a
mere accident, to see Sedgwick thrust what I then supposed
to be an old newspaper under the sink in the washroom. I
noticed that he seemed to be somewhat excited, but I thought
nothing more of the matter until just now. But I think that

if he stole the money it will be found there.”

“It’s a lie!” hissed Sedgwick; then, losing his presence of
mind, he made a rush for the door. Mr. Trafton caught him
by the shoulder.

“Wait,” he said, “we will see about this. Come with me;

and, Sedgwick, if you attempt to leave the building I will
summon an officer at once.”
- Followed by the clerks, the merchant proceeded to the
washroom, where, in the spot indicated by Brown, a small
newspaper parcel was discovered, which, upon being opened,
was found to contain the missing package of bank-notes.

“I never put them there!” cried Sedgwick, in desperation.

. “It is I, and not Foster, who am the victim of a plot.”

“You shall have a chance to prove the.fact,” said Mr. Traf-
ton quietly. “Brown, you will oblige me by calling an of-
ficer.””

ebuty sir, £ ” began Sedgwick.

“The less you say the better,” interrupted Mr. Trafton.
“You have been guilty of an infamous plot to ruin an inno-
cent boy. What your motives were I do not know; but rest
assured that a most thorough investigation shall be made.”
_ “See here,” cried Sedgwick desperately, “I’m not going to
suffer alone in this affair. There was a plot, but I didn’t get

 

Eat up.”

“Who did?” inquired Mr. Trafton.

“It was——”.

Just at this moment the door opened, and Horace Danvers
entered. Sauntering up to the group, he inquired smilingly:

“What’s going on? Is there anything wrong?” —

“Yes,” replied Mr. Trafton, “something is wrong. This
young man, Sedgwick, whom I took into my establishment
on your recommendation, Mr. Danvers, has been guilty of
an attempt to blast the reputation of.his fellow clerk, Fos-
ter, and but for a mere accident his scheme would have suc-
ceeded.”

The merchant then proceeded to give the newcomer a brief
account of the plot.

-“And he was about to reveal the name of his fellow con-
spirator when I came in, eh?” said Danvers. ‘Well, now,

who is the wretch?”

All eyes were immediately turned upon Sedgewick.
y diately p as
“No matter,” he said sullenly. “I have nothing more to
say on the subject.” i
“What, you refuse to tell the name?” cried Mr. Trafton.
a cor ado.
“Why ee
_ “Thave changed my mind.”

 

e s

MAIN WEEKLY. a <

. “Really, this is rather disappointing,” said Danvers. “Sedg-
wick, my young friend, can’t I prevail upon you to give us .
the scoundrel’s name?”

But Sedgwick made no reply.

A moment later Brown returned with a policeman, and
the discomfited schemer left the scene of his crime with a
malignant glance at our hero. ;

Mr. Trafton, Danvers, and Frank went together to the
private office.

“Let me congratulate you on your fortunate escape,” said
Danvers, grasping Frank’s hand. “And now,” he added,
turning to the merchant, “that you know Foster’s story,
which I have kept from you, fearing that it might prejudice
you against him, let me assure you that he was as guiltless
as myself of the dreadful crime for which he had to stand
trial?

“T am sure of it,’ said Mr. Trafton warmly; “it is im-
possible for me to believe that my confidence in him has
been sorely misplaced.”

“I am glad to hear you say so.”

“But could Sedgwick’s story have been true, or was all this
talk about some one else having gotten up the plot simply a
fabrication !” u

“It was probably a mere invention of his,” said Danvers.
“On second thought, he doubtless came to the conclusion
that the scheme wouldn’t worgg, and that is why he refused
to reveal the name of his imaginary accomplice.”

“J think you are right. I shall probably hear no more
about this mythical personage.”

But Mr. Trafton was mistaken, for late that afternoon he
received the following note:

’

“Sir: If you will visit me at the Tombs to-morrow morn-
ing at eleven, I’ll reveal the particulars of a plot that will
greatly surprise you. Respectfully, :

“RICHARD SEDGWICK.”

At the appointed hour the next morning Mr. Trafton vis-
ited the Tombs, where he found a surprise awaiting him.

 

CHAPTER VEIN”

THE ESCAPE.

Richard Sedgwick was sitting in his cell on the evening of
his arrest, buried in bitter meditations, when the sound of a
familiar voice aroused him, and, springing to his feet, he
found himself confronted by a tall, well-dressed man, who
greeted him with:

“Well, Sedgwick, how are you? Didn’t hear me come in,
did you? You seemed quite oblivious to your surroundings.”

“How did you get in?” gasped the prisoner.

“Walked in, of course, assisted by the turnkey.’

“But it’s after hours.”

“That makes no difference to me: I have a ‘pull,’ you
know. Well, are you glad to see me?”

“No,” replied Sedgwick fiercely.

“That’s frank, at all events. I didn’t suppose you would
be. Mr. Trafton would have been a more agreeable visitor,
eh?”

Sedgwick started violently.

“What do you mean?” he cried.

“What do I mean?” hissed the visitor fiercely. “I mean,
you hound, that I have seen the letter you sent him to-day;
that I am aware of your accursed treachery.”

There was a brief pause; then Sedgwick said sullenly:

“Well, what of it? Didn’t you go back on me?”

“You fool, you didn’t give me a chance to show you what
I meant to do.”

“What you meant to do?’ sneered Sedgwick. “I knew well
enough what you meant to do. You meant to throw me over,

and I have shown you that I wouldn’t have it.”
“You are a treacherous dog. It was your intention to sac-

  
 
 

 

 

 

ch

-tifice me in the hope of saving yourself. Couldn’t you un-

derstand that for my own sake I intended to save you?”

“To save me?” ‘

“Certainly.”

“Now, see here, I don’t take any stock in that, Mr.

“Have a care,” cautioned the stranger, “walls have ears.
Call me by my right name.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Moreland, I’ll call you by any name you like
to-day; but to-morrow: .

“Well, what of to-morrow?”

“T shall then see old Trafton, and give away the whole
racket.”

“In plain English, reveal the plot,”

“That's it.’

“And your object is

“To get out of this, of course. You don’t suppose I am
going to allow myself to be convicted as principal in the af-
fair, when I was merely a catspaw? No; if I go down,
you go with me.”

“Fool! do you suppose I would allow you to do that?”

“Well,” said Sedgwick coolly, “I don’t exactly see how
you are going to help yourself.”

“Haven't I always stood by you before?”

“Yes; but you haven't this time.”

“T have been obliged to play a part, but it was never my
intention to desert you.” n

“Jasper Moreland, I’m onto you, and-——~”

“Can't you speak without using slang?”

“Well, my sensitive, refined gentleman, I'll try. But I warn
you right here that you’ve got to get me out’of this mighty
quick, if you don’t want me to give you away.”

“That’s just what I’m going to do.”

“What—get me out?”

“Exactly.”

“How Pe

“You shall know presently. But if I left you to rot. in
prison, it would serve you right for the clumsy way in
which you managed the job. Why didn’t you do as I di-
rected you? Why didn’t you put all the money in the boy’s
pocket?”

“Well, I did make a bad break there, I acknowledge; but
I thought I might as well scoop in a cool thousand for my-
self when there seemed to be such a good chance.”

“Yes; and because you got that idea into your head, you
are here instead of Foster, and the job has got to be done all
over again.”

“It has, eh?”

“Certainly; but in a different way, of course.
must be ruined.”

“What have you got against him, anyway, Mr. Moreland?”
asked Sedgwick curiously.

“That's my business. Have you any especial fondness for
him ?”

ol. Bare ‘him.’

“I thought so. If I agreed to get you safely out of here,
and to give you more money than you ever saw in your life
before, would you help me in a scheme I have planned to put
the boy out of the way?”

“Yes,” replied Sedgwick promptly.

“You are a clever fellow in your way, Sedgwick, and I am
disposed to trust you.”

“You mean that you think I am good enough to do your
dirty work. Well, so I am, if 1 am well paid for it.’

“You shall have no cause to complain of my treatment of
you.”

“Good enough. Well, to begin with, when are you going
to get me out of this place?”

“To-morrow morning.”

“How ne j

“Money unlocks all doors. You would be surprised if I
_ told you the names of the people in this place who are in
my pay. Now, listen, and I will tell you what you are to
ra thie

33

 

 

33

 

The boy

ee he

 
 
    

Moreland then unfolded the details of a scheme for the
prisoner’s escape. ‘ :

“It's risky,” said Sedgwick doubtingly. ot

“Not a bit,’ laughed his companion. “If you are recog-
nized you'll find that you will not be detained.” OG

oo a strange man, Mr. Moreland,” returned Sedg-
wick.

“You are surprised at my power,” said his visitor, “but I
don’t think you quite realize its extent. Do you imagine ©
that I am here simply because I fear the effect of any revela-
tions you might make to Mr. Trafton? Richard Sedgwick,
I could crush you if I chose. But I wish to use you, Be
faithful to me, and you shall be well rewarded; but attempt
treachery again, and you will repent it as long as you live.”

After a few more words Moreland took his departure.

At eleven the next morning Mr. Trafton presented himself —
at the Tombs and asked to see Sedgwick. He was taken
to the cell. Lee

The prisoner lay stretched upon the bed, his face turned
to the wall. ;

“Well, Sedgwick,” said the merchant. “I am here. What
have you to say?” 8

The man upon the bed slowly arose to a sitting-position,
Mr. Trafton started back with a cry of astonishment. For
the face which was upturned to his was that of a perfect
stranger.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed the keeper. “He’s cut and run.”

“That’s about the size of it,” said the man on the bed
coolly. “Sedgwick is miles away from here by this time.”

“Tt’s the old dodge,” said the keeper excitedly, “but it hasn't
been played here for years. This man came here to see Sedg-
wick about an hour ago. They changed clothes; the prisoner
put on this fellow’s false beard and wig, and passed out un-
recognized.”

“That’s the racket,” said the stranger smilingly.

“Who are you?” demanded Mr. Trafton.

“That’s for you to find out,” was the reply.

“Why have you done this?”

“That’s my biz, old man.”

Other inquiries elicited no more satisfactory responses; but
Mr, Trafton soon became convinced that the stranger had
assisted Sedgwick to escape, not from motives of friend-
ship, but for pay. He also suspected that the keepers were
in the plot. ;

Sedgwick had no money; who could have been to all this
trouble and expense in his behalf?

This question remained unanswered for many a day. The
fellow who had assisted Sedgwick to escape persistently re-
fused to answer any questions; he even declined to give his
tame, and no clue to the mystery could be obtained,

As for Sedgwick, all efforts to recapture him were fruit-
less, and it was generally believed that he had left the coun-
try. If the earth had swallowed him up on the morning of
his escape from the Tombs, his disappearance could not have
been more complete.

Frank remained in Mr. Trafton’s employ. He told the old

‘merchant the whole story of his life as it has been related to

the reader, and his employer assured him of his entire con-
fidence in his integrity. a
But he was seldom requested to visit Mr. Trafton’s house
now, and when, on rare occasions, such invitations were ex- _
tended and accepted, he never met Florence.

It must be confessed that he often thought of the young
girl, and wondered if her mind had been poisoned against
him.

One morning while he was seated alone in the office the
door was suddenly thrown open, and Florence entered. It
was her first visit to the store since he had been in Mr.
Tratfton’s employ.

“Good morning,” was her greeting, as Frank sprang to his
feet, and handed her a chair. “Where is papa?” ;
“He has gone out, but he will return in a few minutes,

Miss Trafton.”

    

  

 

 

 
    
      
    

| thought I told you to call me Florence ?”

 

 

“Miss Trafton,” pouted the girl. “How ceremonious. [

 

“J—I ” stammered the boy.

“Well, never mind,” interrupted Florence. “I'll forgive
you. Now, to tell you the truth, [’m real glad papa is out,
for I want to have a talk with you.”

i “Indeed ? 2?

_ “Yes, indeed,” mimicked the girl. “I want you to give an
account of yourself, Why haven’t you been to our house for
such a long time?”

Frank hardly knew what reply to make, but Florence,
not noticing his embarrassment, went on:

‘Tye asked papa why he don’t invite you, but he always
gives me an evasive reply. Now, | know he likes you, and
I’ve made up my mind why I am not allowed to see more
of you.”

“And why is it, Mics Ges Blokonee ?” asked Frank,
some confusion.

“Vl tell you; I believe that it is all the fault of hat mean

‘Mr. Danvers.”

“The fault of Mr. Danvers?”
“Yes. I know he don’t like you
“I think you are mistaken,” comet Frank.

“Now, don’t interrupt again. I know what I am saying.

T am sure that Mr. Danvers has persuaded papa not to invite

you to our house.”

“But why should he do such a thing?”

“Stupid!” cried the girl, with a merry laugh.
you understand? He is jealous!”

“Jealous of me?” faltered the boy, blushing to the roots
of his hair.

“Why, yes,” replied Florence frankly. “I told you he
wanted to marry me, didn’t 1? He looks upon you as a rival.

 

“Why, don’t

Ha, ha, ha!’

Frank tried to laugh, but he did not make a very brilliant
success of the attempt.

“However,” continued the girl, “that don’t worry me any,
and 1 forgive him, since he is the cause of my visit here
to-day.”

“Ts he, indeed ?”

“Yes. He was at our house last evening, and he lost
a locket from his watch-chain. I found it this morning,
and here it is.”

And Florence exhibited a handsome diamond-studded
locket.

“IT heard Mr. Danvers say that he ian going to call in
here to see papa at ten o'clock this morning!” she continued;

“so I thought I would come down and give him the locket.”

“I am very glad you did,” said Frank gallantly:
“So am I,” replied the girl, “and I just hope he won’t
be too punctual in keeping his appointment, don’t you? But

‘there is a picture in the locket—the picture of a young lady
whom I have never seen, and I’m going to ask him who

it is, and pretend that I am jealous.
picture.”

She touched a spring in the locket and the lid flew open,
revealing the face of a beautiful woman.

As Frank’s eyes rested upon it, he uttered an exclamation
of amazement.

For the face was . that of the lady whose photograph had
been found in the hand of Mr. Foster, as he lay dead upon
the floor of his library; the face of the person in whose

I'll show you the

_ power it lay, perhaps, to conclusively BrOY: his complete in-

nocence of the crime of murder.

 

CHAPTER IX.
AN IMPORTANT MISSION.

“What is the matter?’ asked Florence wonderingly. “Do

~ you know the lady ?”

Before he could reply the door opened, and Mr. Danvers
entered, ine

OMICHT AND MAIN WEEKLY, © gg

-attention.”

  

       

He frowned slightly when he saw the two young people
together; but the look was immediately succeeded by a smile, —
as he said: 6 Sees

“Ah! Miss Florence, you here? How are you, Foster?” —

“Whose picture is this, sir?” demanded Frank, eatendie
the locket toward the newcomer.

Danvers seized the trinket almost roughly, and his face
paled perceptibly as he asked:

“How did you come by this? Speak, boy!” ;

“Well, you needn’t be so fierce about it,” seid Florence
pertly. “I found it on the parlor floor this morning, and
brought it here for you.”

“I see!” responded Danvers, his brow clearing, as he re-
placed the locket on his watch-chain; “and I am very much
obliged to you.”

“Oh, you needn’t be, But you haven't answered Mr. Fos-
ter’s question,” ow

“Mr. Foster’s question? Oh, I had forgotten. You asked .
me whose picture it was, didn’t you, Foster ?”

Poni sin”

“Well, it is the portrait of a dear young relative of
mine.’ y
“But, sir, it is the face of the lady whose picture was —
found in Mr. Foster’s hand that dreadful night—the same
lady whom I saw in the carriage on Broadway.”

Mr. Danvers laughed harshly,

“Nonsense, Foster,”

“I know I am right. The picture must have been taken
many years ago, but the face is the same.’

“You are very much mistaken,” laughed Danvers, “for the
original of that picture died many years ago. So, you see,
you could not very well have seen her on Broadway or any-
where else,”

Frank was silenced, but not convinced. He could not
dispute Mr, Danvers’ word, nor could he imagine what mo-
tive the man could have in deceiving him in the matter. 4
He said no more, but he mentally resolved to learn more ‘
about the original of the picture in the locket.

He reseated himself at his desk and resumed his work,
while Mr. Danvers commenced a conversation with Flor-
ence, which was interrupted a few moments later by the
entrance of Mr. Trafton.

Frank saw at a glance that his employer was disturbed
about something. After a few words to his daughter, the
merchant said:

“Now, Mr. Danvers, I'll ask you to kindly escort Florence
home. Our business can wait until another day, if you don’t
mind, I have some affairs here which demand my immediate

      
   
    
      
   
       
          
           
      
       
       
    
  
    
    
   
   
   
   
  
     
     
   
   
  
    
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
       
      

 

Florence pouted a little, but Danvers smilingly acquiesced
and offered her his arm, which she accepted after a mo-
ment’s hesitation, and the couple left the store.

“Foster,” said the merchant, when they were alone, “can
I trust you to manage a rather delicate affair for me? f
have just heard on good authority that Denison & Thomas,
of Chicago, are about to transfer their patronage to another
house.”

“That means a net loss to us of at least twenty thousand
dollars a year!” exclaimed Frank.

“Exactly. We cannot afford to let them go, for other
houses would be sure to follow. They have been acting
queerly of late, and I know that there is a misunderstanding
somewhere. I think that some enemy has been circulating
false reports about us. Now, Foster, you know as. much
about our relations with the house as I eo, I think.”

‘I think so, sir.7

“The matter cannot be arranged by har! some one must
go on to Chicago immediately to see them.”

“And are you going, sir?” ca

“As you know, Foster, it is almost impossible for me to
leave New York just now. Will you undertake the mission
if I entrust it you?’

a sir 2 ‘

 

  
   

    

wd

my es, Thoveh you are but a boy, I have every confidence
in you, and I think you could explain affairs to these peo-
ple as well as I could myself. At all events, I am willing
to trust you if you are willing to go. What do you say?’

“T am ready to start at a moment’s notice, sir, and if you
conclude to send me, I will do my best to transact the busi-
ness to your satisfaction.”

“Very good; you shall go.” But there is no time to be
lost, for I understand that arrangements are about being
completed with Stafford & Co. Whatever we do must be
done at once.”

“When shall I start?”

“There is a train at three o’clock; you had better take
that.”

“Very well, sir.”

_ For two hours employer and employee were closeted to-
gether; at the end of that time they had arranged all the
details of the business in hand.

_. The mission was an important one to be entrusted to a
boy like Frank. It was one requiring a good deal of diplo-
matic tact; but Mr. Trafton had so much confidence in our
hero’s ability in this direction, that he almost felt as if the
negotiations had already been successfully concluded.

At three o’clock Frank reached the ~Desbrosses Street
ferry. Just as he was about entering the ferry-house a car-
tiage, containing a lady, was driven’ rapidly past, and once
more the boy saw the original of the mysterious : photo-
graph.

What was he to do? To follow the carriage was to miss
the boat, and the next one would be too late for the train.
It was a trying position, but our hero hesitated but for a
moment. . He remembered Mr. Trafton’s words:

« “Let nothing detain you,” and he said to himself:

“Nothing shall detain me. I have given my word that
I will faithfully discharge the mission, and I will do it at
any cost.”

He hurried on board the boat, and fifteen minutes later
was on his way to the Western metropolis.

The seat next to him in the parlor-car, for Mr. Trafton
had insisted that he travel in the most comfortable way
possible—was occupied by a well-dressed young man, with
whom he presently entered into conversation and found to
be well posted on woolens.

“I was in the business a number of years,”
I know your house well.
lucky to be with him.”

Frank found the stranger, who gave his name as Henry
Eastman, a somewhat congenial companion, and they spent
the evening together.

“It seems as though I’d seen him somewhere before,”
mused the boy, when he retired to his berth; “but, somehow,
T can’t place him.”

He fell asleep, wondering where he and Mr.
. had met.

The sound of voices presently awakened our hero.

He found that the train was at a standstill. Looking
out into the aisle, he saw Mr. Eastman standing near-by.

“What’s the matter?’ he asked.

“Oh, is that you, Mr. Foster? Freight-train wreck ahead;
itll take a couple of hours to clear the track, they say.
Want to go out and see the smash-up? It isn’t eleven
o'clock yet.”

Frank hurriedly dressed himself, and five minutes later
he and his new acquaintance were walking up the track.

When they had surveyed the wreck, Eastman proposed
that they walk a little farther.

Frank acquiesced, and they proceeded some distance up
the track.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Eastman, “it’s getting chilly. I’ve
- got something here that will warm us up, though, I fancy,”
and he produced a pocket-flask. “It’s a little fifty-year-old
cognac. Take a drop—it’ll do you geod.”
Frank very seldom touched liquor of aay kind, but, as

 

he said; “and
Fine old man, Mr. Trafton; you’re

Eastman

MIGHT “AND MAIN WEEKLY.-

he was now shivering with cold, he ecouerd the flask ao
took a swallow of its contents.

A few moments later a strange, drowsy feeling seized
him, which he tried in vain to shake off.

“Mr, Eastman,” he stammered, almost incoherently, “Lam
so—sleepy—I—think I’ ll—go back—to the

The words died away in an inarticulate murmur, and he
sank to the ground unconscious.

“Good!” muttered Eastman.
track, and, by Jove! here comes the express now! In two
minutes it’ll be all over with him, and who can ever prove
that it wasn’t an accident?
dollars, after all. I’m in luck ae last:

Louder and louder sounded the roar of the swiftly ap-
proaching train, and still the boy lay motionless and un-
conscious upon the track over which, in a few seconds, it
must pass.

 

a < a

CHAPTER xX.
UNMASKED.

Eastman hurried away from the scene of his crime. He
had not the courage to remain and witness the consummation
of the tragedy.

“All aboard!” shouted the conductor.

The wreck had been cleared away sufficiently to permit
the train to proceed in much less time than had been an-
ticipated.

As Eastman stepped on the platform of the parlor-car,
the express-train rushed by at a terrific rate of speed, filling
the air with a thunderous roar.

The wild shriek of the locomotive seemed to the man’s
excited fancy an accusing voice, proclaiming his crime to
the world, and demanding justice for the murder of the
defenseless boy.

With paling face and shaking limbs he staggered into the
ear,

“Why did I do it?
would give the world to bring him back to life!

But this revulsion of feeling was only momentary.

“This won’t do,’ he said to himself, partially mastering
his agitation by a violent effort. “Tr’s done now, and the
money will be mine in a few hours—let me think of that.”

Why did I do it?” he muttered. “I

?

He drew a flask from his pocket—not the one he had

given Frank to dfink from—and partook of its contents.

“Now [’m beginning to feel more like myself,” he mur-
mured. “What came over me then? I’m getting nervous
—been drinking too much lately, I’m afraid. I must begin
to taper off.”

His attention was attracted by the sound of excited voices
outside,

“What’s the matter?” he inquired of the conductor, who
happened to pass through the car at that moment.

“Man run over by the express, or some such accident, [

believe,” was the reply. “I heard them talking about it
just now. Haven't time to make any inquiries, ee for
we're off now.’

As he spoke the train began to move. ‘

“It’s done!” muttered- Eastman—‘done, and tite no
help for it, even if I wanted to help it, which I don’t. The
money’s mine; let me think of that, and of nothing else.”

He drained the contents of his flask to the last drop, and a

then threw himself upon his berth, and was soon in a
drunken stupor.

The next day, when Frank’s absence was noticed by the

other passengers, Eastman was questioned, but he professed
entire ignorance of the boy’s whereabouts, and it was be-
lieved that he had been accidentally left behind.

The train reached Chicago at about nine o’clock in the
evening.

As Eastman - sepned from the car, a tall, middle-aged
man approached him,

Til eather . in the two thousand ‘

     
  
   
 
  

 

“He’s fallen on the down jf

   
   
  

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  

     
   

 
   
   

 

 

 

 

 
  

 

‘ject, but he was too fly to fall into the trap.

_ MIGHT AND

    

“Ah, my young friend, how are you?”
Eastman started.

“Moreland! You here!”

“Just so!’

a you were in New York when I left.”

es 3)

“How did you get here, then?’
“Took a quicker train than you, that’s all,
Chicago an hour.”

“I see. Well, I received your note, telling me that the
boy was going to take that train, and I acted upon your
suggestion.”

“And the boy

“He will never be you again.”

“You mean that

“You said you wanted him put out of the way, and offered
me a certain sum of money to———”

“Hush! don’t speak so loud. Come to the point.
boy dead cr

“Ves

aaa cibw did it happen? ”

I’ve been in

 

 

Is the

“Well, he was accidentally run over; that’s all I have to '

say about it, Where is the money ?”

“You shall have it as soon as I am assured of his death,”
“Do you doubt my word?’

“Well, your reputation for probity is not so great that I

feel justified in paying you a large sum of money on the

mere strength of an unsupported statement of yours. But
don’t worry yourself; as soon as I obtain proof of his death,
you shall be paid. And how did you succeed in your mis-
sion to New “York, Sedgwick ?”

“Don’t call me by, that name.”

“All right. But it was an infernally impudent thing for
you to return boldly to New York on such a mission.”

“T Rave sworn that TP’! ruin old Trafton, and Pll do it
sooner or later,”

“You'll ruin yourself if you’re not more careful.”

“There’s no danger of that. My disguise is perfect; no
one could recognize Richard Sedgwick in Henry Eastman.
The boy had not the least suspicion of my identity. Why,
vou didn’t know me yourself when I visited you in New
York.”

“Well, let me tell you that in attempting to injure the
house of Charles. Trafton & Co., you are pretty sure to
bring destruction down upon your own: head.”

“{ think not,” said Sedgwick complacently. “I’m a
smarter man than old Trafton any day in the week. See
what I’ve done—left New York, an escaped prisoner, came
here and obtained a position with Denison & Thomas at a
larger salary than Trafton ever paid me.”

Mere: luck,”

“Call it what you like. Now I have succeeded in taking
away at Jeast twenty thousand dollars’ worth of trade from
Trafton.”

“By circulating lies shoe him which will mera! be

discovered,”

“Oh, no, they won’t. I went to New York in the inter-
ests of Denison & Thomas, to arrange matters with Staf-
ford & Co., to give them the trade which Trafton has here-
tofore had.”

“And did you succeed?” :

“The business will be settled as soon as Denison & Thomas
formally sanction what I have done—which they are sure
to do at once.’

“Well, it’s fortunate for the success of your tienes that
Foster is out of your way, for I think that Trafton sent him
to Chicago on this very business,”

“T suspected as much. I tried to:pump him on the sub-
However,
What’s

 

that’s all right now; he’s out of the way, and
that?”

MAIN

    

   

WEEKLY. — | 15

As he uttered this exclamation in a tone indicative of
the utmost terror, Sedgwick grasped hig companion’s arm,
his whole frame trembling with some emotion inexplicable
to Moreland.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked the latter roughly.

“That face—didn’t you see it?” gasped Sedgwick.

“What face?”

“His—Foster’s !”

“Where ?”

. “In that crowd across the street.
that I saw it, but it’s gone now.”

“You’ve been drinking too much, and you're rattled:
What you need just now is a stiff glass of brandy. Come
in here,” and Moreland almost dragged the fellow into a
saloon.

When Sedgwick had taken the liquor the color returned
to his face, and, with a forced laugh, he exclaimed :

“Dohaw! it was only my fancy, of course.’

“To be sure it was; but take my advice and drink a little
less, or you'll have a first-class attack of the horrors before
you are many days older.”

“T guess you are about right.”

“TI know I am. Now, you’d better go home and get a
good night’s rest, or you Ml not be fit to attend to business
in the morning.”

“Yes. Where are you going to stop?”

“At the Palmer House. If you want to see me, call there?

“Look for me to-morrow afternoon.”

When Sedgwick presented himself at his employers’ te
next morning he was in somewhat better physical condition.

“Ah, Mr. Eastman,” was the greeting of the senior part-
ner, Mr. Denison, “back again, are you? What luck did
you have in New York?”

“Did you see Stafford & Co.?” chimed in the junior
partner, Mr: Thomas.

Sedgewick fancied that he detected a peculiar intonation
in the voices of both his employers; and the glances that
they bent on him somehow gave him a vague feeling of
uneasiness.

“I saw them,” he said, “and I Ahad the best kind of luck.”

Ah 1?

“Yes: it will be thousands of dollars in our pockets to
throw Trafton & Co. over and give our trade to Stafford.”

Sedgwick then went on to explain his alleged view of the
situation, but as these details have no direct bearing on our
story, it is not necessary that we give them.

The partners listened attentively. When Sedgwick’ had
finished, Mr. Denison said:

“Well, Eastman, you deserve credit

“Thank you, sir.’

“Wait—credit, I was about to say, for being a thorough
scoundrel.”

Sedgwick sprang to his feet:

“Mr. Denison, I——”

“Silence, sir. What your purpose has been in wilfully
slandering an old and respected house like that of Charles
Trafton & Co. I cannot imagine; but your plans, though
clumsy, would have succeeded, temporarily, at least, had we
not luckily discovered your perfidy.”

“Some one has been lying to you about me,”
Sedgewick, assuming an air of indignation.

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Thomas coldly, “but we. have heen
informed of the true state of affairs by a representative of
Charles Trafton & Co.”

“A representative of Trafton!” gasped Sedgwick.

“Exactly.
to the door of the private office, the merchant called out:
“Step this way, - you please, young man.’ <

“Certainly, sir,” resporded. a familiar voice, and the next
moment Frank Foster entered the room.

I could have sworn

9?

 

interrupted

 

Would you like to see him! ?” And, stepping a
     
 
  
    
     
       
       
     
     
         
     
   
   
   
     
   
   
      
   
 
    
   
  
  
   
 
   
    
  
 
  
  
 
    
  
  
     
  
   
    
  
    
   
   
  
    
 
   
  
  
   
  
 
    
   
 
  
   
         
       
   
   
    

 

 
 

   

are in order, Mr. Foster.
this man, Henry Eastman, that the unfortunate misunder-

‘MIGHT AND‘

 

CHAPTER XI.

MURDER MOST FOUL.

Sede wicks face turned deathly pale, and he seized the —

back of a chair for support.

Frank gazed about him in evident bewilderment. “Mr.

Eastman,” he said, “I did not expect to meet you here.”
Sedgwick was quick-witted, and.this gave him hisecue.
His first emotion had been of terror, his second was of

apprehension that he was about to be denounced for his

attempt at murder. But the boy’s next words relieved him.
“T can’t imagine what made me faint that night. If you

had not been with me I should probably have lost my life.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Sedgwick. “Your position was one
of great peril.”

“Tt was, indeed. How can I thank you for.

“Say no more about it,’ interrupted Sedgwick, with an
air of magnanimity. “I could have done no less than I
did.”

“Nevertheless, I owe my life to you. But what puzzled
me was that you left me in charge of the men who were
clearing away the wreck, instead of carrying me back. to
the train.”

“That was a misunderstanding,” said Sedgwick, “made in
the excitement of the moment. I will explain all at another
tie. |

The fellow had surmised what he diterward found to
be the truth—that Frank had been discovered lying upon
the track, and rescued at the last moment by a stranger,
who, not knowing him to be a passenger, had permitted
him to be left behind. The boy had naturally supposed his
rescuer to be his late companion, and had not for a moment
suspected that an attempt had been made upon his life.

His rescue had created a momentary excitement, and had
caused the rumor of an accident which Sedgwick had heard,
and which had led him to believe that his plot had succeeded.

“It did not make much difference to me, after all,” added
Frank, “for I took another train an hour later, and reached
Chicago almost as soon as yourself.”

“And now,” interrupted Mr. Denison,

5?

 

“a few explanations
I must inform you that it is to

standing between the house you represent and our own is
ene.

“To Mr. Eastman!” exclaimed Frank.
tell me that he was in your employ.”

“No, I did not,” said Sedgwick; “but that proves nothing.”

“Perhaps not,” said Mr. Denison, “but we have other and
sufficient proof of your duplicity. You are discharged, East-
man, and you may think yourself fortunate to get off so
easily.”

“But, sir, I——”

“Il wish to hear no more. Go at once.”

Without another word, Sedgwick turned and left the room.

“Curse the luck!” he muttered, ‘‘the whole business has
fallen through—my revenge on Trafton and my scheme to
pocket Moreland’s two thousand. I’m getting superstitious
about Foster; the fellow seems to bring me ill luck. But Ill
be even with him yet, at any cost.”

He entered a saloon and called for whisky.

When the liquor was produced, he poured out a tumbler-
ful, which he swallowed at a gulp.

“Ah!” he muttered, “that makes a new man of me.
to report to his nibs.”

Ten minutes later he was ushered into Moreland’s room at

“Why, he did not

Now,

the Palmer House.

“Something’s up,’ was Moreland’s greeting.
your face. What is it?”
“Well, my scheme’s failed, and I’m out of a job again.”
“Humph! didn’t I tell you it would be so?”
“Never mind, I’ll get square with Trafton yet.”
“You've been drinking again.”
“That's all right. But you don’t know the worst yet.”

MAIN. “WEEKLY.

 

DU See it by.

 

“Co ‘on, then.” é -
“Foster is alive and in Chicago.”
Moreland uttered an oath.

“Fool! you have made a nice mess of the business, shaven’t -

you! ??

“It wasn’t my fault. He escaped by a miracle.
in his favor and against me.’

Sedgwick then went on to relate the. particulars of the
interview in Denison & Thomas’ office.

“Well,” said Moreland, when he had’ finished, “you FO 7B
Jonah, . Sedgwick. Everything you undertake seems destined
to fail. What are you going to do now?”

“I give if up.”

“Vou area fee from justice?”

ee owen

a ou are out of a position? r

“Just so.’

“And out of money, too, I suppose ?”

“Haven't got five dollars to my name.’

“I thought as much. And* you're ee — to
death.”

Sedgwick laughed recklessly.

“Well, if I choose to do so, whose business is it but my
own?”

“Nobody’s, my dear fellow, and I am the last man to
interfere with you in the prosecution of your most laudable
design. But you can’t get whisky without money. What
are you going to do for a el :

“Something will turn up.’

“Perhaps. Well, here is a ten-dollar note for you.”

“What is the meaning of this liberality?” asked Sedgwick .

sneeringly, as he pocketed the bill.
generous.”

“I’m interested in your welfare, my dear young friend,’
laughed Moreland.

“That means that you want to use me again.” __

“Perhaps. You want to get even with Foster?”

“Curse him, yes!”

“Well, you know that for private reasons of my own,
which I have not thought it necessary to explain to you, I
desire to have the boy put out of the way.”

Pfust: So.”

“You are not usually so

“Now, while I would not for a moment counsel any ex-

treme means, and while I strongly deprecate anything like
violence, | am prepared to pay the person who brings me
news of that boy’s death the sum of two thousand dollars.”

“T will bring you that news within twenty-four hours,”
hissed the half-intoxicated Sedgwick. _

“Do nothing rashly, my dear Sedgwick—I mean East-
man.’

“Give mea rest. You want Foster’ put out of the way,
and have offered me a price to do the job. I’ve accepted,
and I’m ‘going to make no mistake this time. S’long, old
man; I’ll see you later.”

And Sedgwick swaggered out .of the room.

“Go, you drunken scoundrel!” muttered Moreland. “You’re
a poor sort of a tool, but I fancy I can use you skilfully.
Curse this boy! He seems to lead a charmed life.”

He had been pacing the room as he spoke, and he now
paused and gazed out of the window.

The next moment he started back, exclaiming:

“She hege! What new freak is this? What can have
brought her to Chicago? If Foster should see her! It would
be qust his luck!

He had just seen a lady alighting from a carriage on
the opposite side of the street—a lady with a sweet, pensive
face, which Frank, had he been present, would have at
once recognized as that of the original of the mysterious
photograph.

Let-us now return to our hero.

“You are a shrewd fellow for your years, my younz

Luck’s

 
 
 
    

   

   
 

   
  

    
   
 

 

t

    
 
 

~ know ’er name.

to defend himself

&

ae friend,” said the blane ‘good-natured Mr. Denison, “and will

make a smart business man. I have taken a fancy to you,
and wish I could see more of you. We'll have to keep you
in Chicago, if we can. You must dine with me at my home

to-night.”

Frank accepted the invitation and spent a very pleasant
evening with the merchant and his family. :

It was ten o'clock when he left Mr. Denison’s handsome
residence on Calumet Avenue.

- He had gone but a block, when, chancing to glance at

the parlor window of a house he was about to pass, he once
more saw the face that had been constantly in his mind’s
eye during both his waking and sleeping hours for months
—the sad, lovely face of the unknown lady of the photo-

- graph. :

Yes, there could be no mistake—it was the same face.

Again fate had brought this mysterious lady and our

hero very near each other.
as before?

Acting with his usual impetuosity, the boy hastily as-
cended the huge stone steps which led to the door of the
mansion, and pulled the bell.

The summons was immediately answered by a portly
flunky in livery, who demanded:

“Well, young man, wot his hit?”

“The lady—in the window,” gasped Frank, scarcely know-

Would it again separate them

_ ing what he said: “I want to see her.”

The man surveyed him as if doubtful of his sanity.
: “Wot lady? Hi don’t know wot you're a-talking habout,
oy.
“I say that I want to see the lady who was sitting in that
window just now,” repeated Frank.

“Well, you cahn’t see ’er.”

And the Briton made a movement to close the door.

“I must—it is on business of the utmost importance,” per-
sisted the boy.

“Hill take ‘er yer name hif that'll do yer hany good.”

Frank gave his name, and the porter closed the door with

- a slam, leaving our hero standing .on the steps.

In a few minutes he reappeared,

“The lady says she don’t know ye. She’s hill, hand
cahn’t see hany one to-night, but me horders his to say as
*ow she'll see yer at noon to-morrow hif you really ’ave
hany business with ’er.”

“T will be here at that hour,” cried Frank excitedly.
wait—tell me one thing!”

“Wot his hit?”

“What is the lady’s name?”

_ “Hit’s just has Hi thought,” said the porter, with an air
of weariness. “Yer wants to see ‘er, but yer don’t. heven
My hopinion his as ow ye’re a bloomink
himposter, hand hif Hi ’ad me way, Hi’d ’and ye hover to
the police.”

With this statement he closed the door with considerable
energy.

Frank took his departure; filled with one thought, that on
the morrow he was at last to meet the lady who could, per-
haps, solve the mystery of Mr. Foster’s murder, and restore
his own good name. ‘

As he hurried along he presently became conscious that
he was followed by a man who kept a distance of about
twenty feet between them.

As soon as he felt satisfied that the fellow was actually
“shadowing” him, he turned suddenly and came to a stand-
still) The next moment he stood face to face with Sedg-
wick,

“Mr. Eastman!” he exclaimed, in surprise.

The scoundrel raised the heavy cane he carried, and dealt

“But

Frank a crushing blow upon the head. So quick and unex- —

pected was the movement that the boy had no opportunity
‘ithout a cry, he sank to the ground,
where he remained motionless,

   

“MIGHT AND MAIN; WEERLY/7 = a

“is no mistake this. time.

Sedgwick glanced around him. No one was in sight.
bent over the prostrate youth.

“Dead!” he exclaimed. ~

He closely examined his victim’s body.

“Yes,” he muttered excitedly, “I’ve done the job effectively
this time, and the sooner I get out of the way the better.
But, wait!”

He swiftly emptied the boy’s pockets and transferred their
contents, including a watch and a roll of bills, to his own. ~

“Now,” he muttered, “it will be believed that he was killed
for his money, and the body may never be identified at all.”

Sedgwick hurried away.

The next morning he read of the discovery of the dead
body of a youth at the spot where his encounter with Frank
had taken place. He went to Moreland and demanded the.
price of his crime.

“Wait,” said his employer. “I must be sure that there
I will see the body. Come back.

He ©

this afternoon at five.”

At the appointed hour Sedgwick returned.

“Well,” he demanded, “are you satisfied?”

“Ves.” ‘ x

“You have seen the body?” Le

“Yes; and it is Foster’s. You did your work well, and
here is your reward. Take my advice, and drink yourself
to death as soon as possible.’’

Sedgwick put the money in his pocket and took his leave.

No one identified the body of Frank Foster, and for
months his fate remained a mystery to his friends in New
York,

CHAPTER XII.
FRANK FOSTER’S DOUBLE.

We must now transfer the scene of our story to the
thriving city of Fargo, Dakota.

_ Six months have passed since the events related in our
last chapter.

Fargo was enjoying a real-estate “boom.” The high-
water mark of its prosperity had been reached.

Adventurers and speculators were flocking to it from all
parts of the East, and high hopes were entertained for the
future of the place; hopes which, we may add, have not
been fully realized, for the growth of Fargo since the
“boom” died away has been less rapid than that of many
other Western cities, and it is now as quiet and humdrum
a place as could be found anywhere, resembling in its free-
‘dom from sensation of every kind a town in the heart of
New England. ;

But at the period of which we are writing it was alive
with excitement.

People were running mad on the subject of real-estate
speculation, and fabulous prices were asked and paid. for
lots.

One evening a well-dressed, fine-looking man of about
forty alighted from a westward bound train and gazed curi-
ously at the motley throng that crowded the platform.

“A queer enough place, this,” he muttered. “Good oppor-
tunity for the study of human nature. I[ "

His reflections were interrupted by a flashily dressed, dis-
sipated-looking youth, who approached him with extended
hand, exclaiming:

“Hello, Mr. Moreland! You here?”

“Sedgwick!” exclaimed the newcomer.
killed yourself with drink yet?” : :

“Not quite,” laughed the youth, as he familiarly seized
his companion’s arm and swaggered toward the leading ho-
tel, which was and is situated within a stone’s throw of the
railroad-track. “I die hard. Well, what brings you here?” —

“Business. I’m going to do a little speculating in land.”

“Better look out, or you'll get left.”

 

“Haven't you

 
 
 
AND.

a a ea

“Tl take care of that. Have you oe the name and
plumage of Eastman ?”

“Oh, yes! I’m Dick Sedgwick once more, at your service.
You, I see, are. still enacting your favorite role of Jasper
Moreland?”

“At present.”

“Well, ’m glad you've come, for I’m always pleased to
see old friends. Besides, I’ve got a surprise for you.’

- “A surprise !” .

“Well, I should smile! Come here!’

And he led his companion to the window of the hotel
reading-room.

“Whom do you see sitting over yonder reading a paper ?”

Moreland started violently, and his face paled. —

“My God!” burst from his lips, “it is Frank Foster !”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Sedgwick, “I knew you'd be de-

lighted. But I thought you told me you saw Foster’s dead

bedy in Chicago?”

il did; V’ll swear I did. Can the dead return to life?’

“My dear Moreland, don’t get excited, and I'll explain.
I was as much startled as you are when I first saw this
young chap, for he is the double of Frank Foster. But
Foster is under ground, and this is a different person alto-
gether, a

“It must be so, of course; but yet

eves it's a wonderful resemblance ; but this all?

“Well, who is this boy?”

“He’s the most remarkable character in the Territory to-
day. He is worth at least a quarter of a million dollars;
every cent of which he has made in real-estate speculation
within the past few months.”

“Is it possible?—a boy of his age!”

“It’s partly shrewdness and partly blind luck. Everything
he touches seems to turn to gold. You'd better cultivate
his acquaintance.”

“T suppose you have done so?”

“You'd better believe I have. He and I are chums.”

“I understand now how it is that you are able to sport
all these diamonds. How much do you owe him?”

“I really haven’t time to reckon up the amount just now;
but he’s a profitable acquaintance.”

“Well, who is he, anyway?”

“His name is John Woodville. He came here some
months ago with an old man named Marston. It seems
that this Marston had taken a fancy to him on account of
some service he had rendered him—saved his life or some-
thing—and had given him a hundred dollars. With this
money Woodville bought a corner lot. The next day he
sold it fot five hundred. And he’s kept on in that way ever
since until he’s made a fortune. He’s had the biggest kind
of luck, and if he keeps on he’ll be a millionaire in a few
weeks.”

“Where does he come from ?”

“T don’t know. He don’t seem to like to talk of his past
fife, and I’ve never been able to find out much about it.
(But come in and I'll introduce you.”

Moreland followed his companion into the readine-room.

“Mr. Woodville,” he said, approaching the boy, “I want
to introduce my friend, Mr. Moreland, from New York.”

The youth grasped Moreland’s hand, and uttered a few
well-chosen words of welcome.”

“TI never saw such a resemblance in my life!” exclaimed
the newcomer, in an aside to Sedgwick, as the boy turned
away for a moment to speak to some one else. “Features,
form, manner, voice—all are the same! Yet the dead can-
not come back to life again.”

“Hush!” interposed Sedgwick warningly,
turned toward them again.

- “Mr. Woodville,’ asked Moreland abruptly,
miliar with the name of Frank Foster?”

“1 do not remember that 1 ever heard it before,”
reply.

“Were you ever in New York?’’

as Woodville
“are you fa-

was the

MAIN.

W EEKLY.
8

-“Not to my recollection” ae

LW hen, after a few more questions of a like nature, More-
land turned away, there was an expression of bewilderment,
mingled with relief, upon his face.

“It is the most wonderful resemblance I ever saw,” he
remarked, “yet the boy is not the same. But, somehow,
he interests me strangely.”

“Me, too,” added Sedgwick, “
lasts.”

In the meantime Woodville had been joined by a stout,
elderly man, whose hand he cordially grasped.

“Good morning, Woodville,” said the gentleman. “I
chanced to overhear a few words of your interview with
those two men. The stranger asked you if you had ever
heard-the name of Frank. Foster ?”

WY es) Sin 7

“And do you remember that you have?”

“do: not2

“Humph!

Vest

“And what decision have you arrived at?”

“That I will agree to what you propose.”

“Good! You will never regret it.”

“How can I ever thank you for your

“Never mind that,’ interrupted the old gentleman. “We
can talk about that some other time. And now, come with
me. If all goes well, I expect to introduce you within a few
hours to an old friend.”

“An old friend ?”

“Yes—Frank Foster.”

“You think, then

“I think, my boy, that there are more things in heaven
and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy. Come.”

With paling face and agitated manner the youth followed
his companion.

The next few hours were destined to make a strange
change in the life of John Woodville.

and will as long as his money

Well, have you considered my proposition?”

93

CHAP T RR XI
RESTORED TO LIFE,
“The boy is not dead.

animation.”

This startling statement was made by a young Chicago
physician who chanced to see the body of Frank Foster
an hour before the time appointed for its burial, and only
a few minutes after it had been viewed by Jasper Moreland.

The announcement was received with derision, but the
young man insisted that he was not mistaken.

“I tell you he is alive,” he said. “He has received a blow
upon the skull with some blunt instrument, and a portion
of the bone is pressing upon the brain.
appearance of death, but the boy is still alive. Such cases
are rare, but rey are not unheard of. I am absolutely sure
that this is one.’

“Well, what can be done?” he was asked.

“A simple operation will restore the lad to life.”

“And you

“I will perform it if you wish.”

“Good. Proceed.”

It is merely a case of suspended

 

This produces the _
 
 
   
  

   
 
 

x ik

   
      

threw aside his instrument.
_ minutes he will have regained consciousness.’

nee oe ES
‘
x

Five minutes later the operation, which consisted merely
of removing the pressure upon the bein of the subject, was

_ performed.

“He breathes!” cried the doctor enthusiastically, as he
“T was right, es see. Ina few

And so it proved. Half an hour later Frank Foster
opened his eyes and gazed vacantly around him.

“Do not be afraid, my boy,” said the doctor soothingly.
“You are with friends.”

But the lad only stared eee into his face without

replying.

“You must remain very quiet for a few days,” the phy-
sician continued. “You have had a narrow escape, but you
are all right now. Perhaps you can answer me a few ques-
tions, for there may be those who are very anxious as to
your whereabouts. What is your name?”

“Name! name!” stammered the boy confusedly, as he
passed his hand over his forehead.

“Yes. Try to recall the events of the past few days. You
were found lying in an unconscious condition in an_unfre-
quented street near this place. You had been robbed, and
there was not even a paper in your pocket by which your
identity could be established.”

But the lad still stared vacantly at the speaker.

The doctor’s countenance changed.

“I have saved his life,” he said, in an aside to the other
inmates of the room; “but not his reason, I fear.”

Further questioning failed to elicit any information from
the patient, and it soon became evident that his memory was
gone.

The past was a blank to Frank Foster. He had forgotten
his very name; he was forced to begin life anew. -

- A number of such cases are on record in the annals of
medicine.

In many instances a severe blow upon the head has, in
an instant, swept away all memory of a long life as if by
magic,

The young physician who had restored the boy to life
took a great interest in him. He took him to his home
and cared for him as if he had been his own brother. He
even gave him his own name—that of Woodville.

Doctor . Woodville did his utmost to solve the mystery
surrounding his patient, but his efforts were unavailing.

Frank rapidly relearned the ways of the world, and, as
John Woodville, showed the same peculiar business shrewd-

_ ness which, as the reader will remember, had always char-

acterized him.

Occasionally a glimpse of the past would present itself
to his mental vision, but, as he sought to grasp the faint,
shadowy clue to his lost life it would elude him, and he
would be forced to take up his new existence once more,
discontented, unhappy, almost despairing.

*

A short time after his restoration to life, one of Doctor
Woodville’s patients, an old gentleman named Marston, who
was suffering from heart disease, engaged him as traveling
companion on the doctor’s recommendation. This gentleman
had intended to make a trip to the Pacific coast, but, on
reaching Fargo, was forced by alarming symptoms to turn
back,

      

 

MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY, 7 ag

It chanced that while they were in Fargo, Frank saved
Mr. Marston’s life. The old gentleman was attacked with
a fainting-fit while crossing the railroad-track, and fell di-
rectly in front of an approaching train. Frank dragged him
off the track just in time to save him from being crushed
to death.

For this service Mr. Marston rewarded him with a sum
of money, which, as the reader already knows, he invested
in real estate at Fargo.

When his employer left the place, he remained from choice,

Of his career in Fargo the reader has already been in-
formed, through the medium of Richard Sedgwick.

The boy’s real-estate speculations were phenomenally suc-
cessful, owing partly to his shrewdness, and partly to that
“luck,” as we call it, which pursues some ee as per-
sistently as misfortune does others.

Everything he touched, as Sedgwick said, turned to money.
The times were propitous, and he made the most of them,
and in a few months he was worth more money than he had ~
ever dreamed of possessing.

Chance threw him and the adventurer, Richard Sedgwick,
together again, and they became friends. He had, of course,
no recollection of having ever met the fellow before; and
Sedgwick, although at first startled at the sight of him,
soon became convinced that Frank Foster and John Wood-
ville were two distinct persons.

What else could he think? He had, as he believed, the
most convincing proof of Frank’s death. Jasper Moreland
had seen what he supposed to be the dead body of our hero.

Had not the boy been extremely reticent in speaking of
his past, Sedgwick might have suspected the truth. But
Frank was naturally sensitive on the subject; and as Sedg-
wick, although they were on friendly terms, did not inspire
him with any great degree of confidence, always made
evasive answers when questioned about his past life.

But there were some people in Fargo with whom he was
more communicative, and one of them was a physician
named Randall, a man of profound learning and wide experi-
ence, to whom he told his whole, story.

On the day ‘previous to Jasper Moreland’s arrival in
Fargo, this physician came to his room at the hotel, and the
following conversation took place.

“J have been thinking,’ said Doctor Randall, “of the
strange story you told me, and have been reading up on
similar cases. Shall I tell you what conclusion I have ar-
rived at?” ‘

“If you will, sir.”

“T believe that the memory of your past life can be re-
stored.”

Frank leaped to his feet.

“Do you mean that, sir?”

“T certainly would not jest on so serious a subject. Yes,
an easily performed operation will, I am convinced, put your
brain in its normal condition once more. The explanation
of your loss of memory is exactly that advanced by the
physician in Chicago, Doctor Woodville, to account for your
unconscious state.”

“You believe, then, that ce is still a pressure on the ~
brain?”
MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY.

_ “Exactly, and that I can easily remove it. Doctor Wood-
ville did his work well, as far as he went, but he was not
thorough enough,”

“You think———”

“Well, I won’t go into explanations, for the subject is
one which only a medical man could grasp, and when. I
had finished you would very likely not know what I had
been talking about. But of one thing I must inform you.”

“And that is——”

“That if I succeed in restoring the memory of the now
dead past to you, all recollection of your present life will
fade away. In fact, John Woodville will practically cease
to live, and in his place will appear—whom?”

Frank was silent for a few moments. Then he asked:

“When could you perform this operation, doctor?’

“At any time. It is really an extremely short and easy
bit of work.”

“Let me have a little time to think over the matter. My
position is such a singular one.”

“Very good. Take until to-morrow—longer if you like.”

“To-morrow I will give you my decision, doctor.”

“Very good.”

The next day they met, as has been related, for the gen-
tleman referred to at the close of the preceding chapter was
no other than Doctor Randall,

_ As has been seen, Frank consented to have the operation
performed. It is not necessary that we describe it.

Doctor Randall awaited in breathless suspense his patient’s
return to consciousness.

At last the boy opened his eyes and gazed around him,

“Where am 1?” he asked, making use of the conventional
query made and provided for such occasions.

“Do you not know me?” the doctor asked.

“T do not think I ever saw you before.”

“What is your name, my boy?”

“Frank Foster.”

“Thank Heaven,” burst from the lips of the usually im-
perturbable physician, “I have not failed. Now, my lad,”
he added gravely, “I have a strange story to tell you. Do
you remember the name of John Woodville >?”

“I never heard it before, sir.”

“Listen attentively.”

The doctor then went on to relate the events with which
the reader is already acquainted.

“Can this be possible?” cried our hero. “And you tell
me, doctor, that I am worth a quarter of a million of dol-
lars.”

“That is* the general belief. An examination of your
papers, to which you will have to give some time, will fa-
miliarize you again with the affairs which, though they have
now passed from your mind, have interested you, so deeply
for the past few months,”

“T remember now!” exclaimed the boy, whose mind had
been busy with the past while the doctor was speaking.
“TY was attacked at night by that villain Eastman; he gave
te a blow upon the head with a heavy cane, and I remem-

_ ber nothing further.”

He paused suddenly and grasped’ the doctor’s arm.
“Who is that?” he gasped, pointing to a young man who

stood upon the sidewalk outside, in a act ar pe: .
his watch,

“That,” replied the physician, “is Richard Sedgwick, one
of your most intimate friends when you were John Wood-
ville. You do not remember him now, of course.” oe

“I have known him for a long time, doctor,” replied —
Frank excitedly. “See! that watch he holds in his hand is’
the one that was stolen from me by Eastman! How came
it in Sedgwick’s possession? Ah, I see it all now!”

“What do you mean?” 7

“Richard Sedgwick and Henry Eastman are one oad the:
same person. I have been the victim of a vile plot, which
J am determined to fathom to the very bottom. Doctor, I
have a great favor to ask of you.”

“What is it, my boy?”

“You alone know the strange secret of my life. Will you
keep: it?”

Vee one word shall pass my lips without your permis- —
sion.’

“Thank you, sir, Then Frank Foster shall remain dead
to the world, and in his place shall live John Woodville,
who will carry out the task which he planned, and avenge
the wrongs that he has suffered!”

CHAPLIER ATV.
THE HESTER MINE.

One evening, several days after the events just described,
Jasper Moreland and’ Richard Sedgwick stood together at
the bar of the hotel in Fargo, engaged in the discussion of
a bottle of champagne which had been opened at Moreland’s
expense,

“Say, Moreland!” the younger man exclaimed, after a

brief silence, during which he seemed buried in meditation,

“what is your little game, anyway?”

“Eh? I do not understand you.”

“Pll explain myself. You have never been distinguished
for your liberality, neither have you ever shown any great
fondness for me, yet here you are, opening Pommery Sec _
and treating me like a lord. What does it all mean?”

“It means, my dear fellow,” laughed Moreland, “that I
am fond of your society—that’s all.”

“Give me a rest,” said Sedgwick. “You want me to do

some sort of dirty work for you—I know that : as well as

you do. Now, what is it?”

“My dear boy, I have no dirty work, as you call it, for
you to do; but you can, if you like, help me in a little
scheme I have on hand.”

“a thought as much. Is there any money in it for yours
truly.”

“A cont five hundred.”

“Well, what is the scheme ?”

" “Plt tell you. But let us go out and a ge are too
many ears here.”

They finished the champagne, and in a few minutes were
walking arm in arm up Broadway, Fargo’s principal street.

“Now,” said Moreland, “Pll tell you what brought me to
this place. It wasn’t a desire to speculate in real estate
alone, as I told you, although I might invest a few dollars

 
MIGHT AND. MAIN: WEE KLY.

if I saw 2 ae opportunity. But the fact is, I am on my
way to my gold-mine in Montana.”

“You own a gold-mine ?”’ .

“Curse it, yes. I bought it for ten thousand dollars, a
year ago, and was swindled.”

“You swindled! Ha, ha, ha!
rascal who took you in.”

“Tt was. I won’t stop to relate the plausible story he told
me; suffice it to say that I bought the mine, and have sunk
thousands of dollars in it. It is still beimg worked at a heavy
expense, but it yields scarcely anything.”

“Worked out, eh?”

“Just. so. It was a good mine once, but the vein was
exhausted before I bought it. Now, I have spent so much
on it that I am seriously crippled.”

“Well: p??

“Well, I want to sell the mine.’

“Naturally. But do you expect to find any one who will
be fool enough to buy it?”

“I do. In fact, I have a purchaser in my mind now.
Can't you guess who it is?”

“No. 33

“Why, Woodville, of course, the ie speculator.”

“Woodville !’

“Yes, Now, see here; you are his most intimate friend,
and you can help me make the sale.”

Sedgwick shook his head ‘dubiously.

“So that’s the business you wanted my help in, eh? I’m
afraid Woodville wouldn’t bite.”

“Nonsense! I can present the bait to him so temptingly
that he'll jump at it. Il take him there, have things all
fixed for his reception, and get rid of the mine at a handsome
profit.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Just talk up the mine—tell him what a big thing it
would be for him if he could get hold of it, and all that
sort of thing. He has great confidence in you, and 1 am

certain that you can help me make the sale if you only half-

ty.

“T don’t know about it. Woodville has been acting very
strangely for the past few days.”

“How?”

“His manner is different. I can’t exactly describe the
change, but he looks at me sometimes in a way I don’t
like. This morning, when I asked him to lend me a hundred,
he said he couldn’t spare it. It’s the first time he ever
refused to let me have a loan.”

“Well, you don’t think he’s such a fool as to let you go
on bleeding him forever, do you? Don’t be an idiot, Sedg-
wick. Now, then, will you or will you not use your influence
to help me?”

“Of course I will, if I can.”

“Good enough. We shall succeed—never fear.”

“Moreland,” burst forth Sedgwick suddenly, “is it—can
it be possible that John Woodville and Frank Foster are
the same?”

“Of course it is not possible.
into your head?”

“The extraordinary resemblance

“There have been other cases of resemblance just as ex-
traordinary.”

What has put that idea

33

»

It must have been a clever

“But fe the fast three or four sie it has seemed more

‘striking than ever before.”

“Don’t I tell you I saw Foster’s dead body in Chicago

“But might you not have been mistaken ?”

“Mistaken! No, impossible.
Let’s go back to the hotel now and have another bottle;
and in the morning you must commence work on Wood-
ville.”

In the morning Sedgwick did commence work.

“Well,” he reported to Moreland, “I can’t say that I’ve
had much luck. I tell you Woodville’s manner toward me
is changed. But I think [I’ve aroused a little interest in
his mind on the subject of the mine, and he has agreed
to meet you and have a talk with you about it at four this
afternoon.”

“Good! That’s all I wanted or expected. Let me have
a fair chance at fhe youngster, and I'll get his money, He’s
no match for me.’

And, in truth, Frank, notwithstanding his natural business
abilities, was no match for a shrewd. man of the world like
Jasper Moreland.

They met at the appointed hour, and Moreland presented
the speculation to the boy in so favorable a light as to
arouse his enthusiasm in spite of himself.

Frank’s good luck had not turned his head, nor had he
acquired that grasping and acquisitive spirit that charac-
terizes so many persons who have become suddenly wealthy ;
but-he was naturally not averse to the idea of investing
a portion of his money in a mine in so prosperous a condi-
tion and promising such grand results in the future as this
one of Moreland’s,

By means of papers carefully gotten up for the occasion
the shrewd scoundrel made it appear that the mine had
yielded and was still yielding fabulous results.

“IT suppose I ought to hold on to it,” he said, “for I
know there’s still a fortune in it; but, hang it! ve got
money enough, and I want to enjoy life a little before I
become an old man. As soon as I dispose of the mine I’m
going to travel in Europe a year or two, but I can’t leave
until | have sold it, for it requires my personal attention a
good deat of the time.”

TE gee.

“*The eye of the master is worth both his hands,’ you
know. But I have other fish to fry, and can’t spare the
time to the mine that I ought. A bright, enterprising young
fellow like you, however, could make a tremendous success
Orie,

In this way Moreland went on until he succeeded in
arousing a good deal of interest in Frank’s mind about the
mine.

4TH tell you what we'll do,” he said at last, clapping the —
boy familiarly on the shoulder. “We'll go out and take a —
look at the Hester.”

' dhe Bester &7

“That's the name of the mine. It was called after an

old hag’—and Moreland frowned slightly, as if at some ae

disagreeable recollection—‘“‘who lives in the neighborhood.
Well, what do you say—will you consent to go?”
DN Goya
“Good. Suppose we start, say, the day after to-morrow?”
“That will suit me.”

 

Come, no more of this folly. _
   

a 4 “MIGHT AND

 

“Very well. When you have seen the Hester you'll be
glad enough to become its proprietor; but perhaps I will
change my mind about selling by that time—ha, ha, ha!’ -

Moreland had succeeded in interesting Frank more than
he imagined about the mine. For the next forty-eight hours
the boy thought of scarcely anything else.

On the day fixed for their departure he reached the ait

way-station promptly at the appointed howr, and found both

Moreland and Sedgwick awaiting him.

“I have invited our mutual friend, Dick, to accompany
us,’ said the former familiarly, “for I knew that you would
be pleased to have him along.”

Frank was anything but pleased, but he said nothing,
except to reply to Sedgwick’s greetings in as cordial a man-
ner as he could assume.

- We will not weary the reader with the particulars of their
journey, which was a very tedious one, but will simply re-
count the events of their arrival.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the ore
Mine.

All was. bustle and industry, for Mor lead had had every-
thing “fixed” for their reception.

They were met by the foreman, who had been ‘‘posted”
by mail, and who greeted Moreland with:

“Welcome back, Mr. Moreland. It’s a long time since
we have seen you, sir.”

“Yes; I have been very busy with other affairs.
the mine?”

“Splendid.
owner of.”

“Nevertheless, I’m thinking of selling it.”

“Selling it? Surely you’re joking, sir!”

“No, I am in sober earnest.”

“Well, the man that gets it will be lucky, for I don’t
believe we have begun to appreciate its richness yet.”

At this moment a strange-looking figure rushed upon the
scene—an old woman, clad in rags, her face seamed with
wrinkles, her wild, deeply-sunken eyes fixed upon the face
of Moreland, as she cried:

“So you're back again, Jasper Moreland? Ha, ha, ha!
_ And who is this you’ve brought with you?” and she stepped
forward and placed her bony hand upon Frank’s arms.

How’s

There isn’t one in Montana I’d sooner be

CHAPTER XV.
TREACHERY.

Milage)! be Moreland angrily,
do you hear, stand aside!”

“TH stand aside when I get ready, Jasper Moreland!”
was the woman’s quick response. “I warn you, do not
anger me. Again I ask you, who is this boy?”

“Tam called John Woodville, my good woman,”
Frank soothingly.

“Humph! But ’tis not your rightful name,”
in a whisper that reached our hero’s ears only.
_ The boy started.

_ “What do you mean?” he cried.

“Let us waste no more time with this hag,” interrupted

‘Moreland impatiently. “Come, Woodville, let us go on.”

“get out of my way;

interposed

said the hag,

“MAIN WEEKLY.

   

“So be it,” said the woman, with a peculiar. laugh. “What
I have to say to him is not for your ears, Jasper Moreland.
Boy,” she added, turning to Frank, “come to my hut at the
earliest moment; I have something to tell you.”

With these words, and a parting glance, expressive of dis-
dain, at Moreland’s face, she hobbled away.

“A-strange woman!” exclaimed Frank.

“Bah!” said Moreland, “she is a half-crazy impostor who
lives in a hut near-by. I would have had her driven from
the place long ago, but the men, ignorant, superstitious fools
that they are, have taken it into their heads that she is
a witch, and are afraid to offend her. It was she that the
mine was named aiter.” .

Nothing more was said:about the old woman, but Frank
did not forget her words, and resolved to visit her at ie
first opportunity.

The next morning Moreland accompanied him in an in-
speetion of the mine. So far as the inexperienced boy was
able to judge, everything was in the most prosperous and
hopeful condition. The men, who had been promised large
rewards in case the: mine was sold, played their parts well,
and the impression made upon Frank was exactly what the
crafty Moreland had anticipated.

Within an hour after their visit to the mine it had become
the property of Frank Foster, all necessary papers having
been signed, and one thousand dollars of the purchase-money
—the entire amount being thirty thousand—paid.

While Moreland went to seek out Sedgwick and inform

him of the success of their plot, Frank turned his steps in |

the direction of Hester’s hut.

The old woman’s words had aroused his curiosity, and
he was extremely anxious to know what she had to com-
municate.

He had no difficulty in finding the house. It was situated
in a lonely, out-of-the-way place. It was a wretched, dilapi-
dated-looking hut—certainly a fit abode for a weird, it
woman like this Hester.

Frank’s knock was immediately answered by the old
woman herself.

“I have been expecting you,” she said, as she led the way
into a scantily furnished room, dimly lighted by a tallow

candle—for the thick growth of trees outside prevented any -

but the faintest rays of sunlight from_penetrating the a
“Be seated.”

There was a certain air of respect in. her manner, which
Frank had not noticed on the occasion of their former
meeting. :

As he took the chair she offered him, she said, with some
appeararice of anxiety:

“I have a question to ask you. I believe, from what I
have overheard the men say, that Jasper Moreland has
brought you here to sell you the mine if he can. Am I
right P”

Uyess

“Then, beware.
out. All this industry and appearance of activity is put
on to defraud you. Do not invest a penny in the mine.”

“But I have already bought it,” cried Frank.

- The old woman uttered an exclamation of anger.

“However,” continued the boy, “if what you say: is true,

You are deceived; the mine is worked’

 

     
     
 
 
  
  

 

 

 

Tea eS eer

SA | SE OO NE

 

        
  
   

     
  
   
  
   

 

 

 

 

Sema | SERGE eRe Re meee ee eae ee

   
   
 

  

 

 

‘Moreland“hoarsely.

thousand dollars, and that I will recover.”

“Good! Frank Foster,” cried Hester.

Frank involuntarily leaped to his feet.

“You know my name?” he cried.

“Aye, and more—far more. Frank Foster, you have been
the victim of a foul plot; but the wrongs of the past shall
be righted. Listen to what I say—beware of Jasper More-

vane

“What do you mean?”

“He is your evil genius. To him you owe all your mis-
fortune, See here—do you know this face?”

The old woman placed a photograph in his hand. As he
looked at it a cry escaped his lips.

The picture was a duplicate of the one found in the hand
of the murdered man, Egbert Foster, Again that sweet,
sad face was before him, again those mournful eyes gazed
into his.

“Where did you get this?” the boy gasped.
are you?”

“Hush!” cried: Hester suddenly. ‘Some one is coming.
We must meet again—then I will tell you more. Do you
know where the Devil’s Crag is?”

“Yes,” replied Frank, remembering that the place had
been pointed out to him that very morning by one of the
miners,

“Then meet me there at nine to-night, and you shall know
all. Hush!’

The door was thrown open and Jasper Moreland entered.

“What are you doing here, Woodville?” he inquired, al-
most harshly. ‘I saw you coming in this direction, and I
followed you, fearing that you might meet with foul play
at the hands of this hag.”

The old woman laughed.

“He is in no danger, Jasper Moreland,’
look out for yourself.”

“Bah!” returned Moreland contemptuously.
ville, let us leave this den.”

Frank followed him from the place.

“Whatever possessed you to go there?” inquired Moreland,
with a sharp glance at his companion’s face.

“Oh, mere idle curiosity,” replied Frank, with an as-
sumption of indifference.

“And what did the woman say?”

“Nothing of any account,’ answered the boy.

He saw that his companion was relieved by this reply.

As they neared the camp a man came rushing forward
to meet them, his whole appearance betokening the greatest
excitement.

“W ho—what

she said, “but

“Come, Wood-

“Mr. Moreland,” he sa ‘we've struck it rich at last!”

* “What do you mean?’

“That we've just struck the richest vein of gold I ever
saw, and I’ve been mining ever since I was a kid. . See
this!’ and he handed Moreland a lump of ore.

The man’s face paled as he gazed at it.

“At last,” he murmured, beneath his breath, “when it is
just too late!”

“Tf the vein holds out,” added the miner, as he rushed

away, “the Hester will be worth millions,”
“Woodville, your luck follows you everywhere,” said

the Garpain shali not be concluded, for I have paid but one

    

   
    

“MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY, — ee a

   

“Yes,” replied our hero, who was much less excited tha
his companion; “but no one but Sedgwick and the foreman
knows that I own the mine as yet.”

“True,” replied Moreland; then, as if struck by 2 a sudden
thought, he added: “Suppose we say nothing of the sale to
an one for a day or two?”

“Just as you like,” replied Frank indifferently.

They found every one in wild excitement on their return —
to the camp. It was, indeed, true that, after months of !
unsuccessful work, one of the richest leads ever known in
Montana had been struck.

“No one but Sedgwick and the foreman knows of the
sale,’ mused the discomfited Moreland. “Why need any
one else ever know? They can be bought off, and I can
still remain owner of the Hester. By Heaven! I will not
give it up! Somehow, I will arrange a scheme to retain it.”

That night Moreland’s restless wanderings led him to
the Devil’s Crag, a lonely spot about half a mile from the
mine,

As he reached the place he paused suddenly at the sight

of a youthful form clearly outlined against the sky. It was _

Frank Foster, who had come to keep his appointment with
old Hester.-

“Woodville!” gasped Moreland. “He does not see me,
and he is standing upon the very edge of a precipice, nearly
a thousand feet in depth! Such an opportunity will never
occur again; it shall not pass unimproved.”

The villain crept noiselessly toward the unconscious boy.
In a few moments he had reached his side. There was a
quick movement, and then, with a loud cry, Frank Foster
disappeared over the edge of the precipice,

“He will never trouble me again,” muttered Moreland
exultantly, as he hurried away. “Luck has come my way
at last, and I am now the undisputed owner of the Hester,
the richest gold-mine, if I mistake not, in all Montana!”

CHAPTER XVI,
OLD HESTER’S SECRET.

As Jasper Moreland turned to leave the scene of his
ctime, aglow with triumph at the thought that he had suc- ©
ceeded in ridding himself of the only obstacle between him-
self and the fortune he coveted, he was suddenly confronted
by the tall figure of old Hester.

“Hag!” he cried, greatly startled by the ‘unlooked: for ap-
parition, “what are you doing here?”

“Jasper Moreland, wretch, murderer !”
woman; “I have seen all!’

“All—all what?” demanded Moreland, striving to be calm.
“I don’t understand you.”

“You understand me well enough!” cried Hester vehe-.
mently. “I saw you push that boy over the precipice !”

“Woman, you rave. Let me pass.”

“So be it. Go your way, assassin, but justice shall be
done !”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Moreland, in a low,
fierce yoice, as he grasped the old woman’s wrist. “Be
careful that you do not provoke me too far, or I may ao
you harm! iY

shrieked the old
  

 

  

  

 

oe 8 waicHT AnD

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Hester, “I do not fear you, Jasper
Moreland. I defy you now, as I ever have defied you. You
have murdered the defenseless boy, and you shall atone
‘the crime |’

“See here,” said Moreland, adopting a Sone tone ;
“the boy’s foot slipped, and he fell over the precipice.”

Siae t’

“T am telling you the truth, Hester; but, as your story
might injure me, I am ready and willing to pay you well
for your silence.”
~ “All your gold, Jasper Moreland, would not tempt me to
let Frank Foster’s murder go unavenged.”

“Frank Foster! Ha, ha, ha!’ was Moreland’s quick re-
sponse. “Why, Hester, that boy was not Frank Foster. His
name was John Woodville.”

The old woman studied her companion’s face closely in
the moonlight.

“T see,’ she said presently, “that you mean what you say,
but I tell you the boy was Frank Foster, and no other.”

“Nonsense. Frank Foster has been dead for months. I,
myself, saw his body when it was arrayed for burial.”

“You have been deceived.”

“Impossible !” / pe

“You have, I tell you. The boy whom you have mur-
dered was Frank Foster and no other. He himself con-
fessed the fact to me this morning.”

“Tt cannot be!” cried Moreland.

“It is true. It was to learn the secret which only you
and I could tell him that he came here to-night.” c

“Ha! you meant to play me false?”

“Yes, Jasper Moreland, I want to right that great wrong.”

“You forget your oath?”

“No; but I have resolved to ignore it.
is better broken than kept.”

“Hag! it was well that I came here to-night.”

“No, Jasper Moreland, it was ill for you, for this hour’s
work has doomed you.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I shall reveal all and destroy you.”

“Fool! you will destroy yourself.”

“We shall see.”

“We shall see. Now, Hester, listen to reason. I will
pay you well for your silence. A new lead of probably
fabulous value has been struck in the mine. I am a very
wealthy man—perhaps ten times a millionaire. You shall
have all the money you require, you shall want for nothing
as long as you live.”

“Your gold cannot tempt me, I tell you.
alt.’

“Fool!” cried Moreland, suddenly springing toward the
old woman, “you have pronounced your own doom.”

An oath like that

I shall reveal

He seized her by the throat in a grasp of iron. She
was powerless to defend herself, or even to utter a cry for
elp.. |

“You brought it upon yourself,” hissed Moreland, “and
it’s just as well for me that you did, for you’ve been a
“stumbling-block to me for many a year now. I wish I had
done this long ago.”

6é

_ He released his grip, and the old woman fell an inani-
mate heap at his feet.

  

MAIN.

“Dead!” he muttered, bending over her. “Now to toss —
her carcass over the precipice.”

He was in the act of lifting the body in his arms when |

a crackling of the bushes near-by caused him to ‘pe to

his feet, panic-stricken. .

Perhaps two hundred feet distant stood a wel, ki
ficure—that of Richard Sedgwick.

Acting upon his first impulse, Moreland Tishen forward,
crying:

“Villain, you have been spying!
me?”

“I have not followed you, Moreland,” said Sedgwick. “T
came to this place by a mere accident.”

How dare you follow

“You lie!” and Moreland dealt him a blow upon the fore-
head which felled him to the ground.

A few moments later he slowly arose to his feet. In the
meantime, Moreland had reflected that his action had been
hasty and ill conceived, and that he could not afford to make
an enemy of Sedgwick.

“My boy,” he said, extending his hand, “I beg your par-
don. °F was oo and I—I did not ae wit I was
doing.” :

A Thats! adh: Het ” returned Sedgwick, with a peculiar —
smile, “but I hope you'll keep your wits about you in the
future. Why, how ghastly pale your face is! What’s the
matter ?”

“You saw nothing—heard nothing’?”

“No; what has happened ?”

“No matter. I must return to the crag for a moment.
Go back to the mine.
no—I cannot, I dare not return.”

Moreland was now completely unnerved. The natural re-
action from his recent excitement had set in, and the very
thought of again touching the body of his victim made him
tremble like a child.

“What is the matter. with you?” demanded Sedgwick.
"Are you wh?”

“No—yes. Sedgwick, I want your assistance.”

“More dirty work, eh?”

“Listen! Almost at the edge of the precipice lies the
body of old Hester.”

“Hester!” Is she dead?”

GS

“You have killed her!”

“She possessed a secret of mine, which she threatened
to reveal.”

“And you murdered her to. close her mouth ?”

“Silence !’?

“How you tremble, Moreland!
before.”

I never saw you like this

“I’m completely unnerved. I want to get back to the
camp. A glass of brandy will set me all right again.”

“Well, what is-it that you want me to do?”

“I want you to go back and throw the old woman’s body —
over the cliff. It will probably never be found; and, if it is,
it will be believed that she fell over accidentally.”

“IT see. It’s not a pleasant task, however.”

“T will reward you, Sedgwick. Now, go—go! The body
must not be found lying there. As soon as you have disposed ~
of it, return to the camp.” :

  

    
   

 

 

 

I will follow you immediately. But -—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

Bs fee

 

 

 

sla

er

Ce

SRS RS ee SS

Bo

ieee

SES.

  

  

 

 

“MIGHT AND

Ww ith these words, Moreland hastened away.

“At last I have you in my power, you clever scoundrel,”
mused Sedgwick, gazing after the murderer’s retreating
form. “That momentary weaknéss of yours shall cost you
dear. Curse you! I’ll be revenged for that blow, and for
others that you imagine I have forgotten. But I will be your
slave no longer. You said that the old woman possessed a
secret of yours. Oh! if I could only force the dead to speak,
and gain still another advantage over you! But, no matter;
I have you now in a position in which I never hoped to get
you, and I'll make you feel my power. Now to perform the
work you were too cowardly to do, and then to claim my
reward,”

It was nearly two hours before Sedgwick returned to the
camp. He found Moreland awaiting him.

“Where the deuce have you been?” was his employer’s
impatient greeting. “It’s almost midnight.”

There was something in Sedgwick’s manner that More-
land could not quite understand, as he replied:

“IT had a little business of my own to attend to after
transacting yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tl explain presently. But oe let me ask you how
much I am to get for the work I have done for you to-
night ?”

“Curse you, don’t you know I’ll pay you peal as [
always have done?”

“That’s all right; but I’d like to know what I am to receive
this time.” :

“Well, I'll hand you a couple of hundred to-morrow.’

Sedgwick laughed heartily.

“That will hardly do. My terms are—well, say a hundred
thousand.” |

“See here, Sedgwick,” said. Moreland angrily, “Iam. in

-no mood for trifling, I warn you.”

“Nor I. I mean just what I have said. Give me one
hundred thousand dollars and I’ll call it square; and I'll
also throw in a certain valuable secret which has recently
come into my possession.”

“And what is this secret?” sneered Moreland. -

“In reply, let me ask you a question: Did you ever hear
the name of Walter Goodhall?”

These words had an electrical effect upon Moreland.

He sprang to his feet and rushed toward Sedgwick with
an oath,

“Stand off! cried the young man, leveling a revolver at
his companion’s head. aoe ve gone as far as you can ne
me, and it’s my turn now.’

 

is GHAPTER XVII.
RICHARD SEDGWICK’S SCHEME.

For perhaps a full minute Jasper Moreland and Richard
Sedgwick stood gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Well,” said the: former, at last, with a forced latch,
“you've got more grit than I gave you credit for, Sedg-
wick,”

PL know I have. The fact is,
you at a big advantage, and I’m
Or tt.

Moreland, that I’ve got
going to make the most

MAIN WEEKLY.

    

   

    
  
  

 

“Explain yourself.”

“I will. I know all about the Goodhall affair, and P’m
going to sell my information. I give you the first chance
to buy it, and one hundred thousand dollars is my price.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about. What Good-
hall affair?”

“Don’t let us waste any more time bandying words. I tell
you I know all, and I'll let you know how I found out—it
was from old Hester.”

“From Hester! Is the hag still alive? Did I fail——”

“Oh, you did your work well, and she’s dead. But you
were in too much of a hurry; var should have stopped to
examine the body.”

“To examine the body ?”

“Just so. -I was a little shrewder and cooler-headed than
you. I saw a bulky package protruding from her pocket,
and before I threw her body over the precipice, I took: pos-
session of this package.”

“And what did it contain?”

“A number of articles of value, among them several very
interesting documents. For instance, there was a letter ad-
dressed to Frank Foster, whom, it: seems, she expected to
meet at the Devil’s Crag at nine o'clock.”

“Frank Foster! He is dead.”

“Oh, ho, He isn’t;
the same.”

“You've found that out, have you?”

“Yes. How long have you known it, Moreland ?”

“T only learned it to-night from old Hester.”

¥Well, Foster has played very fine. How could he have
come to life again?” -

he and John Woodville are one and

“That remains to be seen.
age contain?’

Well, what else did the pack-
“The most important article was a long, circumstantial
account of the abduction of Walter Goodhall, written some
months ago, signed by old Hester and duly witnessed.”
“Curse her! she has been meditating treachery a long
time, then.”

“So it seems. She brought these things to the crag to

give them to Foster, I learned by the letter, but somehow
she failed to meet him, I suppose, since they still remained
in her possession. Now, Moreland, you see I have you
at an advantage every way. What will you pay me for
those papers?”

“Where are they?”

“Concealed where you’d never find them. You'll not set
eyes on them, I promise you, until you have the hundred
thousand dollars ready to hand over. Now, then, do you
accept my terms, or shall I see if I can find a purchaser in
Frank Foster ?” !

“Prank Moster!. Pha ha, hat’ ja
“You'll never see him again!’*

Sedgwick started.

“What do you mean by that?
the old woman did not meet!
way.”

“No matter what I

ughed Moreland hoarsely.

Ah,:I see why he and
You have put him out of the

have done; he'll never trouble either

of us again, and I am the undisputed owner of the Hester

Mine.”
   

 

But Foster

“Aha! I begin to see what you're driving at.
owned the mine, and had papers to prove it.”
“But if those papers have disappeared with him?”
- “By Jove! you're a clever schemer, Moreland. No one
knows of the sale except myself and one other witness.” —

a

 

“Exactly. The other witness can be bought, and you
“I can be bought, too, but I come high.”
There was an exultant ring in Sedgwick’s voice that

Moreland did not like.

“Well, what is your price?’

“See here, Moreland,” said the young fellow, “the tables
‘have turned. All along you have been master and I slave;
now I am your master.”

“Do you dare .

“Yes, I dare!” interrupted Sedgewick defiantly. “The only
hold you ever had on me you have lost, for it seems that
T did not kill Foster, after all.”

“Vou forget,” interposed Moreland, “the charge that is
hanging over you in New York.State.”

Sedgwick snapped his fingers contemptuously.

“Bah! you mean that robbery at Trafton’s? A charge
like that against a man of fortune amounts to nothing.”

“But you are not a man of fortune.”

“T shall be shortly. Jasper Moreland, you are in my
power. I know of your double life, of your murder of old
Hester-—aye! and of Frank Foster, too—of the Goodhall
affair, and of other matters which I think will occur to you
if you will brush up your memory a little, and I believe I
can make my own terms.”

“Well, what are your terms?” t

“My price has risen. One hundred thousand dollars is
not enough. I must be an equal partner with you in the
Hester Mine.”

“Sedgwick, you are going too far.”

“T think not.”

“Your terms are preposterous.”

“Think so? You will have to agree to them, however.
Moreland, you thought me a drunken fool, whom you could
use as you pleased, but all the time I was as shrewd as your-
self, and was only waiting my opportunity. Now it has
come, and I’m going to take full advantage of it. Come,
how, are we equal partners or not?”

“Yes,” said Moreland, after a few moments’ hesitation.

“Good—and no funny business, mind. Now, then, we
can defy the other witness to the sale, for his words against
ours in the absence of documentary evidence will amount
to nothing.”

“Sedgwick, you are a more clever rascal than I ever im-
agined.” :

 

“Oh, we shall succeed as partners, I have no doubt. And
now tell me what has become of Foster ?”

Before Moreland could reply, the door was flung open
and the subject of the inquiry, Frank Foster himself, en-
tered the room.

Both men leaped to their feet, and Moreland uttered a
ery of mingled terror and apprehension.

“Y’m afraid I startled you,” said Frank, evidently surprised
at the excitement his appearance created. “I might have
knocked, but

“That’s all right, Woodville,” ‘eit Moreland, partially re-

 

MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY.

:
covering his composure by a strong effort. “You did give
us a start, that’s a fact. What brings you out at this
hour of the night when ie one else in the camp is
asleep ?” :

“Vou are not, it seems,” laughed Frank.
~ “No, my young friend; Sedgwick and I have been talking
over old times, and we did not realize how late it was
getting”,

“Well, I have had a very singular adventure, and, seeing
a light in your cabin, thought I would step in and tell you
about it.”

“You interest me. What has happened?”

“T have had an almost miraculous escape from death.” ©

“Curse your luck!” muttered Moreland, beneath his breath,
while Sedgwick inquired, with an air of interest that was
not wholly assumed:

“Indeed? How was that, Woodville?”

“This morning the old woman, Hester, got me to agree

to meet her at the Devil’s Crag at nine to-night, saying that
she had something of great importance to communicate to
mel) :

“The crazy old impostor!” ejaculated Moreland.
you wete not foolish enough to go?”

“Yes, I went, and nearly lost my life by so doing. While
I was standing on the edge of the cliff awaiting Hester’s
appearance, some one ptished me over.”

“Pushed you over!” exclaimed Moreland, with well-simu-
lated astonishment. “Why, the precipice is over five hun-
dred feet in depth ??’

“T escaped, as I said, by a miracle. As I fell, my head
struck against the ledge, and I became unconscious. I must
have remained so several hours. When I regained my senses
I found myself hanging from a branch of a tree not very

“Surely

far from the.top of the cliff. My coat had caught on the is
branch as I fell, and I had considerable trouble to release

myself. Without much difficulty I climbed back to the top
of the crag, and Hehe to the camp, not much the worse
for my adventure.”

“A wonderful escape!” cried Moreland, who could scarentl
conceal his chagrin. “And whom do you suspect of having
pushed you over?”

“IT saw no one, heard no. one approach,” replied Frank;

“but I cannot help thinking that the old woman may have —

enticed me to the spot for the purpose of murdering me.”

“Undoubtedly you are right,” said Moreland, with a wink
at Sedgwick.

“But what could her motive have been?” asked Frank, in
perplexity. |

“She could not have told you Herccle She is as mad as
a March hare—that’s the explanation of the mystery.”

After a few more words, Frank arose and took his- leave.

“Did you ever see such blind. luck?” exclaimed Sedg-
wick.

“Curse the boy!” replied his companion.

baal |
as he as many
lives as a cat?”

“You took a neat way to rid yourself of him, but there’s
no use fighting against such luck as his. But you may
have better success next time. Well, the mine is his, after
all.” 2

“Yes,” returned Moreland, with an oath.

- ~
Et ee ET

   
   
 
 
   
 
  

oats

> MAB Ss 7°

=

: eer a Ge

oes

é
5

 

   
      
    
 
    
  

 

 

  

= SgeS SES SS

SE ee

PSs

  

  
         

 

2 ile AND MAIN WEERLY.

“He’s playing mighty fine—I can’t get onto his game.
Why, Moreland, I’ve been wearing that watch that I took
from him in Chicago. He must have seen it a hundred
times, and he must know that it was I who gave him that

crack on the head. Why-has he never spoken of. it?”

“It’s all a mystery, but I’ll fathom it, now that I have a
clue,” said Moreland. “Well, good night, Sedgwick.”

“Just so. Good night;” and the conspirators parted.

“Foster has been onto me all along,” mused Sedgwick,
as he returned to His quarters. “But why does he call him-
self Woodville? And why didn’t he hand me over to the
police long ago? By Jove! I’m beginning to be afraid of
the fellow. He’s got nearly all the power in his hands, and
it’s time for me to save my neck. I will give him the
papers, and tell him what I have found out.”

After parting with Moreland, Sedgwick overtook Foster

and told him everything he knew about Moreland and his
plots.

“I put myself in your: hands,” he said, “and confess, on
the condition that you promise not to prosecute me.”

“T agree,” answered Foster.

The next day, after Foster had wound up his affairs in
the West, the two young men took the first through train
for New York.

CHAPTER XVITT:
CONCLUSION.

We must transfer the scene to New York.

“My dear Mr. Trafton, how are you?” —

The speaker was Horace Danvers; the scene, the library
of Charles Trafton, the former employer of Frank Foster.

“So you are back again, eh?’ was the merchant’s re-
sponse. Se

“I am, indeed,” replied Danvers, “but I must say you
don’t appear as glad to see me as I could have wished.”

“Enough,” interrupted Mr. Trafton impatiently. “Why are
you here?”

“You are wunceremonious,”. said Danvers.
equally so. I am here to demand my rights.”

“Your rights?”

“Exactly so. Charles Trafton, the story of your one crime,
the one blot upon your record, is an old one. It has been
the theme of many a melodrama, and the cause of many a
tragedy in real life. Ten years ago, when pressed for
money, you forged the name of an old and trusted friend
to a note. You imagined that the crime would never be
discovered, that the note would be returned to you and by
you destroyed. But your well-laid plans miscarried. The
note became my property, and I hold it now. One word
from me would blast your reputation as a man of honor
forever.”

“Fiend!” groaned the merchant, covering his face with his
hands.

“My dear boy,” laughed Danvers, “it’s in very bad taste
to indulge in personal remarks like that. But never mind—
I’m not sensitive. Trafton, do you know why I am here?”

“Go on,” responded the old man hoarsely.

“T’am here to demand the immediate fulfilment of your
promise.”

“IT will be

-yours before another day has passed.

“My promise ?”

“Just so. I agreed to be silent regarding what I knew x
about you on condition that you gave me the hand of your

daughter in marriage. On my wedding-day I will return to
you the forged note. I have waited long enough, Trafton;
I now demand the price of my silence.”

“It shall not be paid,” cried the merchant, springing to
his feet. “Do your worst, for, come what may, my child
shall never become the wife of a wretch like you.”

“stop !?

It was Florence Trafton who spoke. She had entered the
room unperceived. Her face was very pale, but there was
a strange calmness in her manner that her father did not
understand. p

“I have overheard all that you have said,’ she went on,
“and I will become this man’s wife.”

“But 1 cannot, I will not, permit the sacrifice,’ cried Mr.
Trafton.

“You cannot prevent it,” said the girl, in the same meas-
ored tones. “I will save our name from dishonor.”

“You have decided wisely, Miss Florence,’ said Danvers,
a ring of triumph in his voice, “and you shall have no occa-
sion to regret it. You will, then, become my wife?”

“Whenever you please.”

“Good.. Then our marriage shall take place one week
from to-day.”

“As you like,’ responded Florence.

ee ee ee ee

The wedding-day had arrived.

“In two hours, Trafton,’ said Danvers, as he entered
the merchant’s study arrayed for the ceremony, “I shall have
the distinguished honor of becoming your son-in-law. Old
man, why don’t you brace up? . You don’t seem to realize
the importance of the acquisition your family is about to
make.” :

“Danvers,” cried Mr. Trafton appealingly, “have you no
mercy? Will you not, even now, at the eleventh hour, re-
lease my poor child, and——”

“Now, don’t talk nonsense,” interrupted the prospective
bridegroom impatiently. “Of course I shall not release her.
Why should 1? I shall make her a good husband, my dear
Trafton, as you will find; and you'll see the day when you'll
be glad you entrusted her to my care.”

“But the YF

“I know what you’re going to say; the forged note, to
obtain which you have given me your daughter, shall be
As soon as the cere-
mony which makes Florence my wife is over, I will place
it in your hands.”

 

“Perhaps you will give it to me now,” said a voice, and,
to the amazement of both the merchant and his visitor, a
lady entered the room.

“Mrs. Goodhall!’”’ exclaimed Danvers, in amazement. “You

here! What does this mean?”

“I will ask you to surrender that paper to me, if not to |
my mother,’ said a familiar voice, and Frank Foster followed
the lady into the rodm.

*“Or to me, old man,” added Sedgwick, suddenly appear-
ing upon the scene. “Danvers, I’m out of your clutches,
   

   

: : 28

T’ve i your slave long enough, now I’ve nee over a

as you really are.

- my mouth shut, and I accepted his offer.

_ whole story.

 

new leaf.”

“Mr. Danvers,” added Mrs. Goodhall, “I now know you
I know of your double life. I am aware
that Horace Danvers, the refined, fastidious gentleman, was
no other than Jasper Moreland, the leader of a gang of
criminals—the wretch who first led astray this young man
Sedgwick, as he had many others; the fiend who abducted

my child and condemned me to years of untold misery.”

“Yes,” added Sedgwick, “we’re onto you, my dear Dan-
vers, or whatever your name is. You knew that if Mrs.
Goodhall’s child was put out of the way you would probably
inherit her entire property, and you hired the woman, Hester
Dawson, to do the job. She turned the boy over to an old
man known as Pop Cooper, from whom Mr. Foster finally
rescued him. I’ve got it pretty straight, haven’t I?”

“Bah!” ejaculated Danvers, “this is all folly. Have you .

any further charges to make against me?”

“One more,” said Frank,
of Egbert Foster.”

“Indeed. Can you prove it?” sneered Danvers.

“T can!” eried another voice, and the man with a scar
on his face entered the library.

“T accuse you of the murder

Danvers showed more ae than he had previously
manifested,

“You here, Stephen Rooke!” he exclaimed, his face paling.

“Yes, I am here,” returned Rooke, “and I can prove that

you killed Egbert Foster, for I saw you do it.”

“You!” exclaimed Mr. Trafton, rising to his feet.

“Yes, I,” said Rooke. “You see, I was in hard luck just
at that time, and I was tramping. At about twelve o’clock
one night I saw a light in the window of a house I was

\ passing, and curiosity made me stop and look in, for the

window was part way up. Danvers and Mr. Foster were
engaged in conversation, and I overheard what they said.
Mr. Foster told Danvers that he had at last succeeded in
tracing the parentage of his adopted son Frank, that he had
found Pop Cooper, who had confessed all and implicated
one Hester Dawson, and a man known as Jasper Moreland,
and that the name of Frank’s mother was Goodhall, He
then exhibited a photograph which he said was that of
Mrs. Goodhall, taken some years before. . While the old
man was gazing at the picture, Danvers seized a knife,
which was lying upon the table, and stabbed him. He fell
do the floor and never moved again.”

‘It’s a lie!’ shouted Danvers. “This story is a mere in-
vention.”

“Tt is the truth,” said Mrs. Goodhall sternly. “You mur-
dered the man who believed you his best friend, because
you knew that were my child discovered you would lose the
wealth you expected to inherit from me. And ta make
your crime still blacker you accused this innocent boy of the
crime.”

“The morning after the murder,” went on Rooke, at a
sign from the lady, “I went to Danvers and told him what
I had heard. He agreed to pay me handsomely to keep
But now that I’ve
made a clean breast of the business I feel better.” f

“And now, Mr. Trafton,” said Sedgwick, “you know the
I’m heartily sorry for the rascally part I’ve

“MIGHT ‘AND. ‘MAIN WEEKLY.

    
 

the past. But I fancy, sir, there won't be any wedding
here to-day.”

“I think not,” said the voice of Florence, who appeared
upon the threshold. “You see, papa, Frank—I mean Mr.
Goodhall—came to me this morning and told me the whole
story. You were out and I couldn’t consult you, so I asked

him to come back as soon as he could and bring his mother

with him, and you’see he has kept his word.”

Danvers’ face was livid. He drew a folded paper from
his pocket.

“Traiton,” he said, “I hold in my hand the proof of your
crime. If I am allowed to leave this house unmolested, it is
yours, but if you seek to detain me, all the world shall know
that Charles Trafton is a——

By a quick movement Frank snatched the paper from hts |

hand.
“I feel justified in taking charge of this,” he said; “and

_as for permitting you to leave the house, that is out of the.

question, for there aie a couple of officers in the hall who
are waiting for you,”

Before any one could divine his acd Danvers thrust
his hand into an inner pocket.
a loud report, and Horace Danvers sank to the floor, a
bullet in his brain. He had paid the inevitable wages of sin.

xk * * * xk ok *

Half a dozen years have passed since the events which
we have related.

Only a few days ago Walter Goodhall, as we must now
call our hero, was united in marriage to Florence Trafton,
and his “best man” was no other than Dick Sedgwick, who
is now Mr. Trafton’s confidential clerk, and who has proved
by his life his earnest desire to atone for the past.

Mrs. Goodhall still lives, a far happier woman than of
yore. Her fondest hope now is to spend her declining years
with her son, who has become dearer and dearer to her
with each recurring year. She was the lady whose face
Foster had seen in the carriage and at the window.

And now we are compelled to bid a reluctant adieu to
the kind readers who have so long interested themselves
in the efforts of our hero to solve the mystery of a photo-
graph.

THE END.

 

 

 

SPECIAL NOTICE.

This will be the last issue of the MIGHT AND
MAIN WEEKLY. To those of our readers who
are not already acquainted with ‘‘Brave and Bold
Weekly,’’ we would like to recommend the stories
published in that splendid periodical as a substitute
for the one we have decided to discontinue. This
week’s issue will contain a rattling story of ad-
venture and travel, entitled ‘‘Roving Dick, the
Chauffeur; or, Around the World On an Auto,’’ by
Walter L. Hawley. It can be found at your regu-
lar news-dealers, and costs five cents. Read it

and become a regular patron of good old “Brave

and Bold Weekly.”

olen ue I’m going to aoe ees in the fnture for

The next moment there was.

 

 

 

 
    

   
  
     
           
    
   
      
        
        
    
    
       
 
      
       
       
      
       
      
   
   
 
   
   
  
  
  
   
     
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
 
 
  

 

           

 
  
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

signified that he was ready to swing.

 

 

 

 

GPT

STORIES OF BOYS WHO SUCCEED

NEW YORK, August 31, 1907.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TERMS TO MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY MAIL SUBSCRIBERS.
; (Postage Free.)
Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.

Be MNONEDR hu anes ec eae es, 65c. | One year ...... ee ae as $2.50
ACMORENS ..cccsse sce ee uiaas 85e. 2 copies oné year... 2.226222. 2. 4.00
EST TEES CURE: Ua ue eta: Seaaage seoapalgt aL gd $1.25 | 1 copy two years.............. 4.00

_ How to Send Money—By post-office or express money order,
registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent
by currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter.

Receipts—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper
change of number on:your label. If not correct you have not been properly

- eredited, and should let us know at once.

THE WINNER LIBRARY CO.,

Coe a dtrese: t 165 West Fifteenth Street, New York City.

 

 

INTERESTING ANECDOTES FOR
YOUR, DOYS. |

DOG THAT LIRES fOlS WING.

‘In the front yard of a home on East Ninth Street, Kan-
sas City, a rope dangles from a branch of a tree.

_ “Wonder what that rope’s for?” asked one man of his
companion, as the two were passing the house.

“Go in and ask, if you’re curious,” the other advised.

A young woman came to the door.

“We, that is—I was sort of curious about what that rope
on the tree is for,” the inquisitive one stammered.

“Why, that’s Johnny’s swing,’ the young woman an-
swered.

Out the door dashed Johnny—a fox-terrier.. A leap, and
he fastened his teeth in the rope, and, growling and jerking,
The young woman
pushed him back and forth until he reached the topmost
branches of the tree.

“Johnny would stay there hanging on that rope all day if
we would let him,” she said. “That’s why the rope is kept

_ tied up out of his reach.”

WOMAN BANK PRESIDENT. .
“There is a good field for women in the banking business,”

“declared Mrs. Mary C. Bennett, president of the National

Bank of Ness City, Kansas. Mrs. Bennett is one of the
few women bank presidents in Kansas. Besides being pres-
ident of the bank above mentioned she is vice-president
of the State Bank of Ransom, a town in Ness County, four-
teen miles from Ness City.

“I say there is a good field for women in the banking
business because there are more honest women than hon-
est men.
est as women in the banking business, but women aren’t
so likely to speculate as are men. It’s speculation that often
makes trouble, and leads to dishonesty.”

the lumbér business there.

Of course there are men who are just as hon-

 

‘MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY, ==

Mrs. Bennett knows every detail of the banking business
as it exists in the country bank. She started in the bank
of which she is president fifteen years ago. She was book-
keeper at first. She rose to the position of assistant cashier,
and after that was elected vice-president of the institution.
Six years ago she became president. She spends business-
hours in touch with financial affairs, looking closely after
the interests of the bank. ,

Mrs. Bennett’s father was an extensive lumber-dealer in
Ness City before his death, and her husband is now in
! She likes art, and is a graduate
of the Woman’s Institute of Technical Design of New
York City.

DOMESTICATED QUAIL.

Some time last summer the children of Joe Murphy, liv-
ing east of Paris, Texas, captured a young quail and took
him to the house, where he was raised with the chickens.

The bird took to domesticated habits among his fellow
fowls of the barnyard, became the special friend of a moth-
erly old hen, his attachment for her, as the days passed,
deepening into one of rare sympathy and constancy. Wher-—
ever the hen goes the quail goes also, and he never leaves
her side save when she goes to her nest under the porch;
then he perches on the rail above her, and when she comes
out, cackling triumphantly over a newly laid egg, he begins
to whistle as gladly and the two of them make enjoyable
music.

Quail are hard to domesticate, and the incident is an un-
usual one.

CAR KILLS BIG BADGER.

The pugnacity of the badger is of world-wide renown,
but he would scarcely be expected to assail a street-car; yet
the crew of Pacific electric car No. 393 assert that one
claiming residence on Rancho Santa Anita, near Arcadia,
Cal., disputed the right of way last evening.

About 9 o’clock P. M., as the car swung around the curve
in the vineyard west of Arcadia, Motorman Shearer saw ©
a large animal between the rails. Repeated shrieks of the —
whistle had no other effect than to cause him to rear and
bare his teeth in defiance. Then he was a dead badger. He
weighed eighty pounds, and his hide measured three and
one-half feet in length by two in width. His immense claws
are four inches long. He is by far the largest of the species
ever killed in this vicinity. ;

WHERE IODINE IS MANUFACTURED.

All along the northwest coast of Ireland, on the border
of the stormy Atlantic, there dwells a hardy race, who, when
not engaged in fishing, busy themselves in the manufacture
of “kelp.”

This “kelp” is a most valuable product, and always finds
a ready market, as it is from it thatewe obtain iodine—a
body largely used in medicine.

During ‘winter the people of this storm-lashed shore set.

out in their curraghs—as their frail, canoelike boats, made
of canvas, are called—and, sailing along the coast, fill their
small vessels with seaweed, from which the “kelp” is made.
In this work the men: are assisted by their wives and
daughters, who, bareheaded and barefooted, take their turn

  
 

regularly at the oars, in the handling of which they are al-
most as expert as the men.

After a great storm is the best time for obtaining the sea- -

- weed in quantity, as by the force of the waves it has been
torn from its native bed and cast on the shore or the rocks
near it. When the curraghs are laden, they are rowed to
some creek, and emptied of the seaweed, which is placed on
the shore beyond high-water mark.

From this it is carried in creels, or baskets, of wicker-
work, like those used by the fish-wives of this country, to a
point farther inland, to undergo the process of “drying.”

At this place there are short dikes or rows of loose stones

a few feet high, on which the seaweed is laid, and then left
to be dried by exposure to the sun and wind. Before it is
ready for “burning,” which is the next step in the prepara-
tion of “kelp,” the seaweed needs to be exposed to the
weather for months.

Meanwhile, the people do rrot sit idly by, for the fuel nec-
essary for burning it, which is the turf or peat got from
the bogs at hand, has to be cut and dried before the burning
in the kilns can commence.

The kiln is simply a deep trench in the ground, in which
alternate layers of turf and seaweed are ‘laid until it is full,
and then set fire to. The mass is kept burning for nearly a
month, till it cakes together into a black substance, resein-
bling coke, but, bulk for bulk, more weighty and solid.

OSTRICH: SALE DAYS:

Sale days for ostriches are held in Cape Colony, South
Africa, the same as public sales for horses and fine cattle in
this country. Some specimens of the males sell for $2,500,
and from $500 to $1,000 each is the ordinary price. The
wild ones are not so valuable as the tame ones.

The ostrich likes human company, and either the owner
of the flock or some member of the family is with them all
the time. The owners of the big flocks have recently dis-
covered that alfalfa is the best kind of feed for them, and
the alfalfa craze is on in the cape. Prickly pears have been
the ostrich-feed in the past.

- BEAR INVADES A TOWN.

Many citizens were treated to the unusual sight of a full
grown brown bear rooting around on the side of the hill
back of Chinatown, about 400 yards from the main thor-
oughfare of Yreka, Cal.

Where Bruin came from is not certain, as this locality is
eight or ten miles from where bears are known to range,
and the country in the immediate vicinity of town is open.

HUNGRY PET BEAR.

_ Sam Bowers, of Lung Creek, Col., owned two bears, and
they were the nicest kind of pets. They grew fond of Sam
and would run to him whenever he came in sight. They

did not distinguish between individuals, and whenever they.

became hungry would beg of the first man they met.

_ One day one of the bears went out into the woods and got
lost. A Cafion City sport went bear-hunting about the
‘same time. The pet bear saw the sport first, and, being
hungry, ran toward him to beg for food. As soon as the
sport saw the bear he ran, and when the bear saw the
man was running it ran faster. The pace became furious,

_ MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY. —

for the sport was becoming more frightened every second.

Finally, the sport saw a cabin, and made for it.

In an exhausted condition he reached the shelter, threw
open the door, and, hurrying in, slammed it shut, and crept
‘to the window. There stood the bear, wagging its tail. But
the poor sport remained in his hiding-place until Sam came

and took the pet away.

RANCHER’S NIGHT ENCOUNTER.
After a hand-to-claw fight with a black bear, during

which he received fifty bites and scratches, August Laitenin—

has sufficiently recovered from the ensuing fever to be able
to tell as exciting a bear story as ever was published.

Laitenin, who is ranching five miles from Salmon Arm, ©

Ont., heard something in his orchard at night, and went
down to investigate. He saw a big black bear munching
his fruit, and fired four rifle-shots at the brute. The bear

made off, and the farmer lost sight of him. Laitenin went

in: the direction he thought the animal had taken. In the
dark the man fell across a log right on top of the bear,
which immediately seized him.

The bear. had been wounded, however, .and his grasp was
not as strong as it would have been otherwise. As it was,
the rancher had his clothes torn to ribbons, was bitten in a
dozen places, and scratched all over the body. Laitenin
managed to fire three more shots while the bear was on
top of him. These made the bear roll over, and the man

managed to crawl out of the animal’s reach, and so got |

home. The bear weighed 360 pounds.

 

%

BESEIGED.

BY W. WILLIAMS,

 

 

“Well, mother, old Nat’s lame ag’in, an’ we shan’t be
able ter use him for a month at least,” said Father Stack-
ridge, coming into the kitchen. “I s’pose I’d oughter
fixed that broken place in his stall before, but I kept
lettin’ of it go, till last night he got down an’ got his leg
into the hole an’ barked his shin dreadfully.
me right for not tendin’ to things when I’d oughter.”

“Not lame again!” exclaimed his wife, in some con-
stermation.

“Tt’s rather bad,” said the farmer.
town ag’in till he’s some better.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” returned Mrs. Stackridge.

“We can’t go to

“Twas thinking of Milly. You know you were going to

take her up to see Em’ly Noble to-morrow, father, and
now she can’t go,”

“Sho! that’s too bad. I’d forgot about it. Poor little
Milly!
what I’ll have ter.”

Milly, their little lame daughter, a child of thirteen,
was not in the kitchen to hear the discussion; but her
brother Bob was. He dropped the book he had been
reading, and listened to the conversation. All the family
petted Milly, but her disposition was so sweet and cheer-
ful that no amount of petting could spoil her. She had
been a delicate little thing from babyhood, and a fall
when she was five or six years old had resulted in hip dis-
ease, and she had been made a cripple for. life.

‘I say, that’s too bad,” said Bob. “Can’t’ Nat possibly
go up there? It’s only ten miles.”

 
  

  
 

  

 

It sarves ~

I hate ter disapp’int her; but I: don’t see but

 
 

  
     

 

 

 

  
  

spesaiecai
ee

 

   
   
   
  
   
 
   

 

 
  
 
  
    
 
   
 
   
 
  
  

   
 
 

 
  

: ie ther shook his bad and mad peluceetye
oT sh’ dn t dare try it. It would kill the poor old fel-
low.”
“Well, I know what we can do,” said Bob energetic-
ally, a sudden idea coming to him. “If you'll help me,
-  father—you’re handier with tools than I—we can fix over
_ my old sled into a hand-sleigh, and Vl push her up
there.”

“All that distance on those unbroken roade! !” exclaimed
his mother.
“No, indeed,” returned Bob, “I’ll go by the river.

  

  
    
  
 

The

tiver as’ we do.”

“Good idea!” cried his father, catching at the plan
hopefully. “If I was as good a skater as I used ter be,
T sh’dn’t mind the journey myself.”

and examined by Mr. Stackridge’s critical eye. It was

of the pattern called a framer, and was stoutly built, be-
ing of home manufacture. After considerable sawing,
planing, and hammering, the sled was remodeled into a
very neat-looking hand-sleigh, boxed half a foot or more
on either side, and with a high back convenient to propel
it by.

“Won't you get tired or cold?” inquired his mother.
* “Oh, I sha’n’t get tired, but if Milly is cold we’ll stop at
_ French Peter’s and get warm. I'll take care of her,
mother, never fear.” en

In accordance with Bob’s ideas, an early start was
_ made, and Milly, wrapped warmly, and comfortably re-
|. clining in the new sleigh, was brought down to the river.

) t Milly enjoyed the ride immensely despite the cold, and
they arrived at the Nobles’ in high spirits. This family
was the Stackridges’ nearest neighbors, and Emily Noble
; was the only girl anywhere near Milly’s age within thirty
our miles.

. While Milly visited with Emily, Bob enjoyed himself
with Henry Noble, a boy a trifle older than himself. The
two lads skated and coasted, while the little girls played
and discussed’ dressmaking for their “children”
house.

 

 

were late to supper, and it was eight o’clock before the
visitors departed.

The distance from the house to the river was short,
At the edge of the ice Bob halted and put on his skates.
Then they started homeward, striking out into the middle
of the river, where it was smoothest.

_. The moon was rising over the tree-tops and the silvery
light shining over the tree and snow-covered shores made
all as light as day.

Objects were plainly visible. Here and there an iso-
lated tree upon the bank took on a ghostly appearance in
its white mantle. As they moved swiftly down the river
a sudden crashing in the bushes along the edge of the ice

at their left, and just ahead of them, attracted their atten-
tion.

Bob quickly stopped ae listened intently to the sound.
The next moment the bushes parted, and amid a shower
of snow shaken from their branches a deer appeared
upon the margin of the river. The animal was evidently

_ searching for a place to drink, and walked lightly along

the shore without nonce Bob and Milly.

“T wish I had a gun,” said Bob, in a low tone, while his
sister softly clasped her hands together i in delight as they
gazed upon the Peay creature.

 

 

 

   
  
   
  
  
   
  

   

\

MIGHT AND “MAIN WEEKLY, :

skating. is prime, and the Nobles live most as near the

The sled was brought down from the barn chamber

in the .

Bob and Henry enjoyed themselves so much that they-

Its every motion was perfect grace, and ie a few mo-—
ments they watched it silently.
ment seemed to make it aware of their presence. It
raised its head, and gazing an instant at them, bounded —
off across the ice, and gaining the opposite shore, pte
into the woods and was lost to view. ee

At the moment of its disappearance a lone-drawn cry,
like the baying of a dog, yet louder and fiercer, broke the
stillness of the night. The sound sent the blood tingling
through Bob’s veins. It was the cry of a wolf.

“Hear that dog,” said Milly, as with a startled excla-
mation her brother dug the toe of his skate into the ice
and started swiftly down the river. “There must be
some hunters on the trail of that deer. Let’s stop and

see them pass, Bob.”

Me
ao afraid you ll—you'll get cole if we stay here any
longer,” replied Bob huskily, redoubling his efforts as the
howl of the wolf was again repeated,

Faster and faster he flew down the icy track, hoping
that he might put a turn in the river between them and
the wolves before the animals should catch sight of them.
The creatures were not very plenty in this part of the
country, but Bob had seen them once before, and the
Maine timber wolf is to be dreaded even more than the
wolves which infest the upper lake regions,

Louder and yet louder grew the cries, and soon the
whole pack took up the chorus.

“Oh, there’s more than one dog,” said the unsuspicious
Milly, and just as she spoke the pack broke cover and
darted out upon the ice.

They were evidently upon the trail of the deer, but as
soon as they struck the ice the leaders caught sight of
Bob and his sister just disappearing around the bend in
the river. In an instant they had all left the pursuit of
the deer and were in full cry after the prey in sight!

Bob understood at once the significance of the change
from their long’ howl to the quick, sharp yelps, which
denoted that their game was in sight. Terror lent
strength to his tired limbs, and with long, rapid strokes
he hurried on.

“Milly, those are not dogs,” he said, in a low, stern
tone, and his calmness really surprised himself. «Tp hey’re
wolves, and they’ve found our trail! Keep still and cling
tight, and I’ll save you!”

The. little girl made no reply, but he knew she had
heard him, for she caught her breath as though to stifle
a scream of terror. Then silently they continued their
rapid flight.

Swift as they sped along, the wolves were swifter, and
soon the scratching of their claws on the ice could be
heard as they came into view around the bend—the lean,
gray bodies, with red, wide-open mouths and glaring
eyes.

They were silent now, but gaining on their prey, nearer
and nearer they came, with a dogged persistency which
was. terrible,

Now and then one would slip on the ice and slide for a
little way, but would quickly recover himself and continue
the, pursuit.

Soon they were so near that had the ice afforded a
good foothold, the foremost wolf would have leaped and
have caught Bob by the shoulder. He tried it once, but
fell short, sliding for a considerable distance along the
ice; but quickly recovering his former position at the head
of the pack.

     
      
    

Suddenly some move- —
x a Ske y de ~ ©
BN Boe eS KS

   

- The boy gave a glance backward toward him occa-
sionally, and when he was about to leap again he swerved
sharply to the left, and the wolf slid to one side. Bob’s

quick turn threw all the pack off the track for a moment,

and they slipped some distance along the ice before they
could recover themselves. This fact of the wolves being
unable to swerve quickly to one side on the slippery sur-
face of the river was greatly in Bob’s favor.

As soon as the wolves were properly on his track again,
and had approached dangerously near, Bob made another
~ quick turn, and as before, left them sprawling on the ice
at one side. But he was becoming exhausted. The mus-
cles of his legs seemed almost powerless and occasionally
his ankle would turn and wrench him severely. His only
chance lay in French Peter’s hut, now less than a mile
before him.

Milly stifled any inclination to cry with fright, but as
they came within sight of the Canadian’s cabin Bob com-
menced to shout, hoping to call Peter to their rescue. But
they received no reply,:and it was evident the hunter was
absent. > ay

As they drew nearer to the house Bob dodged their pur-
suers again, but this time was not so-successful. Just at
the critical moment the foremost wolf leaped, the boy’s
ankle turned under him, and he fell upon one knee. The
wolf sprung clear over him, but, swerving to one side, the
beast made a snap at the sleigh; missing that, however,
he caught at Bob, tearing his jacket sleeve, and sinking
his teeth into his. arm.

The lad shook him off and dealt him a kick with his
skates and then made directly for the cabin, which was
now right before him.

Like a flash he mounted the bank, propelling the sleigh

before him, and pushing his sister inside, turned to close -

the door.
-'The wolves were at his heels, and with mouth .dis-
' tended and his teeth gleaming in the moonlight, the fore-
most brute sprang up the path and leaped at the boy’s
throat!

But Bob met him with a kick which sent him rolling
over and over back upon his companions, and before an-
other could reach the door it was closed and barred!

Breathless and trembling, Bob dropped upon the floor
and removed his skates. He hardly realized the power or
daring of his foes; but he was very well aware that un-
less disturbed they would not leave the vicinity until day-
break.

_. Before long it was evident that the creatures were not

satisfied with simply sitting on their haunches around the
cabin and howling. Every now and then one would
scratch at the door for admittance, but that served them
nothing. Then one mounted to the roof from the bank
above. ;

Bob had thrown some wood on the hearth and started
a fire, and now he and Milly were sitting close together
near the blaze. They listened with increasing apprehen-
sion to the sounds above them, for the roof was simply
boards laid lengthwise, with a covering of bark held
down by weight poles. If the wolves were persistent
enough an aperture could be soon made in this direction.

_ “T wish we had a pot of water boiling over the fire as
they did in the story of the ‘Three Little Pigs,’ when the
wolf came down the chimney,” said Milly laughing hys-
_ terically, yet trying to be brave.

_ Bob tried to speak cheerfully, but the words died in his
throat, and, to cover his emotion, he commenced search-

«

     

 

ing the cabin for a weapon. But Peter had of course
carried his rifle with him, and all the boy had to defend —
them from their assailants were his skates. oo
Soon a second wolf sprang upon the roof, and while
the first continued to tear at the chimney, this one at-
tacked the bark at one corner. It quickly tore this away _
with its powerful claws, and commenced on the boards —
beneath. — foe ae
Bob’s wounded arm was paining him greatly, and had —
he had any weapon it would have been impossible for him _
to have used, it advantageously. Terror-stricken and ©
breathless, the brother and sister clung to each other in ©
one corner of the hut, watching fearfully for the first

appearance of the creature’s claws through the roof of _ :

their refuge. al
And they had not long to wait. A much stronger bar-
ricade could not have withstood such an attack, and be-—

fore many minutes, not only the wolf’s claws but his head _ a

appeared through the opening. Smnarling and tearing at

the splintered wood, the animal glared in at his prey, his — 4

fierce eyes shining like coals of fire!

The moments passed like an agonizing dream to Bob 3
The boy:

and Milly while the wolf enlarged the hole.
placed himself before his helpless sister, determined to
save her if possible, or at least to sell his own life dearly!
Still snarling and showing its teeth, the creature pushed
its head and shoulders through the aperture, and bracin
it forefeet on the wall, prepared to leap! -

At that instant the occupants of the cabin heard the _ oat

faint report of a rifle, and the next the wolf’s snarl of
rage was changed to a howl of agony, as he came tum- ~

bling through the hole and fell in a heap upon the cabin 0 :

floor!

The other wolf left the roof, and a great commotion mi |

was heard among the brutes, while another and still an-
other shot rang out nearer the cabin. A moment later,
with a prolonged howl of disappointment, the remaining
wolves fled, whilé the sound of. footsteps were heard
without.

Bob unbarred the door and flung it wide open. Two
of the wolves lay dead before the door, and their des-
troyer was coming down the path through the woods.
Before he reached the cabin Bob recognized the voice of
Erench Peter:

“Oui, ye brutes, is this vat ye-do when I be not at
home? ‘Tryin’ to crawl into an honest man’s dwelling—
why—hollo!” as he caught sight of Bob standing in the
doorway, “it ees you they was after, my young friend?”

Bob quickly explained their adventure.

“Ah, I wish I had killed more of them!” cried the
Frenchmen, evincing a lively interest in the narrative.
‘But come, Meester Bob, let me do up your arm. Woli’s
teeth ees poison, they say, and it must go no longer un-
dressed.”

After the wound was attended to Peter strapped on his
own skates and propelled Milly home over the ice, while
Bob skated beside them. Mr. and Mrs. Stackridge had
become very anxious over the prolonged absence of their —
children, and were overjoyed at their safe return and
escape from the wolves. : :

Although the first trip of Milly’s sleigh was fraught
with so much danger, it was followed by many others that —
winter; and, although they were never molested by any
wild creature again, Bob’s gun always reposed across
Milly’s lap during those subsequent journeys, ready for —
instant use.

    

 

 
Reeeend

—-=

ee

 
STORIES OF BOYS WHO SUCCEED

MIGHT AND MAIN WEEKLY

LARGE number of boys have become tired of that ‘*sameness’’
about most five cent weeklies. Might and Main Weekly is
published especially for boys who want a big five cents’ worth

and still want to be interested.
The stories and departments in this weekly deal with the adventures
of boys who reached the top of the ladder by their own efforts. A
different story is published every week, dealing with the adventures of a
different set of characters.

Price Sc Per Copw

For sale by all newsdealers, or sent by the publishers to any address upon receipt of money or postage stamps

 

 

 

53— ‘Little Hickory;” or, Ragged Rob’s Young Re- | 68—The Lost Million; or, Boys of The Pony Express.

’ public.

54—The Young Klondikers;
Stake.

55—The Boy Musician; or, Playing to Win His Way.

50—Winning His Rights ; or, The Fortunes of Vernon
Craig.

57—Bright and Early; or, The Boys Who Got There.

58—Clyde Crawford, Champion; or, How the Worst
Boy in Town Won Out.

59—Under Full Steam; or, The Tugboat Route to Suc-
cess.

60—The Roustabout Boys; or, A Trip to Maine. °

61—Bringing Back the Gold ; or, Adventures Under
African Skies.

62—A Game for Millions;
Reporter.

63—His First Thousand; or, The Boys of the Honor
Bright Company.

64—Phil Farley, Rainbow Chaser; or, The Fortunes of
a Black Sheep.

65—A Bee-line to Fortune; or,
Young Gold Hunters.

66—Crossed Wires; or, The Boy Electrician.

67—For Home and Honor; or, A Brave Boy’s Battles.

or, Jud Kent’s Golden

or, The Luck of a Young

The Luck of Two

 

69—Hal Larkin’s Luck; or, The Fortunes of a Lucky
Princeton Athlete.

70—The Valley of Diamonds; or, The Last Descendant
of Sinbad, the Sailor.

71—Ilwenty °Fathoms Deep; or,
Hunters.

72—Ned Branson’s Legacy; or, The Three Hills of
Gold.

73—Manton Monte-Cristo; or, The Hidden Treasure of
Montezuma.
Barrel of Money; or, The Boy Boomers of

Cherokee Strip.

75—Spot Cash; or, A King at Sixteen.

76—Lucky Thirteen; or, The Telegraph Messenger’s
Mascot.

77—Through Flame to Fame; or, The Adventures of
a Brave Fire Laddie.

78—Nimble Jerry’s Pluck; or, Boats, Bats and Bicycles.

79—Getting to the Top; or, Zig-Zag, the Boy Conjuror.

8o—Fighting For a Name: of,» Phe Mystery of va
Photograph.

8i—Hank, the Hustler;
3read.

82—Up to Date;

Fae “Boy: I reasure

or, A Brave Boy’s Battle for

or, Push and Pluck Rewarded.

 

 

IF YOU WANT BACK NUMBERS of this weekly and cannot get them from your newsdealers, they can be obtained from-this office direct.
Cut out and fill in the following Order Blank and se ee it to us with the price of the numbers you want and we will send them to you by return mail.

POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY

THE WENNER LIBRARY COMPANY, 165 West Fifteenth St., New York.

ROR ae ne Beh Ce iseen i rR OO RN OS TORS PON NERS eed OO)

Gentlemen :—Enclosed find)... Bio eis cents for which send me:

DRoHt and MainiW cekiy, Nose cee ok 8S oa ee rae ev ra Ee ee ae erg oer | Oe ieee eee

Pe NaNO Soi cin ees MOOS Sele ce we ls cose Semen co sce Shreae artdaNge soir sees te RR ie hs ROWllie eed cess eee Stat@.vic. stn delse.cuee