Boy Scouts in Mexico; Or, On Guard with Uncle Sam (2024)

Or On Guard with Uncle Sam

By:

Scout Master, G. Harvey Ralphson

CONTENTS

DEDICATION.

This book is dedicated to the Boys and Girls of America, in the fondhope that herein they will find pleasure, instruction and inspiration;that they may increase and grow in usefulness, self-reliance,patriotism and unselfishness, and ever become fonder and fonder oftheir country and its institutions, of Nature and her ways, is thecherished hope and wish of the author. G. Harvey Ralphson, Scout Master

OR, ON GUARD WITH UNCLE SAM.

CHAPTER I.

PLANNING A VACATION.

"After all, it is what's in a fellow's head, and not what's in hispocket, that counts in the long run."

"That's true enough! At least it proved so in our case. That time inthe South we had nothing worth mentioning in our pockets, and yet wehad the time of our lives."

"I don't think you ever told us about that."

"That was the time we went broke at Nashville, Tennessee. We missed ourchecks, in some unaccountable way, yet we had our heads with us, and werode the Cumberland and Ohio rivers down to the Mississippi at Cairo,in a houseboat of our own construction."

The speaker, George Fremont, a slender boy of seventeen, with spiritedblack eyes and a resolute face, sat back in his chair and laughed atthe memory of that impecunious time, while the others gathered closerabout him.

Fremont was ostensibly in the employ of James Cameron, the wealthyspeculator, but was regarded by that worthy gentleman as an adopted sonrather than merely as a worker in his office force. Seven yearsbefore, Mr. Cameron had become interested in the bright-faced newsboy,and had taken him into his own home, where he had since been treated asa member of the family.

"Went broke in the South, did you?" asked one of the group gatheredbefore an open grate fire in the luxuriously furnished clubroom of theBlack Bear Patrol, in the upper portion of a handsome uptown residence,in the city of New York. "Go on and tell us about it! What's thematter with the Tennessee river, or the Rio Grande?"

"If you had no money, how did you get your houseboat?" asked anothermember of the group. "Houseboats don't grow on bushes down there, dothey?"

"Oh, we had a little money," George Fremont replied, "but not enough totake us to Chicago in Pullman coaches. The joint purse was somewhereabout $10. We built the houseboat ourselves, of course."

"Must have been a strange experience, going broke like that!" one ofthe others said. "Hurry up and tell us about it! I believe it does afellow good, once in a while, to get where he's got to hustle forhimself or go hungry!" he added, glancing at the others forappreciation of the sentiment.

"I suppose it does seem funny for some other fellow to be broke in adesolate land," said another voice, "but it isn't so funny right thereon the spot. Little Old New York looked a long way off when we were inNashville!"

The speaker, a boy of sixteen, short, and heavily built, left a windowfrom which he had been looking out on a wild March night and joined thegroup before the fire. This was Frank Shaw, familiarly known to hisfriends of the Black Bear Patrol, Boy Scouts of America, as "Fatty"Shaw. He was the only son of a wealthy newspaper owner of the bigcity, and in training to succeed his father in the editorial chair.

"So, 'Fatty' was there!" exclaimed one of the group. "How did you everget him into a houseboat? Must have been a big one!"

"Yes, Frank was there," Fremont replied, with a friendly glance atyoung Shaw. "His father sent him along to report the expedition."

"I haven't seen any book about it!" broke in another.

"Frank wrote four postal cards and nine letters," laughed Fremont. "Thecards were descriptive of the scenery, and the letters asked for moremoney."

"Why can't we get up a trip down the Rio Grande this spring?" wasasked. "The soldiers are on the border, and it would be sporty. We canstand guard with Uncle Sam."

"I want to know how Fremont got his houseboat," said one of the lads."Perhaps we can get one in the same way. It would be fun to build aboat. Anyhow, I'm for the Rio Grande trip this spring. It would beglorious."

"We might build the boat up in New Mexico," said the other, "and dropdown to the Gulf. That is, I guess we could. The Rio Grande isshallow, and large boats run only a short distance up the river, but wemight make it with a small one."

"Let Fremont tell how he built his boat and got his provisions."

"Well," Fremont began, "we were standing on the high bridge atNashville, one day, when Frank Shaw brought out the brilliant thought.He was doing a thinking part just then, for there was a fine chance ofour getting good and hungry before our checks got to us."

"Then he was thinking, all right!" a boy laughed.

"Frank explained," George continued, "that the Cumberland river hadbeen placed in the scenery for the sole purpose of providingtransportation for us to the Mississippi. Then he went on and told howwe could build a flat-boat with a cabin on it and beat the railroadsout of our fare to Cairo. So we counted our money, right there, on thebridge, and started for a lumber yard."

"It was a sporty notion, all right! Just you wait until we get ahouseboat into the dirty waters of the Rio Grande!"

"When we got the lumber, we all turned to and built the boat. We didn'tknow much about boat-building, but we used what few brains we had andgot the boards together in pretty good shape, considering. Boy Scoutscan do almost anything now, since they're learning how to helpthemselves. There isn't a boy in the room who can't build a fire withsticks and cook a good meal on it. Also, we'll show, directly, that wecan build a houseboat on the Rio Grande."

"If we are as slow at building the boat as we are in getting this storyout of you, we won't get started toward the Gulf of Mexico until coldweather next fall."

"We bought two pine planks sixteen feet long," Fremont went on, with asmile at the impatience of the boys, "a foot wide, and two inchesthick. We sloped the end so the boat would be scow-shaped, and boughtmatched flooring for the bottom. We put tar into all the seams, jointsand grooves to keep the water out. Then we bought half-inch boards andbuilt a cabin at the back end. That never leaked, either. The boatwas sixteen feet long and six feet wide, and the bulliest craft thatever went anywhere. When we got to Cairo we sold it for $6, and thathelped some."

"Tell us about your eatings. We'll have to cook when we get down tothe Rio Grande. Where did you get your cook stove?"

"We nailed a piece of sheet-iron on the prowboard," laughed Fremont,"and put the bottom section of an old-fashioned coal stove on that. Thehole where the magazine used to fit in made a place for the frying pan,and the open doors in front, where the ashpan used to be, took in thewood we collected along the river. Cook! We could cook anythingthere."

"What about the sleepings?" was asked.

"That was easy. We bought an old bedtick and stuffed it with cornhusks, then a pair of back-number bed-springs, which we put on thefloor of the cabin. Sleep! We used to tie up nights and sleep fromnine o'clock until sunrise.

"With the money we had left we bought bacon, eggs, corn-meal, flour,butter and coffee. There wasn't much of it, because we had littlemoney left, but we thought we might get fish on the way down. We nevergot one. They wouldn't bite. Still, we had all we needed to eat, andfound our checks at Cairo. It took us eight days to float to theMississippi. We were told at Nashville that we would spill out on therapids, that river pirates would rob us, and that the big boats wouldrun us down or tip us over, but we never had any trouble at all. We'llknow better than to listen to such talk when we set afloat on the RioGrande this spring."

"It was better than walking," said Frank.

"Frank was frisky as a young colt all the way down," Fremont added."There are little trading places all along the river banks, kept mostlyby farmers. When you want to buy anything you ring a bell left in viewfor that purpose, and the proprietor comes out of the field and waitson you. Frank wanted a record of being the prize bell-ringer, and oncehe got to the boat just a quarter of an inch ahead of a bulldog withred eyes and bowlegs.

"He holds the world's record for speed," Fremont continued, with afriendly glance at Frank. "The faster he runs the whiter he gets,through fear, and he left white streaks behind him all along theCumberland river. Now, how many of you boys are ready for a trip downthe Rio Grande, and, possibly, over into Mexico?"

Every boy in the room shouted approval of the plan, and Frank said hewould go as war correspondent.

"It will be exciting, with the soldiers on the border," Frank said,"and I may make a hit as special news writer."

All was now excitement in the room, the story of the trip down to theMississippi having stirred the lads' love of out-of-door adventure tothe sizzling point. They capered about the handsome room in a mostundignified manner, and counted the days that would elapse before theycould be on their way.

The club-room was in the residence of Henry Bosworth, whose son, Jack,was one of the liveliest members of the Black Bear Patrol. The wallsof the apartment were hung with guns, paddles, bows, arrows, foils,boxing-gloves, and such trophies as the members of the patrol had beenable to bring from field and forest. Above the door was a red shield,nearly a yard in diameter, from the raised center of which a Black Bearpointed an inquisitive nose. The boys were all proud of their blackbear badge, especially as no Boy Scout patrol was so well known in NewYork for the character and athletic standing of its members.

On this stormy March night-one long to be remembered by every member ofthe party—there were only five members of the Black Bear Patrolpresent. These were Harry Stevens, son of a manufacturer ofautomobiles; Glen Howard, son of a well-known board of trade man; JackBosworth, son of a leading attorney; George Fremont, adopted son ofJames Cameron; and Frank Shaw, son of a newspaper owner.

They had been planning a trip to the South all winter, and now, as hasbeen said, the mention of the journey down the Cumberland and Ohiorivers to the Mississippi had so fired their enthusiasm for the greatout-of-doors that they were ready to start at short notice. They tookdown maps and hunted up books descriptive of Mexico, and so busiedthemselves with the details of the proposed trip that it was aftereleven when their minds came back to the common things of life.

"Well," Harry Stevens said, then, "I've got to go home, but I'll behere to-morrow night to talk it over. As Glen says, the Rio Grande delNorte is a funny kind of a stream, like all the waterways in thatsection of the country, bottom full of sand, and all that, but Ipresume we can float a houseboat on it."

"Of course we can," Glen put in. "It doesn't take much water to run ahouseboat. If we get stuck, you can wire your father to send a motorcar down after us."

"He would do it, all right," replied Harry. "We'll take an auto tripacross the continent, some day. Good night, fellows."

"I must go right now," George Fremont said. "Mr. Cameron is at theoffice, working over the Tolford estate papers, and he asked me to callat the rooms and go home with him. He's always nervous when workingover that case. The heirs are troublesome, and threatening, I guess."

Frank Shaw walked with George to the nearest corner, where the latterdecided to wait for a taxicab. The night had cleared, but the wind offthe Bay was still strong and cold.

"I've a notion to ride down to the office with you," Frank said, asthey waited. "You could leave me at home on the way up."

"I wish you would," Fremont said. "Skyscrapers are uncanny after dark,and the elevator will not be running. Mr. Cameron will be glad to seeyou. Come on!"

Frank hesitated a minute, and then decided to go on home, so the boysshook hands and parted for the night. Many and many a time after thatnight they both had good cause to remember how different the immediatefuture of one of their number would have been had Frank obeyed hisfirst impulse and gone to the Cameron building with his friend.

When, at last, Fremont was whirled up to the front of the Cameronbuilding he saw that there were lights in the Cameron suite. Believingthat his benefactor would be there at his work, Fremont let himself inat the big door with a key and started up the long climb to the sixthfloor.

The vacant corridors, as he passed them one by one, seemed to him to bestrangely still. Even the people employed at night to clean the hallsand offices were not in sight. The boy started suddenly half a dozentimes on the way up, started involuntarily, as if some uncanny thingwere spying out upon him from the shadows.

Then he came to the Cameron suite and thrust his key into the lock ofthe door. He had been told that he would find the door locked from theinside. Then, his premonition of approaching evil by no means castaside, he pushed the door open and looked in upon a sight he was by nomeans prepared to see.

CHAPTER II.

A MEMBER OF THE WOLF PATROL.

When Fremont opened the door of the Cameron suite, facing the GreatWhite Way, he saw that the room before him was dark and in disorder.The place was dimly illuminated from the high-lights on Broadway, andthe noises of the street came stridently up, still, there seemed to theboy to be a shadowy and brooding hush over the place.

Remembering his subconscious impressions of some indefinable evil athand, the boy shivered with a strange dread as he switched on theelectrics, half afraid of what they might reveal. Why was the room sodark and silent? The lights had been burning when he looked up frombelow, and he had not met Mr. Cameron on his way up. Where was the manhe had come to meet? What evil had befallen him?

At the left of the apartment, from which two others opened, to rightand left, was a small safe, used privately by Mr. Cameron. Its usualplace was against the wall, but it had been wheeled about so that itfronted the windows. The door was open, and, although no violenceseemed to have been used, Fremont saw that the interior was in a mess,papers and books being scattered about in confusion.

At the right of the room, and near the doorway opening into the northroom, stood a large flat-topped desk, most of the drawers of which werenow open. One of the drawers lay on its side on the floor, and wasempty. The articles on the desk's top gave evidence of rough handling.Papers appeared to be dripping from filecases, and a black pool of inklay on the shining surface of the desk.

A swivel-chair which had stood in front of the desk was overturned, andits back now rested on the rug while its polished castors stuck up inthe air. At first glance, there seemed to be no human being in thesuite save the frightened boy.

With his mind filled with thoughts of robbery, George was about to rushout into the corridor and summon assistance, when a slight sound comingfrom the north room attracted his attention. He hastened thither, andwas soon bending over an office couch upon which lay a still figure.

There was no longer doubt in the mind of the boy as to what had takenplace there. Mr. Cameron had been attacked and the suite ransacked.The boy recalled the fact that the rooms had been lighted from withinwhen he stood on the pavement, and wondered if it would not bepossible, by acting promptly, to capture the assassin, as he must stillbe in the building, possibly hiding in some of the dark corners.

First, however, it was necessary that the injured man should receivemedical help. Fremont saw a wound on the head, probably dealt withsome blunt instrument, and then moved toward the telephone in the outerroom. As he did so the corridor door was opened and a boy of perhapsfifteen years looked in. When the intruder saw that Fremont wasobserving him, he advanced to the connecting doorway.

For quite a minute the boys, standing within a yard of each other,remained silent. Fremont would have spoken, but the accusing look onthe face of the other stopped him. The intruder glanced keenly aboutthe two rooms which lay under his gaze and finally rested on the figureon the leather office couch. Then, while Fremont watched himcuriously, he went back to the corridor door and stood against it.

"You've got your nerve!" he said, then. "You're nervy, but you ain'tgot good sense, doin' a think like that with the shades up, the lightson, an' the door unlocked. What did you go an' do it for?"

The sinister meaning of the words took form in the mind of the boyinstantly. For the first time he realized that he would be accused ofthe crime, and that circ*mstances would be against him. If Mr. Cameronshould never recover sufficiently to give a true account of what hadtaken place, he would be arrested and locked up as the guilty one.

If his benefactor should die without regaining consciousness, he mighteven be sent to the electric chair, and always his name would bementioned with horror. While these thoughts were passing through thedazed mind of the boy, there came, also, the keen regret that FrankShaw had not accompanied him to the building. That would have changedeverything—just one witness.

"What did you go an' do it for?" repeated the intruder. "What had Mr.Cameron ever done to you?"

"You think I did it?" said Fremont, as cooly as his excitement wouldpermit of. "You think I struck Mr. Cameron and robbed the office?"

"What about all this?" asked the boy, swinging a hand over the litteredrooms, "and the man on the couch?" he added. "Who did it if youdidn't?"

"I understand that circ*mstances are against me," Fremont said,presently. "It looks bad for me, but I didn't do it. I came here toaccompany Mr. Cameron home, and found everything just as you see itnow."

A smile of disbelief flitted over the other's face, but he did notspeak.

"I hadn't been in here half a minute when you came in," Fremont wenton. "I had just switched on the lights when I heard a noise in hereand there Mr. Cameron lay. I was going to the 'phone when you entered."

"Tell it to the judge," the other said, grimly.

Fremont dropped into a chair and put a hand to his head. Of course.There would be a judge, and a jury, and a crowded court room, andcolumns in the newspapers. He had read of such cases, and knew howreporters convicted the accused in advance of action by the courts.

"Where did you get that badge?" the intruder demanded, stepping forwardas Fremont lifted his arm. "The arrow-head badge with the letteredscroll, I mean."

"I earned it," replied Fremont, covering the scroll with one hand. "Canyou tell me," he continued, "what the letters on the scroll say?"

"Be prepared," was the reply.

"Be prepared for what?"

"To do your duty, and to face danger in order to help others."

"What is the name of your patrol?"

"The Wolf. And your's is the Black Bear. I've heard a lot about theboys of that patrol, a lot that was good."

"And never anything that was bad?"

"Not a thing."

"Well then," said Fremont, extending his hand, which the other hastenedto take, "you've got to help me now. You've got to stand by me. It isyour duty."

"If you belong to the Black Bear Patrol," began the boy, "and have allthe fine things you want—as the members of that patrol do—what didyou want to go an' do this thing for? What's your name?"

"George Fremont. What is yours?"

"Jimmie McGraw," was the reply. "I'm second assistant to the privatesecretary to the woman who scrubs here nights. She'll be docking meif I don't get busy," he added, with a mischievous twinkle in his keengray eyes. "Or, worse, she'll be comin' in here an' findin' out what'sgoin' on."

"Why didn't one of you come in here before I got to the top of thestairs?" asked Fremont, illogically. "Why did you just happen in herein time to accuse me of doing this thing?"

"I was just beginnin' on this floor," the boy replied. "I wish nowthat I hadn't come in here at all. You know what I've got to do?"

"You mean call the police?" asked Fremont.

"That's what I've got to do."

"I didn't do it. I wasn't here when it was done," exclaimed Fremont."You've got to listen to me. You've got to listen to me, and believewhat I say. It is your duty to do so."

"What did you want to go and be a Boy Scout an' do such a thing for?"demanded the boy. "Boy Scouts don't protect robbers, or murderers. Youknow I've got to go an' call the police. There ain't nothin' else Ican do."

"If you call the police now," Fremont urged, "you'll rob me of everychance to prove that I am innocent. They will lock me up in the Tombsand I'll have no show at all. Mrs. Cameron will believe that I did it,and won't come near me. If he dies I'll be sent to the electricchair—and you'll be my murderer."

"What am I goin' to do, then?" demanded Jimmie. "I can't go out of theroom and testify that I know nothing about it when the police do come.I can't do that for you, even if you do belong to the Black BearPatrol. I wish I'd never come here to-night. I wish I'd never workedfor the scrubwoman."

"To face danger in order to help others," Fremont repeated,significantly.

"Oh, I know—I know," said Jimmie, flinging his arms out in a gestureof despair. "I've heard that before, but what am I to do?"

"Who's your patrol leader?" asked Fremont. "Go and ask him, or thescoutmaster. One of them ought to be able to tell you what you oughtto do."

"And you'll take to your legs while I'm gone," replied Jimmie, with agrin. "Good idea that. For you."

"Here," said Fremont, tossing out his key to the door, "go on away andlock me in. I couldn't get away if I wanted to, and I give you myhonor that I won't try. Go and find some one you can talk this thingover with."

Jimmie's eyes brightened with sudden recollection of his patrolleader's love for mysterious cases—his great liking for detective work.

"Say," he said, presently, "I'll go an' bring Ned Nestor. He's mypatrol leader, and the bulliest boy in New York. He'll know what todo. I'll bet he'll come here when he knows what the trouble is. AndI'll do just as he says."

Jimmie turned toward the door, fingering the key, his eyes blinkingrapidly, then he turned and faced Fremont.

"If Ned Nestor tells me it ain't no use," he said, slowly, reluctantly,"I'll have to bring the police. I'll have to do it anyway, if he tellsme to."

"You'll find me here, whoever you bring," Fremont replied. "I won'trun away. What would be the use of that? They'd find me and bring meback. Go on out and bring in anyone you want to. I guess I'll nevermake the trip to the Rio Grande we were planning to-night—just beforeI came here."

"The Black Bears?" asked Jimmie. "Were they planning a trip to the RioGrande?"

Fremont nodded and pointed toward the door.

"Anyway," he said, "you can get me out of this suspense. You can letme know, if you want to, whether I am going to the Rio Grande or to theTombs."

"Jere! What a trip that would be."

Without waiting for any further words, Jimmie darted out of the doorand then his steps were heard on the staircase. Fremont had never inall his life had a key turned on him before. He threw himself into achair, then, realizing how selfish he was, he hastened to the northroom and again bent over the injured man.

There appeared to be little change in Mr. Cameron's condition. Hemoved restlessly at intervals. Fremont brought water and used itfreely, but its application did not produce any immediate effect.Realizing that a surgeon should be summoned at once, the boy movedtoward the telephone.

However, he found himself unable to bring himself to the point ofcommunicating with the surgeon he had in mind. Questions would beasked, and he would be suspected, and the intervention of the BoyScouts could do him no good. He understood now that his every hope forthe future centered in the little lad who was hurrying through thenight in quest of Ned Nestor, his patrol leader. If these boys of theWolf Patrol should decide against him, and the injured man should notrecover, there was the end of life and of hope. And only an hour agohe had planned the wonderful excursion down the Rio Grande. That timeseemed farther away to him now than the birth of Adam.

And mixed with the horror of the situation was the mystery of it! Whatmotive could have actuate the criminal? Had the blow been struck by apersonal enemy, in payment of a grudge, or had robbery been the motive?Surely not the latter, for the injured man's valuable watch and chain,his diamonds, were in place. Stocks and bonds, good in the hands ofany holder, lay on the floor in front of the open safe. A robber wouldhave taken both bonds and jewelry.

The one reasonable theory was that the act had been committed by someperson in quest of papers kept in the office files. The manner inwhich the desk and safe had been ransacked showed that a thoroughsearch for something had been made. Directly the boy heard Mr. Cameronspeaking and hastened to his side. If he had regained consciousness,the nightmare of suspicion would pass away.

"Fremont! Fremont! He did it! He did it!"

This was worse than all the rest. Mr. Cameron was still out of hishead, but his words indicated that he might have fallen under the blowwith the impression in his mind that it was Fremont who had attackedhim. At least the words he was repeating over and over again wouldleave no doubt in the minds of the officers as to who the guilty partywas. While Fremont was mentally facing this new danger, the corridordoor was roughly shaken and a harsh voice demanded admittance.

It was Jim Scoby, the night watchman, a sullen, brutal fellow who hadalways shown dislike for the boy. Why should he be asking admission?Did he suspect? But the fellow went away presently, threatening tocall the police and have the door broken down, and then two personsstopped in front of the door.

Fremont could hear them talking, but could not distinguish the wordsspoken. It seemed, however, that one of the voices was that of JimmieMcGraw, who had gone out after his patrol leader.

The question in the mind of the waiting boy now was this:

Had Jimmie brought his patrol leader, or had he brought an officer ofthe law?

And there was another question connected with this one, that dependedupon the manner in which the first one was answered:

Would it be the Black Bear Patrol excursion down the Rio Grande, thesweet Spring in the South, or would it be the Tombs prison with itsbrutal keepers and blighted lives?

CHAPTER III.

THE WOLF ADVISES FLIGHT.

The question was settled in a moment, for a key was thrust into thelock and the door swung open. The night watchman had possessed no keywhen at the door, for which the boy was thankful. Two persons enteredand the door was closed and locked.

"Who's been here?" asked Jimmie, panting from his long climb. "Weheard a voice in this corridor, and met the watchman down below. He'sred-headed about something. That feller's of about as much use here asa chorus lady painted on the back drop. I told him that you'd probablygone to sleep over your work. Here, Black Bear," he continued, with agrin, "meet Mr. Wolf, otherwise Ned Nestor. You fellers get togetherright now."

Fremont saw a sturdy boy of little less than eighteen, a lad with aface that one would trust instinctively. His dark eyes met the blueones of the patrol leader steadily. There was no suspicion of guilt inhis manner.

Ned Nestor extended his hand frankly, his strong, clean-cut facesympathetic. Fremont grasped it eagerly, and the two stood for amoment looking into each other's eyes.

"I've brought Ned Nestor to talk it over with you," Jimmie said. "He'sa good Scout, only he thinks he's a detective. He gets all the boysout of scrapes—except me, and I never get into any. That is, he getsout all the honest ones."

"Jimmie told me about the trouble here," Nestor said, "and I came tolearn the exact truth from you. If you struck this man and rifled thesafe, tell me so at once. There may be extenuating circ*mstances, youknow."

"I didn't do it," Fremont broke out. "I hadn't been in the room aminute when Jimmie came in and accused me of the crime. There is somemystery about it, for no man could get into this building at nightunless he was helped in, or unless he hid during the day, in which casehe would be observed moving about."

Nestor smiled but made no reply.

"There has been no robbery," Fremont continued. "There are negotiablebonds on the floor by the safe, and Mr. Cameron's watch and chain anddiamonds are still on him."

"Do you know," Nestor said, smiling, "that the points to which yourefer are the strongest ones against you? Tell me all about it, fromthe moment you came into the room."

Fremont told the story as it is already known to the reader, Nestorsitting in silence with a frown of deep thought on his brows. When therecital was finished he went into the north room and stood over theunconscious man.

"Fremont! Fremont! He did it! He did it!"

Over and over again the accusing words came from the white lips.Nestor turned and looked keenly at the despairing boy at his side.Then he stooped over and examined the wound on the head.

"It is a hard proposition," he finally said. "It appears to me thathis mention of your name is more like an appeal for help than anaccusation, however. Jimmie," he went on, facing the boy, "you heardFremont coming up the stairs?"

"Yes; he was whistling. He couldn't make enough noise with his feet."

"You followed him up here?"

"Yes," with a little grin.

"Why did you do that?"

"Well, I wanted to see if it was all right—his coming in here."

"Very commendable," smiled Nestor. "Do you think he would haveattracted attention to himself by whistling if he had had no businesshere?"

"Anyway," observed Jimmie, "I followed him up. Wish I hadn't, and wishyou wouldn't hop onto me so."

"Do you think he was in these room before he whistled on the stairs?"was the next question. "That is, in the rooms within a couple of hoursof the time you heard him coming up the stairs?"

"No; I don't think he was. I heard him whistling down at the bottom.There was a light in this room then, and it was put out; or it mighthave been put out just before I heard him whistling."

"How long was he in here before you came in?" was asked.

"Oh, about half a minute, I reckon."

"Not long enough to make all this muss with the papers?"

"Of course not. He couldn't do all this in half a minute."

"Then you think that if he did this at all he did it before he whistledon the stairs. That he did it and went back, to indicate that he hadjust entered the building?"

"That's just it, but I'm not sayin' he did it, mind you, Ned."

"Whoever did this took plenty of time for it," said Nestor, turning toGeorge. "Will you tell me where you spent the evening, and with whom?"

Fremont told of the meeting of the Black Bear Patrol, of the planswhich had been made at the club-room, and of his parting with FrankShaw at the corner.

"Frank will know what time it was when he left me," said the boy,hopefully, "and the taxicab driver will know what time it was when heleft me at the door of the building. That ought to settle it."

"It might," was the grave reply, "if Mr. Cameron would not speak thoseaccusing words. Your danger lies there now. For my part, I believethat, as I said before, the words are more an appeal to you forassistance than an accusation, but the police will want to arrest someone for the crime, and so they will doubtless lock you up without bailuntil there is a change in the injured man's condition."

"The police are dubs!" exclaimed Jimmie.

"We have to figure on the working of their alleged minds if they are,"said Nestor.

Then he turned to Fremont and asked:

"You were on good terms with Mr. Cameron?"

"Yes; well, we had a few words at dinner to-night about office work. Wedid not quarrel, exactly, of course, but he seemed to think that Iought to pay more attention to my duties, and I told him I was studyinghard, and that I was doing my best."

"Did he appear to be satisfied with the explanation?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are friendly with the other members of the family?"

"Yes, sir; though I hardly think Mrs. Cameron likes me. She thinks herhusband favors me above his own sons."

"Then she would not be apt to believe you innocent of this crime if thepolice should arrest you? She would not come to your assistance?"

"With Mr. Cameron unconscious and likely to die—no, sir."

"There was silence for a moment, and then Fremont asked:

"Do you think they will lock me up, sir?"

"The police will want to do something at once," was the reply. "Theylike to make a flash, as the boys say on the Bowery."

"Suppose I send for a man high in authority, here now, and tell him thetruth?" suggested Fremont. "Wouldn't I stand a better show than if thematter passed through the hands of some ambitious detective?"

"They are all ambitious," was the non-committal reply.

"You keep the whole matter out of the hands of the cops until you knowjust what you want to do," advised Jimmie. "I don't like the cops.They pinched me once for shootin' craps."

After further talk, Fremont decided to leave the course to be takenentirely to his new friends, and that point was considered closed. ThenNestor turned to another phase of the matter. Mr. Cameron neededimmediate attention, but the office must be looked over before otherswere called in, so he set about it, Fremont and Jimmie looking on inwonder.

First Nestor went to the door opening into the corridor and examinedevery inch of the floor and rug until he came to the front of the safe.Then he went through the big desk, carefully, and patiently. Three orfour times the boys saw him lift something from the floor, or from thedesk, and place it in a pocket. He spent a long time over a packet ofpapers which he took from a drawer of the desk.

One of the papers he copied while the boys looked on, wondering what hewas about, and from another he cut a corner. This scrap he wrapped inclean paper and placed in his pocketbook. During part of the timespent in the investigation Fremont sat by the side of the unconsciousman in the north room.

"Now," asked Nestor, presently, "do you know what business brought Mr.Cameron to his office to-night?"

"Yes; he was closing up the Tolford estate."

"He asked you to come and go home with him?"

"That is the fact, but how did you know it?"

"Because he was timid about being here alone?" asked Nestor, ignoringthe question.

"Yes, I think so. He was always nervous when dealing with the Tolfordheirs. I believe they threatened him. He brought his gun with himto-night. You will find it in a drawer of the desk if the assassin didnot take it."

"Where were the Tolford papers usually kept?"

"At the deposit vaults. I brought them over this afternoon."

"See if you can find them now."

Fremont went to the safe and then to the desk, from which he took thepacket of papers he had previously seen Nestor examining. It was asheet from this packet that the Wolf Patrol leader had copied. Hepassed the large envelope containing the papers over to the other.

"What occurred when these papers were last left in this office overnight?" Nestor asked, and Fremont, a sudden recollection stirred by thequestion, replied that there had been an attempt at burglary the lasttime the Tolford estate papers were left there at night.

Nestor smiled at the startled face of the boy as he related theoccurrence, but made no comment. He was examining a bundle of lettersat the time, and ended by putting them into a pocket as if to carrythem away with him.

"They concern a proposed transaction in firearms and ammunition," thepatrol leader said, in answer to Fremont's inquiring look.

"Now, it appears to me," Nestor said, after concluding his examinationof the suite, "that you ought to keep out of the hands of the policeuntil this affair can be thoroughly looked into. Nothing can preventyour arrest if you remain here. What about the proposed Black BearPatrol trip down the Rio Grande and over into Mexico?"

"I wouldn't like to run away," Fremont replied. "That would show guiltand cowardice. I'd much rather remain here and take what comes."

"If you are arrested," the patrol leader went on, "the police, insteadof doing honest work in unraveling the mystery, will bend every effortto convict you. They will not consider any theory other than yourguilt. Every scrap of evidence will be twisted and turned into proofa*gainst you, and in the meantime the real criminal may escape. It is away the police have."

"It seems like a confession of guilt to run away," Fremont said.

"Another thing," Nestor went on, "is this. I have made a discoveryhere—a very startling discovery—which points to Mexico as my field ofoperations. I cannot tell you now anything more about this discovery,except that it is a most important one. I might hide you away in NewYork where the police would never find you, but you would enjoy thetrip to Mexico, and I want you with me."

"Mexico!" cried Jimmie. "I'll go with you, Mr. Nestor. A houseboat onthe Rio Grande. Well!"

"Have you money enough for the trip?" asked Nestor of Fremont, notreplying to the generous offer of the boy.

"I have about $300 which Mr. Cameron gave me yesterday for my Springoutfit," was the reply. "He was very generous with me."

"That will pay the bills until I can get some money," Nestor said, "sowe may as well consider the matter settled. This business I am goingto Mexico on will pay me well, and I will share the expense of the tripwith you."

"Not if you go to protect me," Fremont replied.

"Not entirely to protect you," Nestor answered, "although I believethat the solution to this mystery will be found on the other side of,the Rio Grande."

"It seems strange that the Rio Grande should mix in every situationwhich confronts me to-night," Fremont said. "What can the affairs ofturbulent Mexico have to do with the cowardly crime which has beencommitted here to-night?"

CHAPTER IV.

THE WOLF TALKS IN CODE.

"I can't tell you much about it at this time," replied Nestor. "I canonly say that you ought to get out of the country immediately, and thatMexico is as good a place to go to as any other. I may be able to tellyou something more after we are on our way."

"Me, too!" cried Jimmie. "Me for Mexico. You can't lose me."

"I'm sorry to say that you'll have to remain here," said Nestor, notingwith regret the keen disappointment in the boy's face. "After we leavethe building you must call a surgeon and see that Mr. Cameron is caredfor. The surgeon will call the police if he thinks it advisable."

"The cops will geezle me," wailed Jimmie.

"I think not," was the reply; "not if you tell them the truth. Make itas easy for Fremont as you can by saying that he had been here only aminute when you came in, and that he had just entered the building.You may say, too, that we have gone out to look up a clue we foundhere, in the hope of discovering the assassin. Tell the truth, andthey can't tangle you up."

"They can lock me up," said the boy. "I'll call a surgeon an' duck.You see if I don't. It is Mexico for mine."

"I suppose you have the price?" laughed Nestor.

"I haven't got carfare to Brooklyn," was the laughing reply, "but thatdon't count with me. I guess I know something about traveling withoutmoney."

Having thus arranged for the care of the unconscious man, and tried toconsole Jimmie for his great disappointment, Nestor and Fremont leftthe big building, seeing, as the latter supposed, no one on their wayout. As they turned out of the Great White Way, still blazing withlights, directing their steps toward the East River, Fremont turnedabout and glanced with varying emotions at the brilliant scene he wasleaving. He was parting, under a cloud, from the Great White Way andall that the fanciful title implied. He loved the rush and hum of thebig city, and experienced, standing there in the night, a dread of thesilent places he was soon to visit under such adverse conditions.

He loved the forest, too, and the plains and the mountains, but knewthat the burden he was carrying away from the Cameron building wouldhang upon him like the Old-man-of-the-Sea until he was back in the bigcity again with a name free from suspicion. Nestor stood waiting whilethe boy took his sorrowful look about the familiar scenes.

"I know what you're thinking about," he said, as they started on again."You're sorry to go not entirely because you love the city, but becauseyou feel as if you were turning coward in going at all. You'll get overthat as the case develops."

"I'm afraid it will be lonesome down there where we are going," saidFremont. "I had planned something very different. The Black Bearswere to go along, you know, and there was to be nofugitive-from-justice business."

"Fugitive from injustice, you should say," said Nestor. "The BlackBears may come along after a time, too. Anyway, you'll find plenty ofBoy Scouts on the border. I have an idea that Uncle Sam will have hishands full keeping them out of trouble."

"He'll have a nest on his hands if they take a notion to flock over theRio Grande," replied Fremont. "It is hard to keep a boy away from thefront when there are campfires on the mountains."

The two boys passed east to Second avenue, south to Twenty-thirdstreet, and there crossed the East River on the old Greenpoint ferry.Still walking east, an hour before daylight they came to a cottage inthe vicinity of Newtown Creek, and here Nestor paused and knockedgently on a door which seemed half hidden by creeping vines, which,leafless at that time of the year, rattled noisily in the wind.

The door was opened, presently, by a middle-aged lady of pleasant faceand courteous manner. She held a night-lamp high above hernight-capped head while she inspected the boys standing on the littleporch. Nestor broke into a merry laugh.

"Are you thinking of burglars, Aunty Jane?" he asked. Then he added,"Burglars don't knock at doors, Aunty. They knock people on the head."

"Well, of all things, Ned Nestor!" exclaimed the lady, in a tone whichwell matched her engaging face. "What are you doing here at this timeof night?"

"I want to leave a friend here for the day," was the reply. "Come,Aunty, don't stand there with the lamp so high. You look like theStatue of Liberty. Let us in and get us something to eat. I'm hungry."

"I suspected it" smiled the lady. "You always come to Aunty Jane whenyou are hungry, or when you've got some one you are hiding. Well, comein. I'm getting used to your manners, Ned."

The boys needed no second invitation to step inside out of the coldwind. After Fremont had been presented to Aunty Jane, they were shownto the sitting-room—an apartment warmed by a grate fire and looking asneat as wax—where they waited for the promised breakfast.

"She is a treasure, Aunty Jane White," explained Nestor, as the boyswatched the cold March dawn creep up the sky. "She really is my aunt,you know, mother's sister. She knows all about my love for secretservice work, and lets me bring my friends here when they want to keepout of sight."

"You said something about leaving me here to-day," Fremont observed."Why are you thinking of doing that? Why not keep together, and bothget out of the city?"

"I can't tell you now," Nestor replied, a serious look on his face."I've got something to do to-day that is so important, so vital, that Idare not mention it even to you. It does not concern your case, exceptthat it, too, points to Mexico, but is an outgrowth from it."

"Strange you can't confide in me," said Fremont, almost petulantly.

Nestor noted the impatience in his friend's tone, but made no reply toit. He had taken a packet of letters from his pocket, and was runningthem thoughtfully through his hands, stopping now and then to read thepostmark on an envelope.

"Do you remember," he asked, in a moment, "of seeing a tall shadow infront of the door to the Cameron suite just before we left there?"

"I did not see any shadow there," was the astonished reply. "How coulda shadow come on the glass door?"

"Because some tall man, with one shoulder a trifle lower than theother, stood between the light in the corridor and the glass panel,"was the reply, "and his shadow was plainly to be seen. I thought younoticed it."

"Was that when you opened the door and looked out?"

"Yes; I opened the door and look out into the corridor and listened. Icould hear footsteps on the staircase, but they died out while I stoodthere. The man was hiding in the building, for the street door was notopened, and we did not see him on the way down. I suspect that thewatchman knew he was there."

"The watchman, Jim Scoby, is a rascal," replied Fremont. "I don't likehim. What am I to do if you leave me alone here all day?" he added,with a sigh.

"Read, eat, sleep, and keep out of sight," was the reply. "I'll returnearly in the evening and we'll leave for the South at midnight."

"I wish I could communicate with the Black Bears," said Fremont.

Nestor smiled but said nothing. In a short time breakfast was servedand Nestor went away. That was a long day for Fremont, although AuntyJane endeavored to help him pass the time pleasantly. He dropped offinto sleep late in the afternoon, and did not wake until after dark.

Instead of its being a long day for Nestor, it seemed a very short one.From the Brooklyn cottage he went directly to a telegraph office in thelower section of the city and asked for the manager, who had not yetarrived, the hour being early. The clerk was inquisitive and tried tofind out what the boy wanted of the manager, but Nestor kept his owncounsel and the manager was finally reluctantly sent for.

When the manager arrived Nestor asked that an expert code operator beprocured, and this was reluctantly done, but only after the boy hadwritten and sent off a message to a man the manager knew to be high inthe secret service department of the government. In an hour, much tothe surprise of the manager, this important gentleman walked into theoffice and asked for the boy.

After a short talk there, the two went to a hotel and secured a privateroom, and two clerks familiar with code work were sent for. When awaiter, in answer to a call, looked into the room he was astonished atseeing the four very busy over a packet of letters.

Then, in a short time, code messages began to rain in on the manager.They were from Washington, from the Pacific coast, and from variousforts scattered about the country. The manager confided to his wifewhen he went home to luncheon that it seemed to him as if another warwas beginning. All the military offices in the country seemed talkingin code, he said.

"What has this boy you speak of got to do with military operations?"asked the wife, wondering at a lad of Nestor's age being mixed up in astate affair.

"That is what I don't know," was the reply. "He came to the officethis morning and sent for me, as you know. When I met him he asked fora code expert and wired to the biggest man in this military division.Then the code work began."

It was late in the evening when Nestor returned to the cottage andannounced himself ready for the southern trip. Fremont, who had beenimpatiently awaiting his arrival, was eager to know the status of theCameron case.

"Mr. Cameron is alive, but unconscious," was the unsatisfactory reply."The police ordered him taken to a hospital and his people summoned. Itis said that Mrs. Cameron is very bitter against you."

"That's because I ran away," Fremont said, gravely. "What about JimScoby?"

"The watchman has disappeared," was the reply. "He left with a Mexicancalled Felix who occupied a room in the building. The police are afterthem."

"And of course they are looking for me—egged on by Mrs. Cameron?"

"There is a reward of $10,000 offered for the arrest of the guiltyparty," was the unsatisfactory reply, "and the police officers areraking the city to find any one who was in the building last night."

"Did they arrest Jimmie McGraw?" asked Fremont, hoping that the brightlittle fellow had not been placed in prison.

"Jimmie ran away, just as he said he would, called a surgeon and leftthe building before he arrived. The police followed him to a roomwhere members of the Wolf Patrol meet occasionally, but he was notthere. The boys who were there, night messengers and the like, who haddropped in before going home, said that he had gone South. I met a boynamed Frank Shaw, and he said the Black Bears were getting ready to dosomething for you, though he would not say what it was."

"Good old Frank!" exclaimed Fremont.

"The Black Bears are loyal," Nestor went on, "and so are the Wolves. Wemay hear from both patrols after we cross the Rio Grande."

"I wish some of them were going with us," said Fremont, with a sigh.

"If I am not mistaken," Nestor said, with a frown, "we'll have plentyof company on the way down. We may not see our traveling companions,but they will be close at hand."

"Do you mean that the police will trail us to Mexico?" asked Fremont.

"I don't know," was the reply. "I give it up. There are others besidethe police to reckon with. Well, we'll see what Boy Scouts can do toprotect a friend who is in trouble."

CHAPTER V.

THE WOLF IN THE BEAR'S BED.

The two boys traveled for three days and nights, the general directionbeing south. There were, however, numerous halts and turns in thejourney to the Rio Grande. Three times Fremont was left alone atjunction towns while Nestor took short trips on cross lines. Once thepatrol leader was absent hours after the time set for his return, andthe boy was anxious as well as mystified.

Fremont knew that his traveling companion was receiving telegrams incode all the way down, and knew, also, that his movements were in ameasure directed by them. Still, one delay seemed to lead to another,as if new conditions were developing. The movements of the boys, too,were carefully guarded, so carefully, indeed, that it seemed to Fremontthat Nestor was continually spying upon some one, as well as hidingfrom those who were spying upon him.

Time and again Fremont asked his friend to explain the mystifyingsituation, but never succeeded in gaining satisfactory information onthe subject of the frequent halts and seemingly useless journeys backand forth. At various times during the journey he secured newspaperscontaining wild and improbable theories of the crime which had beencommitted in the Cameron building. Mr. Cameron's death, the dispatchessaid, was hourly expected, so the unfortunate boy received littleencouragement from his reading of the New York news.

Early in the evening of the third day out the boys reached El Paso, onthe Texas side of the Rio Grande. They found the city looking like amilitary encampment. Soldiers wearing the khaki uniforms of Uncle Samwere everywhere, martial music filled the air with its shrill fifingsand deep drum-beats, and there was a gleam of polished steel whereverthe boys walked.

It was a scene well calculated to stir the imagination and excite thepatriotism of the Boy Scouts, and for a time the excitement of it allforced Fremont's troubles from his mind. The boys dined at arestaurant and then Fremont went to a comfortable room which had beenengaged in a small hotel while Nestor went out into the city, "to spyout the resources of the land," as he declared.

Fremont, however, knew that his friend was very anxious over something.There appeared to be some new complication which the patrol leader washaving a hard time puzzling out. It may well be imagined that hisreturn was awaited with impatience. His face was very grave when atlast he entered the room.

"I'm sorry I have no better report to make," Nestor said, throwinghimself into a chair, "but the fact is that we've got to lose ourselvesin the mountains across the river as soon as we can do so. We can getacross to-night, of course, but must hustle after we get across. Wecan get provisions at San Jose."

"We've got to carry the provisions into the mountains on our backs?"asked Fremont.

"We surely have," was the reply, "and we've got to lay low while we arecooking and eating them. The Sierra del Fierro mountains, where we aregoing, are lined with insurrectos, and they are not in good humor justnow."

"I'm game for anything, so long as we can get out of the beaten way,"replied Fremont. "I've felt all the way down that we were beingfollowed. Anyway," he continued, more cheerfully, "I shall enjoy thesight of a mountain campfire again. We don't have to take any matcheswith us. I can build a fire, Indian-fashion, with dry sticks and acord. My Boy Scout experiences will be of service now, I take it."

"And you must fix up a little disguise to get over the river in,"continued Nestor. "The New York police are in communication with theofficers here, and the latter are out for the $10,000 reward. As yoususpected, we have been shadowed from New York. More than once I threwthe shadows off the track, but they landed again. There are mostunusual conditions around us, and we must be very discreet. After weget across the Rio Grande the danger will decrease."

"It makes me feel happy again," Fremont said, after putting on a new,cheap suit and tinting his face, "this idea of meeting a different sortof danger. I can't stand this lurking peril—this obsession that someone may spring out upon me from some dark corner at any minute. Get meout by a mountain camp-fire, old fellow, and I'll be game for anything."

There was a short silence, and then the boy went on.

"I don't understand exactly why you are heading for Mexico, but onecountry is as good as another just now. The police over there are saidto be in close touch with those here, and to be brutal in theirhandling of prisoners. However, let us make up our minds that we willhave nothing to do with the police."

"We are going to Mexico for three reasons," Nestor said, in a moment."I can't tell you all about the three now, but one is to get you out ofthe way until the real criminal is discovered. The other two will showin time, and are likely to bring out a great deal of excitement."

"I have been wondering all the way down here," Fremont said, "why youcopied one of the papers in the Tolford estate packet. I know now.There is in that sheaf of papers a description of a lost Mexicanmine—a very valuable mine which has been lost for any number of years.I remember of hearing Mr. Cameron discuss the matter with one of theheirs. The lost mine seems to be the most valuable item in the estateschedule," the boy went on. "At any rate, there has been a lot ofquarreling over it. That paper contains the only description inexistence, and all the heirs want it."

"So you think I'm going after the lost mine?" laughed Nestor.

"If you are not, why did you copy the description?"

"How do you know that I copied the description?"

"You copied something."

"Yes; I copied the description of the lost mine. I thought it mightbe of use to us, and it may prove of the greatest importance."

"Then you think the man who invaded the office and struck Mr. Camerondown is interested in the lost mine?" exclaimed Fremont. "You think hecommitted the crime to get the description? That he copied it, andleft the original paper there to throw off suspicion? That the man weare in quest of will go directly to the lost mine? Is that why you aregoing to Mexico? Is that why you said, from the start, that the cluepointed across the Rio Grande?"

"Don't ask so many questions," laughed Nestor. "There is a shadowysuspicion in my mind that the assassin is interested in the Tolfordestate, if you must know, but I may be entirely mistaken. Still, wemust remember that on the occasion when the Tolford papers were in theoffice over night, there was an attempt at robbery. This may be acoincidence, but it is worth looking into."

"I should say so," cried Fremont, with enthusiasm. "I should say itwas worth looking into. Now I begin to see what you mean by comingthis way, and why you dodged about on the route down. You think thelost mine man is watching us."

"I don't think anything about it," said Nestor. "I never imagineissues, and I never form theories. One thing I know, and that is thatwe shall find friends over in Mexico. You may even come upon some ofthe Black Bears there."

"I hope so," was the cheerful reply.

"In which case," continued Nestor, "you might take the suggested ridedown the Rio Grande."

"Not with the mountains in sight, and a lost mine to find," exclaimedFremont.

"And a brutal assassin to bring to punishment," added Nestor.

"And the third motive for visiting Mexico to develop," smiled Fremont."I wish I knew about that third motive. I understand the firsttwo—one you told me and one I guessed."

"You shall know the other in time," said Nestor. "Just at present,however, the secret is not mine. Important issues are at stake, and Imust keep my lips shut, even when talking with you, concerning ourmission."

"All right," said Fremont. "Don't worry about me. I'll get it out ofyou in some way. See if I don't."

Shortly after this conversation closed Nestor went out into the city toarrange for the trip to the mountains. As he left the little hotel heimagined that he saw men bearing unmistakable stamp of plain-clothespolicemen hanging about, and it also seemed to him that he was followedas he walked down the crowded street toward the river.

It was late when he returned to the room where he had left Fremont. Hissuspicions had proven to be more than suspicions, for he had indeedbeen tracked from the hotel, and had been obliged to do a great deal ofwalking in order to leave his pursuers behind. When he entered thehotel he saw that the plain-clothes men were no longer on duty at thefront.

He climbed the stairs to his room and opened the door with a littlequiver of the lips, for the place was dark and silent. When he turnedon the lights, however, he was easier in his mind, for there was thesleeping figure he had hoped to find.

In a moment, however, his eyes fell upon a heap of clothing lyingacross a chair near the head of the bed. Those were not the clothesFremont had worn. These were soiled and torn. Whose were they, then,and how was it that they were there?

He shook the sleeper lightly and a dust-marked face was lifted from thesheltering bed-clothes. But the face was not that of Fremont, but ofJimmie McGraw. Nestor started back in wonder. How had the boy comethere, and where was Fremont? Had he been taken by the police? Was healready on his way back to the tombs? Then Jimmie sprang out of bedwith a grin on his face.

CHAPTER VI.

TWO BLACK BEARS IN TROUBLE.

Left alone in his room by the departure of Nestor, Fremont busiedhimself for a time with the newspapers which his friend had brought in.On the first page of the evening newspaper he found the source ofNestor's information concerning the movements of the police.

The story, under a New York date line, was highly colored, the reportertaking advantage of every strange happening to bring in paragraphs ofwhat he doubtless termed "local color." From first to last, every cluewas bent and twisted so as to point to the guilt of the boy. It seemedthat some cunning enemy was directing the reporters.

It was stated that Fremont had been seen in the building earlier in theevening, and that the night watchman had "reluctantly" admitted that hehad heard high words passing between Mr. Cameron and his employe. Theinterview with the watchman had taken place on the very night of thecrime. Since that time, the newspaper said, no one had seen him in NewYork, at least no one who would admit knowledge of his movements to thepolice.

On the whole, the newspaper made out a pretty good case against theboy, and Fremont was pleased to think that he had taken the advice ofhis friend and left the city. If he had not done so, he would now be inthe Tombs, he had no doubt.

After a time he tossed the paper aside and began walking up and downhis room, anxious for Nestor's return, anxious for a breath of mountainair—for the freedom of the high places, for the sniff of a camp-fire.It was then that he heard a footstep at his door.

He turned the lights down and waited, his hand on a weapon which hadbeen given him by Nestor. Then the door was opened softly and an armclad in khaki was thrust through the narrow opening. Fremont waited,but no face followed the arm into view. Then, approaching nearer, hesaw something on the sleeve which sent the hopeful blood surgingthrough his veins. It was the badge of the Black Bear Patrol, andbeneath it was the Indian arrow-head badge of the Boy Scouts. With ashout he caught at the door and threw it open. There, with adelightful smile on his broad face, stood Frank Shaw.

Fremont seized his chum about the neck and dragged him into the room,where the hugging and pulling about rivaled the efforts of real blackbears. Then Fremont closed and locked the door and dropped into achair, eyeing his friend as if he would like to devour him, black bearfashion.

"You didn't expect to see me here, did you?" asked Frank.

"I should say not. How did you know where to find me? When did youleave New York? How is Mr. Cameron? Tell me all about everything."

"When you get done asking questions," cried Frank. "First, Ned Nestortold me where to look for you. He told some of the others, too, but Ireckon they got lost on the way down. I've been waiting for you half ayear—it seems to me—a whole day, any way. And that reminds me thatyou've got to beat it."

"And how is Mr. Cameron? Is he conscious yet?"

"Not yet, and they say he can't live. Say, I came down here to enlistas drummer, so I could get a stand-in with the army fellows, and, whatdo you think, they wouldn't enlist me! Said I was too short and fat.Me short and fat! I'm going to write up that recruiting officer andhave Dad publish him to the world."

"There is a lot of talk about the case?" asked Fremont.

"Of course there is," was the reply. "But what do you think about thatrecruiting officer? He ought to be pinched. Me too short and fat!Ever hear me drum?"

"Only once," was the reply. "Then the boys held me while you drummed."

"Never you mind that," Frank replied. "I'm going to tell you now thatyou've got to beat it. Understand? You've got to get out rightaway—not to-morrow, but now."

"Yes, I know the police are after me," said Fremont, gravely. "Thereis some one who is keeping them posted as to our movements. It appearsto me that this crime was directed against me as well as against Mr.Cameron. What are you going to do now?"

"Do?" demanded the other. "Do? I'm going to stay here and fight foryou. What else could I do? And I'm going to write to father and tellhim all about the case, and say you are innocent, and he'll show theother newspapers where to head in at."

"We've got to get the proof first," said Fremont. "The case looks darkfor me," Fremont added with a sigh. "Nestor will soon be here, andhe'll be glad to see you."

"I hope he'll come before the police, do," said Frank. "I'll tell you,old man, that they're hot after that reward. They know you're in thishotel. I don't doubt that they know the room you're in. You've got tobeat it, I tell you."

"I've got to wait for Ned Nestor," said Fremont.

"Say," said Shaw, "do you know who it is that brought you here?"

"Ned Nestor, of course."

"But do you know who he is? He's the best amateur detective in theworld. He's always looking for a chance to help those accused ofcrime. Even the high police officers of New York ask him to look intocases for them. Some day he'll be at the head of the United Statessecret service department. You see. He'll get you through if any onecan. Leave it to him. Here's some one coming now. Perhaps it is Ned."

But it was not Ned, for there were noises in the hall, just beyond thedoor, which indicated a struggle, and then a sharp voice called out:

"Cut it out, youse feller! Cut it out, or I'll bring out me educatedleft. Let me alone, I say. I ain't no tramp."

Both boys recognized the voice, and Fremont hastened to unlock thedoor. When it was opened the second surprise of the evening confrontedthe fugitive. Jimmie McGraw stood in the hall threatening an angrywaiter with his clenched fists. Although the boy was small, and nomatch for the waiter, he was exceedingly nimble, and the waiter wasunable to lay hands on him.

"He's tryin' to throw me out," exclaimed Jimmie, grinning at sight ofthe boys. "Tell him it is all right."

"We are expecting the boy," Fremont said. "Kindly let him alone."

"I'm ordered to throw him out of the hotel," roared the waiter. "He's atramp."

Fremont pacified the fellow with a silver offering and, drawing Jimmieinside of the room, closed the door. Then the three boys, lookingfrom one to the other, broke out in uproarious laughter. For Jimmie wasa sight to behold. His clothing was torn, and his hands and face lookedas if they had never seen water.

"How did you get down here?" asked Fremont, after a moment. "I leftyou in New York, to look after that end of the Cameron case."

"Huh!" exclaimed the boy. "You didn't take the railroad iron up withyou when you came down, did you? Nor yet you didn't lock up theside-door Pullmans. I got fired as second assistant to the privatesecretary to the scrubwoman, 'cause she got pinched, so I came on downhere to help Uncle Sam keep the border quiet."

"They won't let you drum," interrupted Fatty. "You're too short."

"I don't want to drum," was the indignant reply. "I want to get overinto Mexico an' live in the mountains. Say, if you boys have anymazuma, just pass it out. I'm hungry enough to eat the Statue ofLiberty in the harbor."

"I'm hungry, too," said Frank Shaw.

"I knew it," observed Jimmie. "Come on. Let's go out and eat."

"Wait," said Frank, "there's something doing here. Fremont's got toget out of this room right away and I'll go with him. There is awindow we can climb out of. When we get out I'll plant Fremontsomewhere and circle back here with some provisions for you.Understand?"

"Me for the hike out of the window, too," said Jimmie. "I see myselfwaitin' here for you to come back with grub after you get your share.You'll come back—not."

"Sure I'll come back," replied Frank. "Besides, some one's got to stayhere. You for the bed, Jimmie," he added, with a sudden smile on hisface, brought out, doubtless, by the arrival of a brilliant idea, "youfor the bed, and if the cops come here you're the boy that has theroom—see? And there ain't no other boy that you know of. That willkeep them guessing. They'll think they've been following the wrongkid, and we'll all get across the Rio Grande before they wake up. Youfor the bed, Jimmie."

But Jimmie held back, saying that he did not feel in need of a bed, butdid feel in need of a square meal. But the boys, laughing at the wryfaces and savage speeches he made, helped him off with his clothes,turned out the lights, and dropped out of the window into an alleywhich ran, one story below, at the rear of the hotel.

They were none too soon in concluding their arrangements, for as theylit on the ground below a heavy knock came on the door of the room theyhad just left. As they slipped off in the darkness they heard Jimmiedoing a pretty good imitation of a snore.

"Say," Fremont said, as they drew up on a street corner after a shortrun, "they'll arrest Jimmie. If the cops ask the waiters, they'll soonknow that there were others in that room, and they'll arrest him forobstructing an officer. I wish we had brought him with us. PoorJimmie!"

"He'll get out of it in some way," laughed Frank. "They won't hold himlong if they do pinch him. Anyway, we want him around there to meetNestor when he comes back. He'll tell some co*ck-and-bull story thatwill put him to the good with the cops."

But Fremont was not so sure of the resourcefulness of Jimmie, andworried over the matter not a little as they walked the streets,quieting down now, for the soldiers had been called back to camp andthe citizens of the town were seeking their homes and beds. As forFrank, he was talking most of the time of the supper he was hoping toget before long. The boys did not care to enter a conspicuousrestaurant, and so they chose an obscure eating house on a side street.

At first glance the place seemed without customers as they entered, andthe boys were glad to have the room to themselves, but as soon as theywere seated two men came in and took seats at a table not far away fromtheir own. The men were dusky fellows, with long hair and sharp blackeyes. They ordered sparingly, as if they cared little for food, and,after glancing furtively around the room, spent their time in whisperedconversation.

Fremont thought he saw something familiar in one of the men, and kepthis eyes on his face until the coarse features, the sullen grin, becameassociated in his mind with the Cameron building in New York. It didnot seem possible that this could be true, yet there was a face he hadseen in the corridors of the great building, and every moment theidentification was becoming more definite.

"Ever see that man before?" he asked of Frank, nudging the boy andpointing with his fork, held so low down that it could not be seen bythe others.

"I'm sure I have," was the reply. "He was at the hotel when I wentupstairs to your room," Frank went on. "I remember now."

Before anything more could be said the two men arose and approached thetable where the boys sat. Railing at the adverse fate which hadbrought him in contact with this man after a successful flight from theNew York police, Fremont arose and darted toward the door. He gainedthe doorway before the other could seize him, and there turned to lookback.

Shaw had not been so fortunate in escaping the grasp of the Mexican,for such he appeared to be. When Fremont looked back the fellow wastrying his best to throw the boy to the floor, while his companionstood by with clenched fists. The boy was about to turn back to theassistance of him chum when he saw with joy that this would not benecessary.

CHAPTER VII.

SIGNALS ON THE MOUNTAIN.

Fremont saw that Frank was putting up a nervy battle with the man whohad seized him, and was in the act of going to his assistance whenFrank made a quick motion which seemed to bring every muscle in hisbody into action, and the Mexican shot into the air, landing, finally,on the back of his companion, and going to the floor with him.

The movement executed by the boy had been so lightning-like that noneof the details had been noted, yet Fremont recognized it as a clever jujitsu trick he had often seen the boys of the Black Bear Patrolpracticing. Frank laughed as the man seemed to spill off his roundfigure, and before the amazed and raging Mexican could get to his feetboth boys were off like the wind, followed at a distance by policemenwho had been called by the owner of the restaurant.

"We may as well circle back to the hotel now," Fremont said, as theybrought up on a corner to rest and catch their breath. "I'm anxiousabout Jimmie. We should never have left him there alone."

"If we go back to Jimmie without a cart-load of provisions," laughedFrank, "he'll call the police. Besides, I'm starving. Here's anotherfeed shop, so we may as well load up."

Fremont did not enter the place, but waited in a dark stairway forFrank to return with the food that was to be taken to Jimmie. WhenFrank showed up he was devouring a thick ham sandwich.

"Now we can face the lad," the boy laughed. "He'll be hungry, though."

When they came to within a block of the hotel, Fremont waited for hiscompanion to bring him news of the situation there. Much to hisrelief, he soon saw Shaw returning, accompanied by both Jimmie andNestor. And Jimmie was munching a great sandwich as he drew near tothe waiting boy.

"S-a-y!" Jimmie exclaimed, as the boys met and walked away together,apparently free of surveillance. "That was a fresh cop. Wanted togeezle me for a robber. If Ned hadn't come across just as he did,there'd 'a' been a scrap. Say, Ned," he added, turning to the patrolleader, "how did you get your stand-in with the soldiers? Wasn't thata colonel who talked the bull cop out of pinching both of us?"

"That was Colonel Wingate," was the reply. "I can't tell you anythingmore about the matter just now. Anyway, we've got our work cut out forus to-night. We must be far from the border by morning. There's atrain from Juarez about midnight."

There were many questions which Fremont wanted to ask Nestor as theboys, each busy with his own thoughts, crossed the bridge, after givinga password supplied by Colonel Wingate, and took train at Juarez forSan Jose, but he remained silent. He wanted, among other things, toask why they were going to San Jose so directly—as if the town hadbeen the object of the journey from the beginning. He saw, however,that Nestor, who was becoming a good deal of a mystery to him, did notcare to talk, and so he held his tongue.

Long before noon on the following day, after a comfortless ride on abumping train, the boys found themselves at San Jose, a scraggly townon the west shore of beautiful Lake de Patos. As they were both hungryand tired, they secured rooms in a little hotel, ordered dinner servedthere, and rested for a short time. The dinner was plentiful, butthoroughly Mexican. The menu smelled of garlic, and the walls of theroom were decorated (?) with cheap colored prints wherein matadorscalmly awaited the onslaught of maddened bulls, while women, shroudedin mantillas and smoking cigarettes, leaned out of their seats andapplauded.

After the siesta, provisions were brought and enclosed in neat packagesconvenient for carrying on the back, and at dusk, after a swift rowacross the lake, the boys were at the foot of a high range of mountainswhich looked down upon the lake and the town.

On their way across the lake, and on the gentle slope of the foot ofthe hills, they had frequently observed parties of roughly dressed men,some with muskets and some without, making their way, by boat and onfoot, toward the mountain. Those on the water were in rude, makeshiftboats, of which there seemed to be an insufficient quantity at hand,groups waiting on the shore for the return of conveyances in order thatthey might in turn be carried across.

There was great excitement in the little town, and men, women andchildren were huddled in the streets, looking apprehensively at therough men who were hurrying, for some unknown reason, to the east.Finally two men who appeared to know something of the English languageasked Nestor for a ride in the rather swift boat he had secured for thetrip across the lake. This request was gladly granted, for Nestor wasanxious to talk with some one who might be able to tell him somethingof the movement to the east. He had his own suspicions of the motiveof the march, and they were not agreeable ones.

The men taken into the boat proved to be ignorant, sullen fellows, andso little information of the kind sought was gained from them.Presently the boat was left behind and the boys, each with a typicalBoy Scout camping outfit on his back—the same includingprovisions—were soon making their way up the slope.

"Jere!" cried Jimmie, throwing himself on the ground after the firststeep climb. "Let's wait for the elevator. What do you expect to findup here, anyway?"

"We're looking for a place to hide a boy, for a lost mine, and for aMexican with one leg shorter than the other and a withered right hand,"laughed Nestor. "Move on."

"That description listens to me like the Mexican we saw in therestaurant," said Shaw. "He had a withered right hand. Say, but hegot a drop."

"He looked to me like a man I have seen in New York," said Fremont. "Iwonder if there is any one left in New York?" he added, with a grin."It seems to me that about all the people I ever knew there are ontheir way south."

"This fellow may be fascinated by our good looks," Frank put in. "Heseems to be in need of polite society."

"Polite society!" repeated Jimmie. "You give him a dump on the floorfor polite society. Is he the man who is lookin' for the mine yousefellers have been talkin' about ever since we left El Paso?"

"If we should follow him to the mine," George suggested, "and arresthim there, that ought to end the case. It would end the mystery,anyway, and show why the assault was made. I guess you have been afterthis man all the way down, Nestor," he added.

"When he hasn't been after me," laughed the patrol leader. "But youmustn't be too certain that the arrest of this man would end the case.He may be after the mine, may even have a copy of the description inMr. Cameron's office, and yet be entirely innocent of the crime."

"He ought to be pinched for trying to geezle me in the eats house,"grinned Frank.

The boys ascended the slope until darkness set in, and then rested in alittle valley, or dent, between two peaks, and pitched their two smallshelter tents. Then they built a fire of such light wood as they couldfind and prepared supper. As soon as the meal was cooked they put outthe fire, fearful that the smoke might betray their presence there.Presently Jimmie called attention to two columns of smoke rising highup on the mountain.

"They're signals," he said, "because there wouldn't be two camp-firesclose together. They're signals, all right."

"What do they mean?" asked Nestor, with a smile.

"One column means come to camp," replied Jimmie, "two mean that help isneeded, three mean that there is good news, and four mean come togetherfor a council. They are Indian signals, and the Boy Scouts use them inthe woods when out hunting."

"Then this means a call for help," said Fremont.

"That's what," from Jimmie.

"It may mean for the man with the short leg to come on," laughed Frank."I wish I had my drum. I could make him think he had help coming. Youwait until I get that drum. I'll show you what's what."

Lights could now be seen moving on the mountain. It seemed clear thatmen were massing there for some purpose. Soon Frank and Jimmie wereasleep. Then Nestor asked:

"George, do you remember whether the bolt in the corridor door of theCameron suite turned under your key that night? In other words, wasthe door locked?"

"I thought it was," was the reply.

"But you are not certain?"

"No, because I was dazed when I opened the door and found the room darkand still. I had expected to find Mr. Cameron at his desk, as therewere lights there before I entered the building."

"You saw no one on the stairs?"

"Not a soul."

"When did you first meet Mr. Cameron?"

"Seven years ago, when I was selling newspapers."

"He was a customer?"

"Yes, and a good one. He talked with me quite a lot, and finally askedme to come to live with him and take a position in his office when Igot older."

"And you were glad to go?"

"Naturally. My life was not a pleasant one."

"Did he ever talk to you about that old life?"

"Often. He asked me lots of questions about my parents."

"And what did you tell him?"

"There was noting to tell. I could not remember my parents. At firstthere was Mother Scanlon, who beat me as often as she fed me, and thenI was on the streets, sleeping in alleys and stairways."

"Have you seen this Mother Scanlon lately?" was the next question.

"Never, but why are you asking me all these questions? I'm no fairyprince under enchantment. Just a waif left alone in New York. Thereare plenty such."

"I want you to look Mother Scanlon up when you get back to New York,"Nestor said. He might have given some reason for the remark, onlyJimmie and Frank awoke and called attention to signals on the mountain.

"I know that wig-wag game," the latter said. "Keep still and I'll tellyou what he says."

Four pair of eyes were instantly fixed on the heights above, where aslender column of flame, like a torch on fire most of its length, wasplainly to be seen. It was not a stationary column, however, for itmoved to right and left in an arc of ninety degrees, starting atvertical and swinging back of it. At times the point was lowered, asif the column had been dipped to the ground in front.

"If he is talking United States instead of Spanish," Jimmie said, "I'llread it for you. The Scouts use those signals. The motion fromvertical to right is ONE, that from vertical to left is TWO, and thatfrom vertical to the front is THREE. See! It is United States, forthere are two left motions, meaning A. Now there's two twos and a one,repeated. That means two 1's. 'All' is the word."

"That is the way I read it," said Nestor.

"Wait," said Jimmie. "He didn't give the signal which indicates theend of the word. Here's one two and two ones. That means R. One one isI. Two twos and two ones make G. One one and two twos make H. Onetwo makes T. There! He's said 'All Right,' and in English. Now, whatare Americans doing up there?"

"That may not be the end of the message," suggested Fremont.

"See the three threes?" asked Jimmie. "That means the end of thesentence. Now, there's double two, double two, double two, triplethree. That means for the other fellow, who must be down the mountainsomewhere, to quit signaling. He's gettin' exclusive, eh?"

"I don't understand why those signals are in English," said Nestor."There are plenty of Americans mixed up in this mess, but they are notdoing the signaling, so far as I have heard. It would seem that thewig-wag ought to be in Spanish. I wonder if I could get down themountain to the man there? It would be easier than climbing."

"I'll go with you," decided Frank. "If I fall it will be like rollinga feather bed down the mountains. Besides, you may need assistance."

And before the others could protest, the two boys were on their waydown the steep descent.

CHAPTER VIII.

A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.

It was weirdly lonely in the dark little dent on the side of themountain after the departure of the two boys, and Jimmie drew closer tohis companion. The wind which swept the heights was chilly.

The two lay close together in silence for a long time, each, doubtless,thinking of the Great White Way and the lights which would now beglittering there, of the bay, of the East River with its shipping, andof the hundred things which make New York a city, once seen, to beremembered forever. Then a rumble as of a stone crashing down came totheir ears and they sprang to their feet.

"There's some one coming," whispered Jimmie, and they listened, but theonly sound they heard was made by a bird winging its way through thedim upper light. Then, in a moment, signals flashed out again.

"One, two, one," counted Jimmie, "Now, two, one, one, two, two, one,and then one, two. That means come. Now, where does he want the otherfellow to come?"

"There's a lot going on here to-night," said Fremont. "I wonder ifthey can see us from where they are?"

"We may as well get away from the tents," was the reply. "There's agood place to hide behind that rock. When Nestor and Frank come we canlet them know where we are."

Fremont agreed to this, and the lads were soon hidden in a shallowgully which cut a ridge not far from where the tents had been pitched.For a time all was still, then came the rattling of steel on steel,sounding threatening enough in the darkness.

"Some one's got a gun," whispered Jimmie.

"Our fire may have been seen from above," Fremont ventured.

"Well, they can't find us here," consoled Jimmie. "Anyway, we'll liehere and listen for a few minutes."

The boys lay quiet for a considerable time. There were no more signalsthen, but they could not banish the feeling that emissitious Mexicanswere watching them from the shadows. Directly noises were heard at thetents and a voice asked, in good English:

"Where are they? You said that only two went down the mountain."

"That was right," was the reply. "I don't see where the others can be."

"Do you think they are officers?" asked Jimmie, as the men stumbledabout the tents. "They aren't Mexicans."

"I'm afraid they are officers," replied Fremont, "and we must keeppretty still. I presume these are the fellows who were wig-wagging alittle while ago."

The intruders were heard moving about the tents for a time, and thenthey went away, blundering along over loose stones which rattled asthey swept down the declivity. When they were some distance off, andstill going, judging by the sound, the boys walked back to the tentsand tried to sleep, but the excitement of the time was too much forthem, and they could not keep their eyes closed.

After a time there came a commotion in the valley below, from thedirection Nestor and Frank had taken. There were shouts of rage andthen shooting. Jimmie was on his feet instantly.

"They're attacking Nestor," he cried, "and I'm going down there to helphim."

Before Fremont could protest the boy was off, scrambling down themountain in the darkness like a goat. At first Fremont thought offollowing him, but he was very tired and sleepy and so gave it up.

He crept back into a tent and threw himself down on a blanket, closinghis eyes only for a moment, as he thought.

Jimmie pressed on down the slope for some distance without discoveringthe source of the disturbance, then turned back. When, near the tents,he turned and looked over the valley, a torch far below was spellingout "O.K."

"There are a lot of Americans mixed up in this," the boy thought."I've heard that this revolt was being financed and executed by ourpeople, but I did not believe the story. Anyhow, they are giving theirsignals in United states."

As the lad approached nearer to the tents the silence which held thelittle dent on the slope sent a vague shiver of alarm through his veins.

When he came to the tents there was no one in sight. He whistledsoftly, but there was no reply. The moon, now peeping around ashoulder of the mountain, struck an object which glistened like silver,and the boy picked it up. It was Fremont's revolver, and the chamberswere full. There had been no shooting. Fremont's cap lay on theground not far from where the weapon had been found.

Filled with apprehension, Jimmie dashed into the tents. They were bothempty. The boy had disappeared, leaving his weapon and his cap behind.It was plain to be seen, from marks on the rocks and the thin soil ofthe dent, that there had been a struggle.

Alarmed beyond the power of words to express, Jimmie crept into thehiding place they had used earlier in the evening and waited. He wasangry at Nestor for going away, and angry with himself for leavingFremont alone. While the latter possessed courage and strength, he wasnot as apt in such things as they were facing as his companions. Hehad been sheltered for years in the Cameron home, and was not soresourceful as his companions, not so ready to take advantage of anypoint which might occur in such a rough-and-tumble game as was now inprogress.

Jimmie's fear was that Fremont had been captured by officers, and wouldbe taken back to New York and thrust into the Tombs to await the actionof the grand jury, based on the recovery or death of Mr. Cameron. Thiswould be fatal to all his hopes. While the boy pondered and frettedover the matter, the long roll of a drum came around a cliff-corner,and then a file of ragged soldiers, or what seemed to be such, showedin the moonlight, with a diminutive drummer-boy, pounding for dearlife, not far in the rear.

In the meantime the two who were in Jimmie's thoughts were making theirway down the slope with such speed and caution as they were able tomanage.

It was very rough going in the darkness, and more than once Frankreceived a bump which effectually banished all inclination to sleep.At last he sat down on a ledge and called out to Nestor.

"Dig in! Walk your head off!"

Nestor halted and looked back.

"What's doing?" he asked.

"I'm flabbergasted," was the reply. "How do you think you're goin' toget back up the hill?"

Nestor pointed to a point of flame a little lower down.

"It is only a short ways now," he said.

Frank grunted and arose to his feet.

"They ought to put in elevators," he grumbled.

The boys walked for perhaps half an hour longer and then drew up nearto the point of fire which Nestor had pointed out.

"Now what?" demanded Frank.

"I want to see who they are. I'm expecting friends here," was thelaughing reply. "Remain here while I investigate."

"If I stand up," grumbled Shaw, "I'll fall down; and if I sit down I'llgo to sleep. I never was so sleepy in all me blameless life. Youneedn't hurry back."

Frank was as good as his word, although he had spoken in jest. Nosooner was his companion out of sight than he dropped to the ground,and in spite of his efforts to keep his eyes open, was soon fastasleep. When he awoke an hour later, Nestor was pulling at his arm.

"Don't pull it off," he said. "I may want to use it again. What'sdoing below?"

"Were you ever in the Cameron building in New York?" Nestor asked,irrelevantly.

"Did you wake me out of me sweet dreams to ask that?" grinned the boy."Why don't you go on and tell me what's coming off down there in thatcamp?"

"I've got the New York end of the Cameron case on my mind to-night,"was the reply. "Tell me what you know about the Cameron building andthe people who work there during the night—cleaning up, and that sortof thing."

"I don't think I was ever in the building, and Fremont never talkedwith me about the workers. You can ask Jimmie about that."

"Yes, Jimmie worked there. I've heard him talk about the nightwatchman and predict his future home. The boy came running into myroom on the night of the tragedy and almost pulled me out of bed,saying that a member of the Black Bear Patrol was in trouble."

"What do you want to know about the building?"

"I was wondering if Jim Scoby, the night watchman, was permitted tocarry a key to the Cameron suite. Jimmie does not know whether he wasor not, and I thought you might have heard Fremont talking aboutmatters there."

"I presume Fremont can tell you all about that. Suppose Scoby did havea key? What of it? Fremont says Mr. Cameron locked himself in thatnight, or was to do so, and that shows that the man who did the job didnot need a key. He must have been admitted by Mr. Cameron."

"There were strange doings in that suite that night," Nestor said,almost as if talking to himself. "I can't quite get the hang of it,"he added, taking a flat steel key from his pocket, and holding it upfor the inspection of the other.

Shaw took the key and held it up in the moonlight, examining everydetail of it.

"That is a key to the suite," he said. "Fremont has one like it.Where did you get it? It looks new."

"It is new," Nestor went on. "It looks as if it had been made to orderrecently. Now, whoever made it did not get it exactly right at first,and was obliged to file it down. I have known night watchmen to makekeys."

"An old trick," admitted Frank. "Well, let us take it for granted thatScoby was not permitted to carry a key and that he had one made, forsome purpose of his own. What does that lead up to?"

"I found this key in front of the safe," Nestor continued, after amoment's deliberation. "It was undoubtedly dropped there by one of themen who visited the rooms that night. I have been wondering if it wasthe watchman."

"You have some other reason for supposing it was Scoby," Frank said."Go one and tell me about it."

"Yes, there is another reason." Nestor continued, smiling at the quickway Frank had taken him up. "I found this Grand Army button and thiscloth raveling in front of the safe, too, not far from where the keywas discovered."

"Well, did the watchman wear a Grand Army coat that night?" askedFrank. "Lots of unworthy people wear Grand Army coats."

"He did," was the reply. "He wore a blue coat with Grand Army buttons,and one of the buttons was missing from the right sleeve when I saw himin the corridor as I passed out. He probably caught his sleeve onsomething in the safe and ripped the button off. He either did notnotice the loss of the button or had no time to pick it up."

"You're locating him in a compromising situation, all right," Franksaid. "But you said 'one of the men who visited the rooms that night.'Who were the others?"

"Wait a minute," said Nestor. "Let me tell you what else I foundthere. I have in my pocket a piece of paper, a margin cut from a legaldocument, showing the thumb and fingermarks of a withered right hand.I also have a shoe heel near two inches high. These were taken fromthe Cameron suite. What do you make of that?"

"I understand," Frank said. "One of the other men was this Mexican,the man with the short right leg, the fellow who tried to geezle me atthe El Paso restaurant. Well, that makes two who were there thatnight—two who were in front of the safe—two who had no right to bethere."

"And this Mexican was a tenant of the building," Nestor went on, "andhe might have had the key made. At least he was there the night thekey was used, looking over papers he had no right to touch."

"It begins to look as if the Mexican went to the building for thepurpose of robbery, and that he found a tool in Jim Scoby," said Frank."Why don't you have the two of them pinched, so Fremont won't have allthis trouble on his mind? The Mexican is somewhere about here, and JimScoby can't be far away, as the newspapers say he ran away from NewYork. Why couldn't you have studied this out that night?"

"Don't rush conclusions," smiled Nestor. "I said there were severalpeople in the suite that night. Well, we have made sure of two ofthem, though we don't know how they go in there if Mr. Cameron had thedoor locked from the inside."

"If they hadn't used their false key," Shaw put in, "they wouldn't havehad it in hand and wouldn't have lost it."

"Very clever," said Nestor.

"Who else was in there?" asked Frank, blushing at the compliment.

"The third man," Nestor continued, "had business with Mr. Cameron. Hewas there earlier in the evening."

"He didn't lose anything there, did he?" asked Frank, with a laugh.

"Yes," replied Nestor, "he did. He lost his temper."

"You're a corker!" Frank exclaimed. "What else did he lose?"

"His life, possibly."

"Come, children," Frank grinned, "it is time to wake up."

CHAPTER IX.

ABOUT THE THIRD SUSPECT.

Nestor laughed at the puzzled boy's exclamation and sat for some timelooking down on the dim camp-fire near the tents he had visited a shorttime before. The night was cloudless, with a slight wind blowing fromthe west. Now and then the sound of hoarse voices came from the peaksabove.

"The Mexican knocked off his heel there," he finally said, "and Scobyleft his coat-button. They might just as well have left their cards inthe papers they examined."

"What papers were they?"

"The Tolford estate papers."

"Yes, of course. The Mexican wanted to know something about the buriedmine," Frank said. "We're getting at the motive now."

"Now, this third visitor," Nestor went on, "as I have said, went thereon business—on business connected with a contract for the purchase offirearms and ammunition. Mr. Cameron undoubtedly opened the door toadmit him after he had locked himself in. The door might not have beenlocked again that night, but that is immaterial at present. This thirdman, whom we may as well call Don Miguel, the diplomat, was not in thebuilding when I got there. The others were."

"Then why didn't you have them both pinched?" demanded Frank.

"Partly because they were in the building," was the reply. "If theyhad been possessed of guilty consciences, they would have run away. Atleast, it looks that way to me. You see, this Don Miguel might havestruck the blow and left the offices open and at the mercy of theothers. Now you see how useless it is to draw hasty conclusions."

"That's so. He might," Frank admitted.

"No trouble to get Scoby, anyway," said Nestor. "He is asleep in thattent, and here are more exhibits in the case—another Grand Army buttonand another raveling. I cut them from Scoby's coat as he lay asleepover there."

"You never had the nerve to go into the tent?" asked Frank.

"They are all asleep," was the reply, "so I ran no risk in going in,and it was easy to crawl under the canvas. The Mexican we had beentalking about—Felix, Jimmie calls him—is also there, with six orseven rough-looking fellows, probably miners. It is easy to imaginewhat they are here for."

"They got the description out of the safe, and are going to the mine,"exclaimed Frank. "I believe they attacked Mr. Cameron in order to getthe description. The man you call Don Miguel would have no motive inattacking him, would he?"

"We'll see about that later on," was the reply. "So far as I can seethrough it, the case stands as it did before, with three men in thesuspect row."

"Gather them in, then," advised Frank. "Send for the soldiers and havethese two pinched. Then go to New York, or wherever this third manis, and have him pinched, too. That will clear the atmosphere alittle."

"I have an idea," Nestor said, "that this Felix went to New York onpurpose to get the mine paper, or a copy of it. He probably had adescription of his own, which would not take him to the mine, and wentto the Cameron building hoping that he could get the one in the estatepapers, and that the two of them, his own and the other, would enablehim to reach his goal." "I reckon you have that right," Frank said,"and he got Scoby to work with him."

"I'm going to let him go ahead with his search," the patrol leadersaid. "He may show the way to the mine. Anyway, it is a chance worthtaking. Otherwise, I might, as you advise, arrest him and the watchmanwith him. But here, again, this third suspect intervenes."

"You appear to think a lot of this third man," grinned Frank.

"Naturally," Nestor replied, "since he is the man who brought me toMexico."

"You're getting to be a puzzle," exclaimed Frank. "I thought thesafety of Fremont was the main thing, with the mine a close second."

"I might have hidden Fremont in New York, and the mine matter couldhave waited."

"Is this Don Miguel here?"

"He is expected here. I came down to meet him."

"Hope you'll know him when he comes."

"There will be no trouble about that," was the reply. "I know abouthow the fellow looks. And I rather think he will recognize me."

"He may see you first," suggested Frank.

"If he does, I probably won't see him at all. Well, I must takechances on that. I thought this might be his camp when I came downhere."

"What is he coming here for?"

"To kick up a row."

"And is he going to succeed in doing it?"

"That is more than I can say at present."

"I wish you wouldn't be so mysterious," cried the boy. "You've told meall about the other two, why not tell me about this one?"

"There are international reasons," was the grave reply.

"Oh!" exclaimed Frank. "That's why you're hand-in-glove with the army,and why you're in the code row. Say, but you've told me all about howthe others were identified as having been in the Cameron suite, nowtell me something about this Don Miguel, if you can. Has he got ashort leg, or a withered hand, or a long shoe heel? Go on and tell mehow he looks and acts, if you can."

"Well, he's a dusky, slender fellow," Nestor laughed, "and showsculture and education. He dined at a lobster palace that night andwore evening clothes. He went directly to the Cameron building fromthe restaurant, using a taxicab and speaking both French and Spanish,as well as English, to the driver. He is a good dresser, andordinarily a discreet man, yet he left a schedule of firearms in theCameron suite when he left. He should have taken that with him."

Frank eyed his companion curiously, his face eager in the moonlight,his right hand rubbing his forehead, as if trying to scour away thecobwebs.

"Quit your kidding," he said.

"It is only a question of observation and inquiry," laughed Nestor."There is no Sherlock Holmes business about it."

"And you think this man in evening dress will come down here and mixwith these ragged bums?"

"I think he will come down here," was the reply.

Frank watched the small camp-fire below, just touching with red lightthe tents Nestor had so successfully entered a short time before. Thelogic of the case seemed to be sound enough. Any one of the three menmight have committed the crime with which Fremont was charged.

Two of the three were sleeping in that tent, while the third one wasexpected. What connection could there be between the man in eveningdress and the sullen Scoby and the villainous Felix? What significancecould there be in the schedule of firearms he had left in the suite?

How were the attack on Cameron, the matter of the hidden mine, and thematter of international importance associated together? These questionsand many others presented themselves to the boy as he watched the firedie out and waited for Nestor to go on.

"This third man is a diplomat, is he?" he finally asked. "Does thatmean that he is in the diplomatic service of some government, and thathe is acting here in that capacity?"

"Something like that," was the reply, "though it might be difficult toget any government to father the mission he is really on. He claims, Iunderstand, to be acting for a junta. At least, he has not brought anygovernment into the affair so far, that I know of."

"Well, what does he want?"

"His benevolent purpose is to bring on a war between Mexico and theUnited States," was the astonishing reply.

"I don't think he's next to his job as a statesman, then," observedFrank, "unless he wants to see Mexico cleaned out."

"However that may be, he believes that a raid on Texas soil from thisside of the river would provoke our government to an invasion, as itprobably would."

"I should hope so."

"And he believes, too, that in such an emergency the Mexican federalsand insurrectos would join hands in fighting the common enemy."

"That is quite likely. He's got that figured out in good form,"laughed Frank. "I guess he isn't such a dub, after all."

"He is probably right in the supposition that such a war would stop thefighting over here—that is, the fighting as it is now going on. Heseeks peace in his own land at the risk of a war with our country."

"Then he ought to be shot," declared the boy.

"He was negotiating with Mr. Cameron for the purchase of firearms andammunition," Nestor went on. "His people haven't got the guns, and Mr.Cameron dealt in them."

"I see. Go on—faster," cried the excited boy.

"He went to the office that night hoping to convince Mr. Cameron thathe ought to sell him the arms he wanted. He doubtless expected toleave the office with a signed contract for what he wanted—arms andammunition enough to make the proposed raid at least formidable. Hefailed. Mr. Cameron would not sell the arms, knowing that they were tobe used against his own country."

"Good boy! Hope he gets well."

"Then this diplomat probably asked for the correspondence which hadbeen carried on between the two men. He doubtless feared that Mr.Cameron would reveal the plot to the government, as he would have done."

"Say," cried Frank, "this is getting pretty swift."

"It has been swift from the start," replied the other.

"Did this diplomat get the arms of some one else?" asked the boy,presently.

"I don't know, but it is believed that he did."

"And is coming here with them?"

"Unless they are stopped at the border."

"Then," Frank said, soberly, "I know what all these men are gatheringhere for. I know what they are waiting for—guns."

"I'm afraid you are right."

"Does the War department know?"

"Certainly."

"You found out about it and told Washington by wire?"

Frank reached forward and seized Nestor's hand and shook it as if heexpected to keep it in his grasp forever.

"I know you did," he said. "You needn't say a word."

"The War department has the letters," said Nestor, "the letters thediplomat did not secure from Mr. Cameron. I don't know why he did notget them, I'm sure. They were in a drawer of the big desk. It is quiteprobable, however, that he was frightened away, as the others were.That must have been quite early in the evening, and who it was thatscared him away is what is puzzling me."

CHAPTER X.

THE WOLF MEETS A PANTHER.

The ragged soldiers halted when they came to where the amazed Jimmiestood, and in a moment were joined by the drummer, a slender boy offourteen, who looked worn out.

When he saw Jimmie he smiled and saluted by extending the right armhorizontally, palm out, three fingers vertical, with the thumb andlittle finger crossed on the palm.

"Where did you get that?" demanded Jimmie.

"Did stunts for it," was the reply. "And look here."

The drummer swept his left hand down his right sleeve, tapping half adozen badges. These were those worn by Boy Scouts who had passed asFireman, Signaller, Pioneer, Marksman, Horseman, and Musician. Theofficer in charge of the squad looked on with an amused smile as thedrummer exhibited his honors.

"The kid is crazy over the Boy Scouts," he said. "He's been hunting forcomrades among the Mexicans, and I reckon he found a few, at that.Well, I'm in favor of the organization myself. It teaches, honor,manhood, self-reliance, and has made a man of many a flat-chested,cigarette-smoking youth. It will be the saving of boys in the cityslums if carried out properly."

"Sure it is all to the good," cried the drummer. "A Boy Scout can findfriends wherever he goes—and friends that will stick by him, too. Weget into the game ourselves and do things, instead of sitting on thebleachers ad smoking cigarettes while others get the exercise."

The little fellow smiled winningly at Jimmie, cast his eyes up themountain, and then asked:

"Where did you come from? What patrol do you belong to? I'm PantherPatrol, New York."

"New York Wolf Patrol," was the reply.

"What you doin' here with the ragged army? Say, but they'd make a hiton a Bowery stoige, them soldiers."

"What do you know about the Bowery?" demanded the drummer. "Have youbeen reading about it in the Newsboy's Delight?"

"I know every inch of the Bowery," was the indignant reply. "When Iwalk down to Chatham Square the lamps bow to me. I'm hungry for itright now."

The drummer threw out his arms in a gesture of approval.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, then.

"I'm editing this end of a detective case," laughed Jimmie.

"All alone?" grinned the drummer. "Where are the others?"

"Lost," cried Jimmie. "Jere! I wish Frank Shaw was here and had holdof that drum. There'd be something doin'. He came down here to drumfor Uncle Sam, but they wouldn't have him. They said he was too shortan' fat."

"Fatty Shaw!"

The drummer held his sides with his hands while he laughed, and thendropped down on a convenient rock. The officer in charge of the fileof soldiers shook him by the shoulder, though he was laughing too.

"Get up," he said. "What kind of a minstrel show is this?"

"Frank Shaw!" roared the drummer, paying no attention to the order. "Hegot sore because I told him I'd enlisted as a drummer and lit out. Hisfather'll be sending after him, though. He's a good scout. Where is henow?"

"Lost," repeated Jimmie. "I don't know where he is. Just dropped intoa hole."

"Not into any small hole," observed the drummer. "Are those yourtents?" he added, with a longing look at the soft blankets.

"Sure," replied Jimmie. "Want to sleep? Go to it then. You'rewelcome."

"You bet I will," said the drummer.

He started for one of the tents and then turned back.

"Did you see the wig-wagging awhile ago?" he asked.

"Sure I did," was the reply.

"It was brief," said the officer in charge of the file, "but, still,long enough to convince me that we arrived here at the right time.There is an army forming here, no one seems to know what for, andrenegade Americans are mixing in the game. The signals called for agathering some distance above us."

"That's the way I took it," observed Jimmie. "They are calling the mentogether, I reckon, and there must be Americans in charge for they talkUnited States."

"When you came up," began the officer, "did you observe the fellowsnear the bottom? They seemed to me to be asking questions of the onesup above."

"We saw no one except stragglers when we came up," was the reply."After the signals came, Ned Nestor and Frank Shaw went down there tosee who they were, and they are down there yet, I guess. At least,they haven't returned."

The soldiers, who were now laying aside their weapons and preparing tocook supper, late as the hour was, observed the lad eagerly at themention of Nestor's name. The lad noticed, too, as they gathered abouthim with questioning looks, that they were not at all like Mexicans inappearance, now that they had thrown off their outer clothing. Jimmieglanced from the officer to his men.

"You don't look like Greasers to me," he said.

The officer laughed but made no reply.

"You came in with Ned Nestor?" he asked.

"Sure I did."

"And you say he went back down the mountain to see who was signalingdown there?"

"That is what he said when he went away."

"What did he say about coming back?"

"Of course he'll come back," declared Jimmie. "He's needed here. Sincehis departure the boy he left here with me has been geezled by someone. I left him alone just a minute, and when I returned he wasn'there. They're all lost but me, and I'm from the Bowery, so nobody canlose me."

"Who was it that was taken from the camp?" asked the officer.

Jimmie hesitated, for he did not know what reply to make. These menmight be in quest of Fremont. Tempted by the large reward offered forthe capture of the boy, they might have crossed the river and followedNestor into the mountains.

On the other hand, if they were not in search of Fremont, they mightrender valuable assistance in running down the men who had taken himaway. It was rather a hard place to put the loyal little fellow, buthe proved equal to the occasion by reserving his decision until furtherinformation concerning the new arrivals should be at hand.

"His name is Smith," he replied, shortly.

"And why did these unknown people abduct Smith?" laughed the officer,who understood from the manner of the boy that the name was afictitious one.

"I don't know," was the truthful reply.

"Well, we'll look into this later on," said the officer. "Just nowwe've got to travel down this hill and see what Ned Nestor is about."

The officer talked with his men in whispers for some moments, andJimmie saw that they were all anxious about something. Finally,directing two of his men to remain under arms at the tents, he set offdown the mountain with the other four. As they disappeared Jimmiebeckoned the drummer aside.

"What do they want of Ned Nestor?" he asked.

"They want some information he has," was the reply. "They were senthere to confer with him. Did you think they were Greasers because theywore the ragged clothes over their good ones? Huh! They had to dothat, and talk Spanish, too, in order to get in here. The insurrectosthink they're new recruits."

"Who are they?" asked Jimmie. "What do they want to see Nestor for?"

"They are United States secret service men," was the reply. "They arehere on a clue provided by Nestor, and they want to confer with him, asI said before."

"Jere!" cried Jimmie. "I didn't know that Ned was in partnership withthe United States army. What is it all about?"

"You'll have to ask Ned," was the unsatisfactory reply. "He has beenkeeping the wires to Washington hot ever since he left New York, andthese men were sent here at his request. There's something doing here,but I don't know what it is."

"I thought they were here to arrest Fremont," said Jimmie. "If I hadknown who they were, I wouldn't have lied about the boy. I said hisname was Smith."

"Oh, it is George Fremont, is it?" asked the drummer. "That is the boywanted for robbery and attempted murder in New York. Did Nestor bringhim here?"

"Yes," was the reply. "He wanted to keep him away from the officersuntil the truth is known. Now he's gone and left us, and Fremont hasbeen captured."

"Perhaps United States officers captured him," suggested the drummer."If so, he is now on his way back to New York. I'm sorry."

"I don't believe civil officers got in here," said Jimmie. "When thesecret service men come back, I'm goin' to ask them to help find him. Irecon, now, that the Greasers caught him. I hope so, that is, I wouldrather they would have him than the others. We may get him away fromthe Greasers, but we couldn't get him away from officers."

A new view of the incident was now presented by one of the secretservice men, who began questioning Jimmie about the boy he had calledSmith. The boy thought best to tell him the truth, and did so.

"It may be all right," the secret service man said, after hearing thestory. "It strikes me that the Greasers mistook Fremont for Nestor.In that case, they may release him as soon as they discover theirmistake."

"Don't you ever think that," the other man cut in. "They are morelikely to stand him up against a wall and shoot him. When thelieutenant comes back we'll see what can be done about it."

"But why should the Greasers want to capture Ned Nestor?" demandedJimmie. "You said they might have mistaken Fremont for Ned."

"I can imagine that the man responsible for this gathering isinterested in papers Nestor has," was the reply.

Jimmie and the drummer were now advised to get what sleep they could,the guards explaining that they were "expecting company," and that thetalking might frighten the prospective callers away.

It was now nearing midnight, and Jimmie tried hard to lose himself insleep, but, tired as he was, this seemed to be impossible. Fremontmight be in deadly peril, and Nestor and Shaw were still unaccountablyabsent. His idea now was that the secret service man had advanced thecorrect theory regarding the abduction of Fremont. He had no doubtthat the boy had been mistaken for Nestor.

Besides, the boy's mind was naturally excited over the strangerevelations of the night. The arrival of the secret service men, theannouncement that Nestor was working with the War department, the storythat he had been in communication with the government at Washingtonever since leaving New York, the hint that he held very importantpapers in his possession, all these supplied food for thought.

Under ordinary conditions the boy would have enjoyed himself to thelimit in the mountains. He loved the forests and the wild places, thegreat spaces; he loved the light of the campfire and the rustle offoliage in the night. However, he was now by far too anxious toappreciate the outing he was having.

While he lay there trying to sleep he heard the guards whisperingtogether. They were speaking of the important part Nestor was playingin the happenings there, and the boy was proud of his association withthe resourceful patrol leader.

In a short time the boy heard the guards moving about as if actingunder strong excitement. There was also the rattle of arms, as if theywere preparing to meet an enemy.

Jimmie crept out of his blankets and crawled to the opening of thelittle tent. The guards were crouching low in the shadow of a rock,with their guns in hand, and the boy joined them.

"I thought you were asleep, kid," one of the men whispered. "Better goback to your tent. There may be shooting here."

"I didn't come down here to skulk," replied the boy, indignantly. "Arethe stragglers coming here again?"

"There is some one moving about," was the reply.

"Perhaps it is Fremont, coming back," suggested Jimmie, hoping with allhis heart that he had solved the riddle.

"If Fremont ever gets back here," the other guard observed, "we willhave to bring him back. The men who took him away doubtless thoughtthey were getting Nestor, and they will be so angry when they discovertheir mistake that the boy will receive very little consideration," wasthe discouraging explanation.

"Then we may as well be out after him," declared Jimmie. "I'm notgoin' to lie in any old tent while they are killing him. I'm going outto find him."

"In that case," said the guard, "we'll have to go and find you. Waituntil the lieutenant returns, and we'll see what can be done. He maybring Nestor with him, you know, and he can assist."

Although this seemed good sense, it did not please Jimmie at all, andhe went back to his tent resolved to get away from the guards as soonas possible and do what he could to find Fremont. At the very door ofthe tent, however, he came to a halt, for the signals were going again,and a great rocket flashed across the sky.

CHAPTER XI.

BLACK BEAR AND DIPLOMAT.

"It looks to me as if there might be civil war down here, with allthese men waiting for guns and ammunition," said Shaw, as Nestorconcluded the story of the letters which had been forwarded toWashington. "I didn't know what I was getting into when I left NewYork. I wish I could send that story to my father. What a scoop hewould have on the other newspapers!"

"That is the very last thing you should think of," declared Nestor."The publication of the story now might bring about the very thing weare trying to prevent. There is no knowing what the Texans would do ifthey learned of the plot to invade their state. We are here to defeatthe plot to arm these men who are waiting to cross the river, and notto furnish newspapers with scoops, as you call them."

"How are you going to do it?" asked the boy.

"The intention originally was to stop the purchase of arms. Thatfailing, it was determined to prevent the purchases crossing the RioGrande. If that cannot, or has not, been done, then some other meansmust be resorted to. That is why I am here, and that is why UnitedStates secret service men are waiting for me somewhere about here."

"I see," said Shaw, "and you thought your men might be down here?Well, if it is the other end of the conspiracy that we find in thiscamp, at least the other end of the Cameron robbery conspiracy—anywaynot your associates—what then?"

"I am expecting the diplomat," was the reply. "If I can't get the armsI hope to get him."

"Would that check the invasion of Texas?" asked the boy.

"It might delay it until we have a strong force on the other side ofthe river."

"I believe you mean to kidnap him," cried Shaw. "Is that right?"

"I'm going to do something to disarrange the plans of the conspirators,if I can. We don't want a war with Mexico just now. Such an eventmight bring on complications with other nations, at least with oneother nation."

"You mean Japan," cried Shaw. "I've heard that Mexico is full of Japs,all trained and ready to fight. And I've heard about a secret treatybetween Mexico and Japan, too. Let the Japs butt in, if they want to.We'll drive them into the Pacific."

"I have said nothing about Japan," replied Nestor. "I don't believehalf this sensational stuff about Japan's warlike attitude toward theUnited States that the newspapers are printing."

"Well, you didn't say Japan, but I know what you meant, all right,"declared Shaw. "How much longer are you going to watch that camp?"

"I'm not watching the camp," replied Nestor. "I'm waiting to see ifsome important individual doesn't make his appearance here, bound forthe peaks above."

"You mean the third man—the diplomat?"

"Exactly. He'll be here to-night, according to all reports. I thoughtit might be his party wig-wagging when I came here, provided it was notmy associates. If he doesn't come pretty soon I'll return to our camp.The boys will be getting anxious over our long absence."

Presently, while the two waited, a signal rocket came blazing out ofthe east, swept a wide curve in the sky, and dropped out of sight. Itwas almost immediately followed by a blue rocket, sent up from the footof the range, not very far away. Then the men in the camp below wereheard moving about.

"The fellows down there," said Shaw, "appear to be about as astonishedas we are at the display of fireworks. I don't think they are next tothis game at all. They have their minds too crowded with mine-dreamsto leave room for any international complications, I guess."

Indeed, this seemed to be the case, for the night watchman, theMexican, and the miners were now assembled in a little open spacebefore the tents, gazing perplexedly into the sky, which now showed redand blue rockets, apparently sent up in answer to each other.

"There's our third man," said Shaw, as a moving light appeared not faraway. "Listen, and you'll hear him coming."

The boy almost danced up and down in his excitement.

"Let me geezle him," he whispered. "Let me make a record for valordown here," he added, with a grin. "I might get a Carnegie medal."

"You'll probably get a bullet if you don't keep quiet," advised Nestor."Come, we may as well hide ourselves in the thicket over there andawait the turn of events."

Within ten minutes the sound of hoofs was heard, indicating the advanceof, perhaps, half a dozen horsem*n, and then came a challenge from thenight watchman's camp. There followed a short conversation in Spanish,only a portion of which Nestor could understand. However, he learnedfrom what he did hear that the party just coming in had missed a guide,and was seeking the easiest way to get to the top of the range.

After a short time the conversation suddenly changed into English, andNestor heard a soft voice ask:

"Are you going up?"

"In the morning," was the reply, in the voice of the night watchman.

"Why not go now and guide us?" came another question.

"Because we prefer to wait until morning," was the gruff reply.

"Have you seen any men going up?" was asked, then

"There are stragglers all about," was the ungracious reply. "We havebeen disturbed by them before."

There was a short silence, then a shot and a struggle.

"Say," said, Shaw, "the newcomer is tying Felix and Scoby up, and theminers have all taken to their heels. What do you think of that?"

"I think that our friend, the third man, needs a guide up the mountain,and is not at all particular how he gets one. The Mexican seems to bethe one he wants."

"He's got his nerve," Frank grinned.

"That is only his pleasant little way," replied Nestor, with a quietsmile. "He is a very arrogant fellow."

"If that is really the third man," Shaw said, presently, as thesoldiers came up the hill, Scoby and the Mexican being almost forcedalong, "we've got 'em bunched. We've got the three men who were in theCameron suite that night all in a heap. Guess you can pick out yourman now. I reckon you did some thinking before you planned this tripto Mexico, Ned."

"Don't forget that the United States secret service men had a hand inthe deal from the beginning," replied Nestor, modestly. "Within sixhours of the time I left the Cameron building I was talking withWashington. The fact that the Mexican and the night watchman are alsohere now is a lucky change, that is all. The trap was laid for thisdiplomat. The others could have been found later on."

"Oh, you didn't do a thing, I guess," laughed Shaw as the two turned upthe acclivity, planning to keep some distance in advance of the partybehind. "Say, do you think this third man recognized Scoby as a personhe had seen in the Cameron building? What? That might be one reasonfor marching the two off."

"I can't say," Nestor replied, "but the diplomat probably had his eyesopen when he was in that building. Don't ask so many questions."

Twice within a few moments the boys heard some one approaching them,coming down the mountain side at a great pace, and twice they saw a manhasten by the place where they had hastily secreted themselves andconfer with the party below.

"Spies! Messengers! Japs!" commented Shaw. "I heard that jargon in aJap restaurant in New York. What about it?"

"You are as full of the Yellow Peril scare, to-night, as thesensational newspapers," replied Nestor, as they moved on up themountain side. "We are not looking for trouble with the Japs, but wecan take care of ourselves if it ever comes."

After a time the boys paused on a ledge of rock and looked over themoonlit space about them, Nestor expectantly, Frank with apprehension.The party with the unwilling guide was now far below them, and duringthe last few moments they had walked boldly, Nestor watching for asignal which he now thought he saw.

While they stood there a light flashed for an instant in a little gullyoff to the right, and Nestor replied with a bird-call which was sonatural that Shaw gave a little start and looked about for the bird.There was another flash of light, and then five men made theirappearance. There was a further exchange of signals, and then thenewcomers advanced to where the boys stood.

"You are Ned Nestor?" the leader of the party asked.

"And you are Lieutenant Gordon?"

"The same," replied the other, grasping Nestor by the hand. "We foundyour camp but you were not there, so we came on down to the place wherethe boy said you had gone."

"Weren't there two boys there?" asked Frank, a sudden fear grippinghim. "We left two there."

"I'm sorry to say that we found only one," replied Lieutenant Gordon."The other had been kidnapped, the little fellow said."

"Come on, then," Shaw shouted, speeding away as rapidly as the natureof the ground would permit. "We've got to go and find him. Was itFremont who was taken?" he added, turning back for a moment.

"The boy we saw told us his name was Smith," laughed the lieutenant.

"He probably thought you were after Fremont," Nestor said. "We musthasten up there, after we do a little important business here."

Lieutenant Gordon and the patrol leader conferred together for sometime, and then instructing Shaw to make his way to the camp as quicklyas possible, the little force of six awaited the arrival of the otherparty. In half an hour they came up, panting, their horses having beenleft behind as not being adapted to mountain work. When they steppedout on a little plateau they found themselves looking into the muzzlesof six automatic revolvers, held in the hands of the civil service menand Nestor.

"You are Don Miguel?" asked the lieutenant of a tall, well-dressed manwho was in the lead.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" demanded the man addressed. "Weare citizens of Mexico, going about our legitimate business."

"You are mistaken," replied the lieutenant, grimly. "You three,"indicating Don Miguel, Felix and Scoby, "are citizens of the UnitedStates. We are in the secret service of your government, and place youunder arrest for treason and robbery. Take their weapons, Charley," headded, addressing one of his men, "and if one of the soldiers lifts ahand, shoot."

The weapons were quickly surrendered, the soldiers standing aside withfright in their faces. Then Lieutenant Gordon and Nestor held a shortbut earnest conversation with Don Miguel, at the termination of whichthe latter ordered his soldiers back to the valley, "to await theexecution of plans now proposed," as he said.

"It is an outrage," Don Miguel complained, as the soldiers disappeared,"and my government shall hear of it. You shall all suffer for what youare doing."

"You are a naturalized citizen of the United States," the lieutenantrepeated, "and you are under arrest for treason. The others are heldfor attempted murder and robbery. Now, this being understood, we mayas well proceed to camp."

The night watchman and the Mexican also made vigorous protests againsttheir arrest, but no attention was paid to them. Nestor was at thattime too anxious over Fremont's disappearance to halt for a lengthyexplanation.

CHAPTER XII.

WOLF AND PANTHER AFTER BEAR.

When the rocket flared across the sky Jimmie rushed into the tent wherethe drummer was sleeping and shook him savagely.

"Get up an' blow out the gas!" he cried, as the boy gasped and sat up,rubbing his eyes. "Get up!"

"This must be the Fourth of July," the drummer grunted, as anotherrocket, this time a blue one, flashed across the zenith. "What's doing?"

"They're bombardin' us with red an' blue fire," whispered Jimmie! "Getup. I'm goin' out to see what's comin' off here. Want to go?"

"Of course I want to go," replied Peter. "I didn't come down here tosleep my head off, did I? Shall I take my drum?"

Jimmie sat down on the ground and chuckled.

"You an' your drum!" he exclaimed, being careful to speak in a tonewhich would not reach the ears of the guards.

"That is a fine drum," urged Peter, the drummer.

"What do you want to lug it around for, then?" demanded Jimmie. "Theywon't let you beat on it."

"That's what I came down here for—to drum," was the impatient reply."Think I came down here to get my hair cut?"

"You may get it cut off under your chin before you get back to theGreat White Way," Jimmie said. "This is no joke."

"I haven't had a chance to drum since I got here," complained the boy."The time you heard me is the only one. That's rotten!"

"Why did they let you drum then?" asked Jimmie.

"I just rolled it out before they could stop me."

"I was wondering," Jimmie said, with a sly smile, "if these secretservice men went sleuthing with a brass band ahead of them."

"Indeed they don't!" declared the drummer, in defense of his friends."They found me broke and lost and picked me up, which was mighty goodof them. Say," he added, with a slight scowl on his face, "this is afine, large country to get lost in."

"I should think so," agreed Jimmie. "I wasn't lost, but I hadn't anymore money than—than—than a—a—a rabbit when I found Fremont and Nedat El Paso. And my clothes looked like they'd come out of a ragbag.Wore 'em out reclinin' in my side-door Pullman."

"You're fixed up all right now for clothes," observed the drummer,looking the boy's well-dressed, muscular figure over with approvingeyes.

"George Fremont bought these," said Jimmie, looking down at his suit."All right, ain't it? I'm goin' to pay him back when I get to workingagain. I don't want anybody to give me anything."

"Lieutenant Gordon's son is a patrol leader at Washington," the drummersaid, after a thoughtful pause, "and I suppose that's the reason hehelped me out. I reckon a Boy Scout can find friends in any part ofthe world, if he is deserving of them. I found a Mexican boy, overhere in the hills, who belongs to a patrol he calls the Owl. We maymeet him if we remain about here very long."

"A Boy Scout who is on the square won't have trouble in gettingthrough," Jimmie observed, "but we've got to be moving. I imagine theguards want us to remain here, so we'll have to sneak off if we leavecamp. The guards seem to think we couldn't find our way back. We'llshow 'em."

Without further words the boys crept out of the tent, waited until theguards were at the other end of the little valley, and dashed away intoa shadowy place behind a rock, which they had no difficulty in leaving,presently, without being seen.

Once away from the tents, they turned toward the high peak from whichthe rockets had been sent up. The way was steep and rough, and it washard climbing, and more than once they stopped to rest. It was, as hasbeen said, a brilliant moonlit night, and, from the elevation where theboys were, the valley below lay like a silver-land of promise.

"It is a beautiful country," the drummer said, as they paused to reston a small shelf in the rock. "It is a rich and fertile country, too,one of the most desirable in the world, but I'm afraid the people don'tget much out of life here."

"They are selfish and cruel," Jimmie said, "and no nation of thatstripe ever prospered. What they need here is less strong drink andmore school-houses—more real freedom and less mere show of republicangovernment. We read up on Mexico in the Wolf Patrol when this troublebroke out. We always do that—keep track of what's going on in theworld, I mean."

"I know something about the country, too," the drummer said, looking inadmiration down on the beautiful valley below, bathed in the sweetmoonlight, "and sometimes I wonder that the people are as decent asthey are. Although they have never had much of a show, and althoughthey come, many of them, of rude ancestors, the people of Mexicocompare favorably with those of other countries."

The boys climbed on again, mounting higher and higher, their aim beingto gain the very top of the ridge. After half an hour's hard work theystopped and sat down, to look over the valley again.

"There are no written records of the origin of these people," thedrummer said, almost as if thinking aloud. "No one knows the origin ofthe people. Cortez found them here when he arrived with his brutalsoldiers. All that is known is that the inhabitants came from theNorth."

"Twice the country was populated from the North," Jimmie put in, thereadings at the Wolf Patrol club coming back to his mind. "Now I wonderwhy, in reading history, we always find that invaders came from theNorth?"

"I've read," the drummer went on, quite enthusiastic over the subjectin hand, "that the present North Polar regions were tropical intemperature and in animal and vegetable life, a long time ago."

"Yes, they find there, skeletons of animals which now exist only in thetropics," said Jimmie, "and tropical trees deep under the ice. Theearth, they say, shifted in its orbit and it grew cold up there. Iguess that is why we read of people always coming down from the North."

"They had to get out of the North," the drummer mused, "because duringthe Glacial period an ice-cap miles in thickness covered the world downas far as the dividing line between the British possessions and theUnited States. That is the way California and Mexico and CentralAmerica were populated, anyhow."

"You mean that the immediate ancestors of the people of those countriescame from the North," Jimmie criticized. "For all we know, the peoplewho lived before them came from the South. They left no records toshow that they ever existed, but the earth was not bare of animal lifeback of the period our scientists figure from."

"The first ones came from the East, by way of Iceland, Greenland, andBaffinland; from the Eastern continent, and about the vicinity of theCaspian sea, and so kept on South on this continent as the climate grewcolder. But we were talking of the people of Mexico. I wanted to showyou that they have never been favored as the people of our countryhave, and that they've got years of national childhood to go throughyet before they become a great people."

"Go on and tell me about it," urged Jimmie. "We may learn as muchabout what's going on here by sitting on this plateau as we could byclimbing our heads off."

The boys listened a moment, but there were no suspicious sounds about.The mountain lay as silent under the moon as if no human foot had everpressed its surface. There were lights far down in the valley, butnone on the slopes in view.

"About as far back as the books go in Mexican history," the drummerbegan, "is the seventh century, even when England wasn't much. Aboutthat time the Toltecs came out of the North and took possession of thevalley where the City of Mexico now is. They were industrious,peaceful and skilled in many of the arts. They kept their records inhieroglyphics.

"They had a year made up of eighteen months of twenty days each, theother five and a fraction being chucked into the calendar any old way.They knew about the stars and eclipses, and built great cities.

"When they build their temples, it is said, they found ruins of othertemples beneath them. And the ones who built the temples, the ruins ofwhich the Toltecs found, doubtless found ruins of temples when theybegan to dig. It is wonderful. The ages and ages that have gone by,with new civilizations growing up and dying out."

"I feel like I was in a land older than the solar system," said Jimmie."What became of the Toltecs?"

"They were crowded out by the Aztecs somewhere about the twelfthcentury. The Aztecs were warlike and cruel. It is said that theymurdered twenty thousand victims a year on the altars of their gods.They were able people, too, but murderous in all their instincts. Theywere cultivated to a degree far above the other peoples of the NorthAmerican continent at that time, but they lacked the feelings ofhumanity as expressed to-day.

"They built temples—mounds of clay faced with brick, surmounted bygreat towers where the priests dwelt. It was at the summits of thesemounds, on a sacrificial stone, before all the people who could get inview, that the victims of their religious frenzy were slain.

"Then Cortes came, in fifteen hundred and something, and the deluge ofblood began. If you have read up on the subject at all, you doubtlessknow how merciless the Spaniards were in their attitude toward theAztecs. They killed them by thousands, in open battle and bytreacherous means, and they tortured Aztec priests to force them toreveal the places where the vessels of gold used in worship were hidden.

"It is easy to see where the modern Mexican gets his ideas ofamusem*nt, as shown in the bull fight. The Aztec-Spanish blood isstill in his veins. Of course there are cultured and refined Mexicans,but the great mass of the people are pretty primitive. Outside thecities, in many instances, old tribal relations continue, and thepeople are unsettled in habitation as well as in spirit, selfish andcruel, too.

"One revolution after another—brought about by unscrupulous leaders inthe hope of personal gain—has devastated the country. It seems easyto stir up a revolution in Mexico, for the people are volcanic intemperament, like the earth under their feet, and their eruptions donot always follow usual lines, either, but break out in unexpectedplaces and for unheard of reasons—just as the volcanoes refuse tofollow the central mountain chains, but break out in undreamed oflocalities."

"It requires a strong hand to rule such a people," Jimmie mused. "Iguess Diaz has troubles of his own."

"There is no doubt of it," the drummer continued. "In future yearsMexico will become one of the garden spots of the world. It is clearwhy one people after another selected the Valley of Mexico for theirabiding place. But blood will tell for evil as well as for good, andthe bad strain here must be thinned down. The hills are rich inminerals, and the valleys are fertile, and all the land needs is a raceof steady, patient workers—fewer bull fights and less pulque and moredays' work."

As the drummer ceased speaking, Jimmie laid a warning hand on hisshoulder and bent his head forward in a listening attitude.

"Listen!" he said. "There are men talking just over that slope."

CHAPTER XIII.

CAPTURED THE WRONG BOY.

As the boys listened voices came distinctly to their ears. It wasevident that the men who were talking had only recently arrived at thespot where they stood, for all had been quiet a short time before.

The boys crept closer and saw a party of rough-looking natives gatheredabout an evil-looking man, who appeared to be an Englishman, and aslender figure which Jimmie had no difficulty in recognizing as that ofGeorge Fremont. The sinister Englishman, undoubtedly the leader of theparty, was a giant of a fellow.

As the boys looked, he reached forth a great hand and, seizing Fremontby one shoulder, shook him fiercely. Then it was seen that Fremont'shands were tied behind his back. Jimmie started forward,involuntarily, at sight of the brutality of the act, but the drummerdrew him back.

"You'll have to remain quiet," the latter said, "if you want to helpyour friend. We can't fight the whole party. Have you a gun with you?"

Jimmie nodded and laid a hand on his hip.

"I am unarmed," the other said, in a minute, "and so couldn't do muchin a fight; so, perhaps I'd better go down and bring up the guards."

"Just the thing," whispered Jimmie. "I'll remain with this gang ofbandits and manage to leave a trail that can be followed if they leavethe place. Go on down an' bring the guards. And," he added, a halfsmile on his anxious face, "don't forget to bring your drum."

"My drum!" repeated the other, in amazement. "What is the good ofbringing a drum, I'd like to know?"

"Bring it, anyway," directed Jimmie. "If you hear a shot up here, playit to beat a band. Beat it for keeps. Rattle off a charge, and make anoise like a regiment of cavalry. And if you can't make good timeclimbing down, slip on a rock an' roll down. Somethin' must be donequick!"

"I don't believe they will shoot him," the drummer said, tentatively,hesitating for an instant.

"If that big lobster gives the order to do it," Jimmie said, his eyesflashing, "I'll get him before the order can be obeyed. They may getme after that, but I'll have the satisfaction of knowin' that I got tohim first. Now, run!"

The dawn was strong in the east when the drummer disappeared down theside of the mountain. It had been an eventful night, a long one to theboy standing there watching for an opportunity of making his presenceknown to the prisoner. There was a deal of talking going on in thegroup about the prisoner, but Jimmie could catch only part of what wassaid.

The soldiers—if the ragged, sullen-looking natives might so betermed—talked fast and in a villainous tongue which did not seem to beSpanish. They appeared to be greatly excited, and it was only when theheavy voice of the leader boomed forth that they reverted to silence.

Jimmie could not understand what the prisoner had been brought therefor. If the idea of his captors was to restore him to his friends,that would be the work of only a minute. They would only have to cutthe bonds and Fremont would do the rest. If the idea was to murderhim, why the delay? It had been hours since his capture, and it wouldhave taken only a minute to discover that the wrong boy had been taken.

If, as Jimmie considered gravely, the big man should prove to be acivil officer from Texas, a a man with a warrant for Fremont, then itseemed that he would be getting him across the border as quickly aspossible, taking no chances with slow Mexican criminal procedure. Thislast view of the case was the one which Jimmie feared most. He might beable to get his friend away from Mexican bandits, but not from a Texassheriff.

The next words of the leader settled every doubt on the question theboy was puzzling over. Although they showed that Fremont was inimmediate peril of his life, the watcher was in a measure relieved atthe knowledge they brought him. So long as Fremont was held a prisonerby those who were breaking and not enforcing the law in doing so, therewas hope of rescue.

"Nestor," the Englishman said, thrusting his bewhiskered face into thatof Fremont, "tell me where the papers are, and I'll set you free in aninstant."

"I know nothing about the papers you speak of," was the reply. "I havenever had them in my possession."

The renegade whispered with his companions for a moment. Jimmie couldnot hear what was being said, but the soldiers seemed to be insistingon some point which the leader was not quite certain of. Then thelatter asked:

"You are certain you made no mistake?"

The others nodded and pointed at Fremont.

"It is as you commanded," one of them said, in fair English.

Then the big man turned back to the prisoner, an ugly frown on hisrepulsive face.

"You are not telling me the truth," he said. "You know well enoughwhere the papers are. It is useless for you to deny."

The leader believed the prisoner to be Nestor. That was plain now.And Fremont had been captured by these brigands in the absence of theleader, and he was taking their word that they had abducted the rightboy. This might account for the delay. The leader might have joinedhis men only now.

"I don't know anything about the papers," insisted Fremont.

"Huh!" muttered Jimmie, from his hiding place. "Why don't he tell hisnobbs who he is? Then he might be released."

Jimmie did not know that Fremont had long been considering this verypoint, and finally decided that the correct course for him to pursuewould be to permit his captor to remain in ignorance of his identity.The instant he knew that his brigands had made a mistake, the fellowwould be out after Nestor with a larger force, and that would make itdangerous for the boy, would hamper him in the work he was there to do.Besides, he believed that the course he proposed would gain time, andthat Nestor would certainly come to his rescue.

"You are making a mistake," the big man threatened, as Fremont againdenied knowledge of the papers. "You are known to have been in theCameron building that night. You are known to have taken the papersaway from there, and to have made use of them. I won't say whattreacherous use now. If the papers are not on your person, they arehidden somewhere."

Fremont only shook his head. In the growing light Jimmie could seethat he was very pale, that he seemed tired out, as if he had beentraveling all night. However, the white face he saw had a determinedlook, and Jimmie marveled at the mental processes which should soobstinately defend a wrong idea, which, of course, he only guessed.

"Everything you have done since you left the building that night isknown to me," the big man went on. "You deserve death for the marplotthat you are, but I will release you if you will restore the papers."

Fremont made no reply whatever to this. As a matter of fact, he didnot even know the nature of the papers which were so in demand, Nestorhaving told him little of his real mission to Mexico. In the meantimeJimmie way trying in every way he could think of, without revealing hispresence, to catch Fremont's eye and make him understand that help wasat hand, and that he ought to reveal his identity and so create delay,as well as escape whatever cruelty the big fellow had in store for theboy he was being mistaken for.

"I'll give you three minutes, Nestor," the leader finally said, "totell me where the papers are. At the end of that time, if you remainobstinate, I'll order you shot. Decide!"

Jimmie twisted and wiggled about until he became fearful that the noisehe was making must disclose his presence, but Fremont did not cast alook in his direction. The leader stood grimly in the foreground withwatch in hand. The seconds seemed to Jimmie to be running by like amill-race.

"Two minutes."

Fremont's face did not change, except for a slight tightening of thelips. Jimmie listened intently for the sound of a drum on the mountainside below. It now was quite light, and the watcher could see everymovement made by the men he believed to be brigands and their prisoner.A chill of terror ran through his veins as he saw the ragged squadexamining their guns as if they expected to use them at the expirationof two more minutes.

"One minute."

The leader snapped out the words viciously; his evil eyes sparred foran instant with those of his captive and were then lowered to theground. Jimmie took his revolver from his pocket and held it ready foraction. As he had declared to the drummer, it was his deliberateintention to shoot the leader an instant before he gave the order tofire. He knew that the discharge would point out his place ofconcealment, and did not doubt that the volley intended for Fremontwould be turned upon himself, but the knowledge did not swerve him fromhis purpose.

He counted the next seconds by his own fierce heart-beats. Thirty-four.Thirty-five. Thirty-six. It seemed to him that a second was never soshort before. At sixty he would fire if he saw no evidence ofweakening in Fremont. And he did not believe that Fremont wouldweaken. He was coming to understand that Fremont was obsessed with theidea that he was protecting Nestor by the course he was taking. Thisbeing true, he would remain loyal to the very end.

Thirty-nine. The leader seemed about to lift his hand as a signal forthe squad to level their guns, when a shout came from up the slope, anda figure every whit as ragged and disreputable in appearance as the mengathered about the prisoner swung into sight, leaping over ledges andlifting voice and hand in warning as he advanced.

The men, now swinging their guns into position, paused and held themmotionless while they gazed at the intruder. The leader shifted aboutuneasily and muttered something under his breath. Released, for themoment at least, from the strain he had been under, Jimmie dropped backin his hiding place, his weapon clattering to the ground. It was notthe fact of his own peril that had wrought him up to the point ofbreaking, but the thought that it might be necessary for him to take ahuman life.

It seemed to the boy that there was displeasure half hidden in theleader's manner as he conferred with the messenger. He did not appearto approve of the interruption.

"Why didn't you tell me that you had made a mistake and taken the wrongboy?" he demanded, then turning to the men. "Why didn't you tell methis was not Nestor?"

The men made no reply except that one of them grumbled that they hadcaptured the boy whose description they had been given, and the leaderturned to Fremont.

"Why didn't you declare your identity?" he demanded.

"I had no reason to believe that anything I could say would becredited," was the cool reply. "You saw fit to disbelieve what I saidabout the papers."

"What is your name?" the other asked, laying a hand on the boy's arm.

Fremont remained silent, but the messenger stepped forward and declaredthat he knew the fellow well by sight, and that his name was GeorgeFremont.

"Is that true?" demanded the renegade, and Fremont nodded.

Somehow it seemed to Jimmie that the renegade expected the answer thathe had received, and that he way angry with the messenger for bringingout the boy's name. At any rate he glanced furtively at his men as thename was mentioned.

"And so," he said, then, "you are the boy wanted in New York forattempted murder and robbery? The boy with a reward of $10,000 on hishead."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE CASE IS WELL STATED.

It was a long, tedious climb back up the side of the slope. With almostevery step the night watchman and the Mexican clamored for a hearing,for details of the charge against them, but they met with scantcourtesy. Both Nestor and Lieutenant Gordon understood that they werefearful that they were to be taken at once back to New York, in whichcase they would be deprived of a chance to plunder the hidden mine,which they had come so far to find. Nestor had explained, verybriefly, to the lieutenant that the Mexican and the watchman were therein quest of treasure, but had not confided to him the whole story ofthe Cameron tragedy, it being separate and distinct from the issuewhich had brought the secret service men to Mexico.

Don Miguel maintained a dignified silence—as dignified as a pantingman can hold—through-out the tiresome journey, except on one occasion.Once, while the night watchman was violently demanding informationconcerning the crime with which he was to be charged, the diplomatasked:

"Why are you so silent concerning the man's alleged crime? It appearsto me that you are conducting an abduction rather than an arrest. I,also, am anxious to know something of the charges against me."

"You shall know in good time," replied the lieutenant.

"I believe," Don Miguel went on, "that I can convince even you,prejudiced though you are, that you are making a great mistake—acostly mistake, both for yourself and your government."

"When we reach the tents I will listen to you," was the short reply,and the little party went on its way in silence for a long time, silentsave for the mutterings of the Mexican and his fellow-conspirator, asNestor believed the watchman to be.

Moonlight lay like a silver mist over the stubborn paths the party wasfollowing. Moving objects could be observed at a great distance, wherethe character of the surface permitted, and now and then moving bodiesof men were discernible on the slopes of faraway peaks. Don Miguel'sdusky face seemed to brighten, his eyes to gather almost a smile,whenever such parties were seen. It was plain to his captors that helooked upon the wandering bands as friendly to his interests.

Always the marching men—if scrambling up a mountain side inundignified positions may justly be described as marching—were headedfor heights above. All were proceeding as silently as possible, too,and that gave an air of secrecy, of mystery, to the wild scenery andthe romantic moonlight. Occasionally the flickering gold of acamp-fire mingled with the silver of the moon.

Just before dawn, when the members of the party were nearly ready todrop from exhaustion, a sharp challenge rang out ahead, and LieutenantGordon gave a word which caused a cautious guard to withdraw histhreatening gun, and to hasten forward to greet his chief. With hisfirst breath he asked a question.

"Have you seen anything of those confounded boys?"

"The drummer and the Bowery lad?" asked the lieutenant. "Why, we leftthem with you when we went down the hill."

"Well, they're gone!" exclaimed the guard, despondently.

"Gone!" repeated Nestor, stepping forward. "Where have they gone? Hasanything been heard of Fremont?"

"Not a word," said the guard, answering only the last question. "It ismy idea that the other boys sneaked off in the hope of finding him. Isent them into one of the tents to sleep, and when I looked in a shorttime later, they were not there."

"It is certain that they were not carried off?" asked Lieutenant Gordon.

"Certain," was the reply. "We watched the tents every second."

"And yet the boys got away without being seen," said the lieutenant,angrily.

"I don't see how they did it," was the abashed reply.

"I have little doubt that they have been carried away by the men whocaptured Fremont," Nestor said, gravely. "Still, it may be that theyhave only wandered off in search of the boy. It is a serioussituation."

"The mountain is swarming with men," the lieutenant said. "The onlywonder is that we have not been attacked. I fear that the boys havebeen captured, even if they only wandered away to look for theirfriend."

Nestor walked restlessly about the little camp for a moment and thenlooked into the two tents, as if expecting to find some one there.

"Where is Shaw?" he asked, then, alarm in his voice. "Where is the boywe sent on ahead of us? He must have reached here a long time ago."

The guards looked surprised at the question.

"Why," one of them said, "no one came here from below but yourselves.We have seen no one."

Nestor stood for a moment as if he thought the men were playing a trickon him, then the gravity of the situation asserted itself. Whatmischief was afoot in the mountains? Why had the boys disappeared,while there had been no attempt to obstruct the passage of the secretservice men as they moved about?

"It seems, then, that there is another lost boy," said LieutenantGordon. "That makes four. It is most remarkable."

"Yes," said Nestor, "Fremont, Jimmie, Shaw, and this drummer you toldme about. I think we have our work cut out for us now."

"It is the second time Peter Fenton has been lost to-night," Gordonsaid, with a smile. "He was lost and we found him—lost and hungry,but full of courage."

"Peter Fenton!" exclaimed Nestor. "I know him well as a member of thePanther Patrol. A bright boy, and full of information concerningMexico. I have often heard him speak of this country. Well, let ushope that the four boys are all together, wherever they are. It seemsstrange that the outlaws should go about picking up boys."

"It will soon be daylight now," Lieutenant Gordon said, "and then we'llsee what we can do. It may be that the lads will return and bringFremont with them, though that is almost too much to hope for. Anyway,it seems to me that we have accomplished the principal object of ourjourney here," he added, with a glance at Don Miguel.

The diplomat turned about and faced the lieutenant with a sneer on hisface.

"You are not the only one who is making progress here to-night," hesaid. "If you wish the return of your friends, release me and I willrestore them to you."

"I think we'll take chances on finding the boys," Gordon said. "Youare wanted very particularly at Washington."

"Then permit me to send word to my friends," urged Don Miguel. "I cancause the patriots who doubtless have the boys to return them to you.Odd that they should have carried them off," he added, with a scowl.

The man's inference was that the boys were being held as hostages, butthis Nestor did not believe. Fremont had been taken away before thearrest of Don Miguel.

"That would be a very good move—for your interest," Nestor said, inreply to the suggestion. "As the lieutenant says, we prefer to take ourchances on finding the boys. Your friends might want to interfere withyour trip to Washington if they knew our intentions concerning you."

"You will soon see your mistake," was the significant reply.

During this talk the night watchman and the Mexican had remainedsilent, but it was plain that they had not lost a word that had beensaid. Especially when the talk of restoring Fremont to his friends wasgoing on, the watchman had cast significant glances at Felix.

"Was it a part of the conspiracy," Nestor asked, facing the three men,"to abduct Fremont if he left New York? Or was it the intention tomurder him there?"

Don Miguel turned to Nestor with a sneer on his rather handsome face.It was evident that he did not relish being questioned by a mere youth.

"I know nothing of the urchin to whom you refer," he said, scornfully."I do not deal with precocious infants."

Nestor checked an angry rejoinder, and Don Miguel directed hisattention to Lieutenant Gordon, whom he seemed to consider more worthyof his notice.

"Down there on the mountain side," the diplomat said, "you promised tofurther inform me as to the reasons for my being held a prisoner,deprived of freedom of action. I am waiting for you to speak."

Lieutenant Gordon smiled and referred the diplomat back to the boy.

"I know very little about the matter," he said. "I am working underorders from Washington, definite orders, which leave me virtually underthe direction of Mr. Nestor. If you ask him to do so, he may bewilling to go into the details of the matter with you."

"Must I deal with the infant class in such an important matter?"demanded the other. "Then perhaps, you will condescend to do as thelieutenant suggests," he added, turning back to Nestor, with a look ofhelpless rage on his face.

"I have no objection whatever," replied Nestor, seeing in the request achance to inform the lieutenant, in the presence of the prisoner, ofthe exact status of the case, and also to observe the effect upon thelatter of a statement dealing with the particulars of his treasonableactions.

"Proceed, then, my boy," said Don Miguel, patronizingly.

"A few weeks ago," Nestor began, only smiling at the weak condescensiondisplayed, "you entered into correspondence with Mr. Cameron, of NewYork City, with reference to the purchase of arms and ammunition inlarge quantities. At first your letters met with prompt answers, forMr. Cameron was in the business of selling the class of goods you hadopened negotiations for. Then your letters grew confidential, finallysuggesting a private arrangement between Mr. Cameron and yourself underwhich the arms and ammunition to be purchased were to be delivered tosecret agents on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande."

Don Miguel's face was now working convulsively, his hands, clenched,were fanning the air in denial, and it seemed as if he would springupon the boy.

"It is false!" he shouted. "All false!"

"Suspicious that the arms and ammunition were to be used against hisown country, Mr. Cameron drew you out on this point, how cleverly youwell know, until the whole plot lay revealed. You were purchasing thegoods in the interest of a junta which proposed to arm such outlaws andrag-a-muffins as could be assembled, and to send them across the RioGrande on a hostile mission in the guise of Mexican soldiers."

"False! False!" almost howled the diplomat. "How is it that you, aboy, a mere child, who should be with his mother in the nursery, shouldknow such things?" he demanded; then seeing his error, he added,"should place such a construction on a plain business transaction?"

"It was the purpose of this junta," Nestor went on, not noticing theinterruption, "in marching this ragged army across the border toprecipitate war between the United States and Mexico. With an invaderon their soil, the members of the junta reasoned, all Mexicans wouldflock to the standard of their country, and the war with the UnitedStates would be fought out by a united Mexico."

"Lies! Lies!"

Don Miguel was now walking fiercely about the little dent in the sideof the mountain where the camp was built, pressing close to the loadedguns of the guards, each time, before he turned back to swing and raveover the ground again.

"This very pretty conspiracy to involve the United States in a war withMexico," Nestor continued, "was unwittingly foiled by a desperatecrime—perhaps committed by yourself."

CHAPTER XV.

ACCUSING EACH OTHER.

Don Miguel stopped in his nervous pacing of the small space in front ofthe tents and thrust his passion-swept face to within a foot of that ofthe speaker.

"A desperate crime!" he repeated. "Do you have the temerity to mentionmy name in connection with crime?"

"On the night of your visit to Mr. Cameron," Nestor went on, coolly,"you dined at one of the famous lobster palaces on Times Square. Earlyin the evening, let us say not far from nine o'clock, you left therestaurant and took a cab for the Cameron building. You spoke bothFrench and Spanish to the driver, as well as English, and tipped himliberally, paying the charge in gold."

Don Miguel swung away again, his face expressive of a desire to domurder.

"You found Mr. Cameron in his office," Nestor continued, "busy with thepapers of the Tolford estate. There are only two persons who know whattook place at that interview, Mr. Cameron and yourself, but we arecertain that the purpose of it was to urge Mr. Cameron to complete thecontract for munitions of war which was under discussion. It is alsoquite likely that, failing in this, you sought the return of thecompromising letters which you had written to him."

The enraged diplomat made a desperate dash for the freedom of thehills, such a short distance away, but was brought back by aguard—brought back almost frenzied with the hate of the boy thatpossessed him.

"Sit down," thundered the lieutenant. "Another break of that kind willlead to handcuffs."

Don Miguel obeyed, throwing himself on the ground as far as possiblefrom his accuser. With a smile Nestor moved closer to him and went on.

"You did not get the letters. They are now safe in the vaults of theWar department. Why you did not secure them I cannot say, for theywere later found on the desk. One strong point in your favor, when theaccusation is weighed, is that you did not take the letters. Had youleft Mr. Cameron unconscious, you certainly would have secured them."

The harassed man lifted his eyes as if about to comment on the spokenwords, but finally decided to remain silent.

"Mr. Cameron was attacked that night by some person having murder inhis heart, and an innocent boy is accused of the crime. As I stated amoment ago, the fact that the incriminating letters were not takenspeaks in your defense, still, you might have been frightened awayafter striking the blow."

Jim Scoby and Felix, who had been listening intently to theconversation, now whispered together for a moment, glancingmalevolently toward Don Miguel as they did so. The latter saw thelooks of hate and said a few words in Spanish which Nestor could notunderstand.

It seemed to the boy that the three men were endeavoring to arrive atsome mutual defensive understanding with each other, so he askedLieutenant Gordon to separate them. He did not propose to have anysecret compact made there before his eyes.

"But there is still another view of the case," Nestor continued, afterlistening for a moment to the enraged protests of the three prisoners,who objected to the action that had been taken, "for, even if you didnot attack Mr. Cameron, you might have sent some person in to do thework after your departure. You might have depended upon thisaccomplice to secure the letters. I don't know. The courts must decide.

"Anyway, whether you left Mr. Cameron in an unconscious state or not,his suite was visited by others soon after your departure. At leasttwo persons were there, but I do not know whether they entered at thesame moment or not. These men copied a paper they found in the Tolfordestate envelope—the description of a lost mine—and went away. WhenFremont entered the rooms, after all these visits, he found Mr. Cameronunconscious.

"It seems reasonable to suppose that one of you three men attacked Mr.Cameron—either Jim Scoby, Felix, or yourself, Don Miguel. We do notknow which one dealt the blow, or whether you were all in theconspiracy against him, so we are taking you back to New York fortrial. The matter of treason against you can be taken up later on."

"Your story is not exact, and your suppositions are forced," Don Miguelsaid, with a sneer, as if about to confound the conclusions of the boywith the logic of a man. "As purchasing agent for a perfectlylegitimate concern, I visited that suite that night in the interest ofthe contract referred to by you. I was disappointed in the outcome ofthe negotiations, but I did not ask for the letters. They wereconfidential, and Mr. Cameron promised to regard them as such. When Ileft his office, Mr. Cameron was at work at his desk. That is all Ihave to say."

"And I was in that suite that night," Jim Scoby broke in. "I went inwith a key I had had made, for the night-lock was on. I found Cameronunconscious on the couch. Felix, the man who sits there, entered withme. We were after the mine paper, and we got a copy of it. He willtell you whether what I have said is the truth."

"What Scoby says is the truth," Felix grunted.

The three prisoners had the earnestness of men telling the truth. Theyadmitted having visited the Cameron suite on the night of the tragedy,and told how and why they went there. At least they gave good reasonsfor going, that of Don Miguel being legitimate, that of the othersbased on crime, for they admitted that they went there to steal a paperfrom the Tolford estate envelope, or, at least, to copy it.

The three admitted all that Nestor had discovered, and nothing else.Was this because they knew that he was certain of his facts regardingthe visits and the men who had made them? Anyway, there was no disputeas to the details. It was the important conclusion that was denied.

"If you found Mr. Cameron lying there unconscious," Nestor asked ofScoby, "why didn't you summon help? You had no cause for enmityagainst him, had you?"

"I wasn't there as first aid to the wounded," replied Scoby, sullenly."I was there on business, and in danger of being caught at it, at that.Besides, I looked Cameron over, and thought he was out for the countand nothing more. Why don't you ask that foxy-looking guy over there,"pointing to Don Miguel, "what he done it for?"

Don Miguel glared at Scoby, but said nothing.

"He says Cameron was well and hearty when he went in there. Well,Cameron wasn't well at all when he went in there, and I don't believethere was anybody in there between us. You search him for a reason."

"Were the lights on when you went in there?" asked Nestor.

"Yes," was the reply.

"And you switched them off?"

Scoby nodded and glanced toward Felix,

"How long was it after you left the room that Fremont came up?"

Both men refused to make any definite statement as to this, and Nestorsaw that they were concealing something, that he had struck a featureof the case upon which they had made no agreement as to what should betold and what kept secret.

"These men are trying to put their crime on me," Don Miguel now said,fury in his tone. "They know that I left Mr. Cameron working at hisdesk. They were in the corridor and saw me pass down the elevator,which was making its last trip at that moment. They were whispering ina corner, in sight of the door to the Cameron suite. They tookadvantage of circ*mstances to place the crime on me."

This was what Nestor was aiming at. The three men, the only ones therethat night, so far as he knew, were quarreling with each other. Thiswould help in bringing out the truth. He decided to talk no more onthe case for the time being.

"We ought to be looking up the boys," he said, by way of changing thesubject.

"It will be daylight very soon now," Lieutenant Gordon replied, "andthen something may be done. Rest assured that we shall do all we canto bring them back."

"It appears to me," Nestor said, thoughtfully, "that you ought to begetting these prisoners over the river."

"Yes, that is important," said the lieutenant.

"We do not know what is going on over there," the boy continued. "Thearms which this man succeeded in purchasing may be on this side, forall we know. In that case, war may break out at any moment."

"Perhaps I would better start at once," agreed the lieutenant.

"Our boys over the river are prepared for a raid?" asked Nestor.

"Yes, all ready."

"Then you would better get the prisoners over before the troublebegins."

He turned to Don Miguel with a smile and asked:

"How is it? Were the arms you bought delivered on this side, or didthe United States troops stop them?"

"They were to have been sent across last night," with a grin of triumph.

"And the signal from the peak shortly after midnight?"

"The O.K. signal meant that the men were there ready to receive them."

"Then you anticipate rescue almost immediately?" asked LieutenantGordon.

Don Miguel shrugged his slender shoulders.

"The hills are full of men," he said. "If they are armed—well."

"And you will accompany us? asked Gordon of Nestor.

"I shall remain here and look after my friends," was the reply. "Afterall, one may be able to accomplish more than half a dozen. Get theprisoners over the border before the shooting begins, and I will findthe lost boys."

When the secret service men turned down the slope, Nestor moved towardthe summit.

CHAPTER XVI.

WOLVES ON THE MOUNTAIN.

"And so you are George Fremont, the scoundrel wanted by the police ofNew York City for attempted murder and robbery—the rascal for whosecapture there is a reward of $10,000 offered!"

As the renegade repeated the accusation, his eyes flashed malignantly.Fremont listened silently, apparently unmoved by the vilifying words.

A moment's reflection convinced Jimmie—still observing the group fromthe shelter of his rocky hiding place—that the arrival of themessenger had slightly improved the situation so far as the interestsof his friends were concerned. The critical moment had for the presentpassed or been delayed, and the prisoner was no longer threatened withimmediate death. Jimmie, too, had been temporarily relieved of theresponsibility of the act he had decided upon—the shooting of therenegade if he lifted an arm to signal the murder of the prisoner.

Still, Fremont was yet in the power of the renegade, and might soon be,through the latter's malice and greed, in the hands of the Mexicanpolice and on his way back to the Tombs unless something was doneimmediately. Before, the renegade had been alone in his wish for thedestruction of the boy; that is, alone of all the group about him, andof all the outlaws gathering in the mountains. Now, with the news ofthe reward published abroad by the messenger and the renegade, everynative man, woman and child in Mexico would take a personal interest indelivering the prisoner to officials competent to hand over the largereward.

Jimmie listened intently and with a fastbeating heart for the stridentvoice of a drum. It seemed to him that Peter Fenton had been gone longenough to gain the camp. The secret service men, he knew, had not hadtime to reach the point of danger, but they had, he thought, had timeenough to make a noise like an advancing army. There werebright-plumaged birds singing in the early sunshine, but no indicationsof the approach of the help Fenton had gone to arouse. What the nextmove of the renegade and his companions would be the boy could not evenguess. He hoped, however, that the party would linger about thevicinity until the secret service men could come up.

This hope, however, was soon shattered. The renegade Englishmanconsulted with the messenger for some moments, pointing away to thenorth, as he did so, and then the outlaws were ordered into line,Fremont placed in the center, and all moved in the direction which hadbeen pointed out.

The course of travel, although due north in general, wound among cragsand through little canons, over level plateaux and along dangerousprecipices, it being the possible desire of the renegade to work hisway to the Rio Grande without coming into contact with officers orhostile groups of armed men who might demand a division of the fatreward offered for the arrest of the boy.

Owing to the character of the surface, Jimmie was obliged to wait forsome moments before following on after the party. In fact, it was onlyby moving cautiously and keeping cliffs and crags between himself andthe renegade's group of outlaws that the boy could make progresswithout being seen.

Before leaving the spot where the prisoner had stood, Jimmie selected arock of the size of a two-gallon jug, placed it in plain view, and laidon top of it a smaller rock. At the left he placed another stone, thesize of the one on top. This would direct any of the boys who mightcome too late to his relief.

During his Boy Scout excursions the boy had often used this "Indiantalk" to inform his friends of the course he had taken. All Boy Scoutsare supposed to be versed in "Signs in Stones." The large rock withthe small one on top read, "Here the trail begins." The smaller stoneto the left read, "Turn to the left." If the stone had been placed onthe right it would have read, "Turn to the right." If he had built apyramid of three stones, two on top of the large one, it would haveread, "You are warned: Proceed cautiously." Jimmie knew that Fentonunderstood signs in stones, and would therefore have no difficulty infollowing him if he came up later on.

As the boy followed on to the north, now and then sliding downdeclivities, turning with dizzy eyes from great heights, but foreverkeeping the direction taken by the hostile party ahead, he listened forthe sound of a gun, for the rattle of Fenton's drum, but listened invain. He feared that the boy had been captured on his way down.

Finally, after a rough journey of several hours' duration, the renegadecame to a halt at a point where the summit fell away in two directions,to the north and to the east. The divide seemed at least three hundredfeet lower than that to the south, and sloped gradually, on the east,to a desert-like plain, beyond which ran the river. Here the partyturned east toward the river and the boundary.

Jimmie, perched on a ledge facing the north, watched Fremont movingaway with a desire in his heart to send a bullet after the Englishman.He tried to attract the attention of the captive, but did not succeed.While the boy lay watching and listening for any sounds of rescuerscoming up the slope, a great rock, somewhere to the south, wenttumbling down the mountain, carrying smaller rocks with it until therattle of falling stones sounded like the din of a battle.

The renegade started and looked about suspiciously, doubtless fearingthat the slide had been caused by the incautious feet of a pursuer, buthis companions smiled and informed him that such incidents were commonthere and not at all alarming.

Jimmie smiled, too, for when the rattle ceased he heard a Black Beargrowling in a ravine not far away. In a second the snarl of a Wolfanswered the growl of the Bear, and then, almost before he becameaware of their stealthy approach, Frank Shaw and Peter Fenton laybeside him in his hiding place. It seemed to the boy, as they laythere panting from their long climb, that they had dropped out of thesky.

He gave each one a friendly kick and waited, with a grin on his face.

"Say," grunted Shaw, rolling over on his back, "I'm all fried out."

"You have plenty of fat left," grinned Jimmie. "How did you fellowsget here?"

"By following the signs in the stones," Frank replied.

Then Jimmie turned to Peter, also panting from his climb.

"Where's the drum you went after," he demanded, tauntingly.

"I got lost on the way down," Peter explained. "I didn't think I'dever see or hear a drum again. Then I came upon Frank. He was lost,too. I was on my way down to the camp, and he was on his way up tothe camp, and we met half a mile to the south of the camp, bothtrudging along like fools."

The situation was explained in a few words. Both boys had missed thetrail, and had found, not the camp, but each other. They had last metin New York. Frank had not the slightest notion that Peter had leftthe city. It was a fortunate meeting, for the two, after greetingeach other like chums, had studied the situation out much better thanone could have done, with the result that, after many false trails hadbeen followed, they had struck the one left by Jimmie.

"Where are they going with Fremont?" Frank asked, in a moment.

"They seem to be going after the reward," replied Jimmie.

"He'll get all the reward that's coming to him before he gets over theriver and claims the money," Frank exclaimed. "Do you think Fremontknows that you are here?"

Jimmie shook his head.

"I've had to keep back," he said, "and Fremont never will look my waywhen I get close up to where he is."

"He ought to know," the drummer said.

"I've done my best," Jimmie said, in a discouraged tone.

Frank Shaw smiled and dropped down behind a huge rock.

"Just wait a minute," he said. "Just wait until I catch me breath,and I'll put him wise to the fact that there's a Black Bear somewherein this turned-up-on-edge country. Watch, and see him jump."

Frank put his hand to his throat and emitted a growl which would havedone credit to a genuine black bear, a bear in a museum warning theinquisitive to keep away from his cage. The threatening sound,however, seemed to come from the other side of the slope where theprisoner stood.

The Englishman drew a revolver and glanced sharply around, while theoutlaws seized their guns and held them ready for action. It was clearto the boys that they had been completely deceived by the signal, andwere expecting an attack from the animal at any moment.

Fremont did not seem to notice the signal, which was one the membersof the Black Bear Patrol had long practiced both in the forest and intheir club room, but his eyes were for an instant lifted toward thehiding place occupied by the three boys.

"He's next," whispered Fenton.

"I should say so," grunted Frank. "I guess he'd know a Black Bearsignal anywhere. We didn't learn that call by any correspondenceschool method. It is the genuine thing. We got it by dodging thekeepers and stirring up the black bears at Central Park."

The outlaws were now making timid runs out toward the point from whichthe sound had come, and the boys thought best to drop back a shortdistance, still keeping Fremont in sight, however. Directly theoutlaws assembled again and stood talking in the villainous lingowhich they had used before. It was evident that they were not alittle alarmed at the thought of a wild animal being so close to them.

"They'll think there's more than one Black Bear after them," Shawwhispered as the men turned down the eastern slope and again movedtoward the desert-like plain which lay between the mountains and theriver.

"There's a Wolf after them, too," grinned Jimmie. "If I had some ofthe Wolves I left in New York we'd eat 'em alive," he added. "I'mhungry enough to eat that big lobster at three bites."

As the boy ceased speaking a pebble struck him on the top of the head,and the whine of a wolf reached his ears. There was silence for amoment, and then the sharp, vicious, canine-like snap of a wolf onscent was heard.

"I reckon all the Wolves in the world are not in New York," Shaw said."That was a patrol signal, Jimmie. Go out and find your chum."

"It's Nestor!" almost shouted the boy, and Nestor it was, climbinglaughingly toward the astonished group.

"Get down! Get down," warned Frank. "You'll give us all away."

Nestor pointed to the ridge, from which the outlaws had nowdisappeared, and threw himself down by the side of the boys.

"Did you bring anything to eat?" demanded Frank, rubbing his stomach.

"Where are the secret service men?" asked Fenton.

"This looks like a Boy Scout convention," Jimmie put in. "Where did youcome from, and why didn't the guards come with you?"

In a few words Nestor explained the situation. He had left the secretservice men to convey the prisoners to El Paso, and had entered aloneupon a search for his friends. In a short time he had come upon signsin stones left by Shaw and Fenton, and had followed them to the placeof meeting.

"What's the matter with the secret service men?" asked Shaw.

"Aw, they're jealous of Nestor!" Jimmie put in. "I reckon theywouldn't much care if Nestor had been geezled instead of Fremont."

"They did all they were ordered to do," Nestor replied. "It is now upto us to release Fremont. I'm glad he knows we are here," Nestoradded, after due explanation had been made by Jimmie and Shaw. "He'llbe on the lookout for us."

"How are you going to get him?" asked Fenton.

"You've heard of cutting cattle out of a herd?" smiled Nestor. "Well,that is the way we are going to get Fremont. We're going to cut himout."

CHAPTER XVII.

PLENTY OF BLACK BEARS.

"There's four of us now," Jimmie urged, "and we've all got guns, so weought to go after the lobsters and get Fremont away from them."

"They look like dubs," Frank put in, "and I believe they'll run whenthey hear us shooting. If you won't let me drum, you must let meshoot."

"You got no drum!" grinned Jimmie.

"I'm afraid they would turn their guns on their prisoner if we attachedthem," said Nestor. "We've just got to wait until we can cut him out."

"I'm hungry enough to eat 'em all alive," cried Frank.

"I could get along pretty well if I had a couple of gallons of water,"said Peter.

"If them lobsters find anything to eat or drink down there," Franksaid, "we'll go down and take it away from them. Looks like they weremaking for a feed."

The boys now clambered cautiously to the summit and looked down theslope to the east. The renegade and his men were slowly making theirway toward the bottom. The prisoner was moving forward as briskly asany of them, and the big fellow appeared to be paying special attentionto him, as he was walking by his side most of the time.

The distance to the level plain below did not seem to be great.Although the peaks of the Sierra del Fierro range seem high when lookedupon from the level of the Rio Grande, they do not appear to be solofty when viewed from the plateau upon which the actual ascent begins.

The level table-lands or plateaux of Mexico lie from four to ninethousand feet above sea level, making many distinct climates as onegoes up or down. These plateaux are girt by mountain chains. The highsummits are those of Cofre del Perote, 13,400 feet; Origava, 17,870feet; Istaccihuatl, or the White Woman, 16,000 feet, and the famousPopocatapetl, known as "Smoking Mountain," which lifts its fire-scarredhead 17,800 feet above the level of the ocean.

It seemed to the boys that the distance between the summit where theystood and the plain below might, even at the slow pace at which theoutlaws were moving, be made by nightfall. The eastern slope was notso rough and broken as that on the west. In fact, the outlaws were nowtraveling down a declivity so clear of cliffs and breaks that the boysdid not dare follow them. To be observed by the renegade at that timemight prove fatal to the hope of the immediate rescue of Fremont, asthe outlaws would then be on their guard.

"We've either got to wait until night, or wind down through the wildplaces off to the south," Nestor said, after looking over the localityfor a time.

"We just can't wait until night," Jimmie said. "There's no knowingwhat treatment Fremont will receive at their hands before that time."

"We may actually gain time by waiting," Nestor advised. "We may beobliged to travel scores of miles around precipices and canons if wetake to the rocks."

"Suppose we wait, then," Frank said. "We can go over into the bumps tothe south and get out of the sunlight, then. I'm about roasted. Theremay be a cave over in that direction, or a ruined temple."

"Or a Turkish bath, or a lobster palace," grinned Jimmie. "We mightfind a pie-counter over there, too," he added, with a poke at Frank.

"There are no ruined temples in the State of Chihuahua," declared PeterFenton, glad of an opportunity of unloading his knowledge of thecountry, "at least, I have never heard of any being here. Theteocalli, or temples, are farther south, down in the State of Chiapas,and in Yucatan."

"But we might find some underground temple up here," insisted Jimmie."The natives worshiped in this region, didn't they?"

"They built their temples on top of pyramids," continued Fenton, "andnot underground. There is one at Palenque said to be built on thelines of Solomon's temple. It has sanctuaries, sepulchers, cloisters,courts, subterraneous galleries, and dismal cells where the priestslived. No one knows how old the ruins are. No one knows how manydistinct civilizations have held sway there, one, literally, on top ofthe other."

"It is too hot up here to talk ancient history," said Frank, "and I'mhungry, too, but I'd like to know where you find any pyramids inMexico."

"The pyramid-temple of Cholulu," went on the delighted drummer, "is thelargest and best known. It makes the pyramids of Egypt look likethirty cents in comparison, for it is nearly fifteen hundred feet oneach side and almost two hundred feet high. Gizeh, the big Egyptianpyramid, is only 763 feet along the sides, but it has the Mexican onebeaten in height, it being over five hundred feet high. Perhaps youfellows will wake up, directly, and find out what a wonderful countryyou are in."

"Who built this pyramid-temple?" asked Jimmie.

"No one knows," was the reply. "Whoever did it had correct ideas ofarchitecture and knew lots about decoration. The ruined city ofPalenque had temples, palaces, baths, and aqueducts. It was twentymiles long, and must have had an enormous population. It is said thatthere is not a record left. Cortes and his gang took care of what theToltecs and Aztecs left."

"It is a wonderful country." Nestor said, "but it needs stability inpopulation. Just now, however, we need rest. It is evident that theoutlaws are headed for the plain below, and we must catch up with themwhen they camp for the night."

"I wonder what Fremont will think?" observed Jimmie. "I'll bet he'sthinkin', right now, that we've gone back on him."

"There is no other way," explained Nestor. "It would be folly toattempt rescue now, and worse folly to attempt to follow the party downthis slope, in the broad light of day. Did any of you boys notice asquare package I had on a shoulder-strap as I came up? I laid it downsomewhere. It contained a dozen egg and ham sandwiches," he added,with a provoking smile.

"Great Scott!" cried Frank Shaw, springing straight up in the air, likea rubber ball. "Holy smoke! You haven't lost it, have you?"

Nestor sat back and laughed at the hungry boy's antics and then broughtforth the precious packet. The boys gathered around him, but hemotioned them away.

"I'm not going to open it here," he said. "What until we find a placewhere we can rest a bit. There must be a cliff-hole over theresomewhere."

Disappointed, and making wry faces, the boys followed Nestor to thesouth until they came to a shelf of rock which faced the east. Theridge above sheltered the spot from the hot sun, and there was a cavityin the cliff which promised a secure resting place. As he stepped outon the shelf Nestor paused and pointed to a collection of three rockslying in plain view.

"What is it?" asked Jimmie, his eyes on the sandwich packet.

"Read it," replied Nestor.

"Head to the south!" shouted Shaw. "Who put that here?"

Nestor looked keenly into the astonished face before him.

"No tricks, now," he said. "Which of you boys placed this stonesignal?"

No one made answer, and Frank bent down to make a closer inspection ofthe rocky floor of the shelf. Presently he gave a wild whoop and aroseto his feet with something in his hand.

"What do you know about this?" he demanded. "What do you know aboutit, anyway?"

"Crazy," grunted Jimmie. "What is it?"

"The badge of the Black Bear Patrol," was the amazing reply. "Now, whoput it there? Some of the Black Bears said they were coming down here,but how could they get to the top of this range?"

It was, indeed, a puzzling find. The stone sign had certainly beenplaced where it had been found within a few hours, for one side of thelarge rock was still a trifle damp, having undoubtedly been taken fromsome shady place.

But how should the Black Bears of New York reach that almost unknowncountry? That was the question.

"They said they'd sleuth on Fremont," Frank said, after a pause.

"But they couldn't have followed him here," insisted Fenton. "And, ifthey had, they would not have been putting up stone signs when we wereonly a few yards away."

"The sign says, 'Keep to the south,'" Nestor observed, "and we may findthe solution of the mystery there."

Anxious for a sight of his old chums of the Black Bear Patrol, andunable to control his feelings, Shaw darted on ahead, passed around acorner of rock, and disappeared from the sight of the other members ofthe party.

"I hope he won't go an' get lost," Jimmie said, taking a swifter pace.

In a moment, however, it became evident that Shaw was not lost; that,in fact, he was very much found, and with an undiminished lungcapacity. Such Black Bear growls and sniffs as came from around thecorner of the cliff were never heard before outside of a Wild Westshow. There seemed to be half a dozen Black Bears growling at, andready to devour each other.

When Nestor turned the corner of the cliff he saw four boys mixed up inwhat seemed to be a desperate struggle. It was from this group thatthe wild growls were coming. Now and then a word of greeting or ajoyful laugh came from the storm-center, but the playful struggle wenton.

"Holy Smoke!" Frank cried presently, drawing himself away from thebunch. "What do you think of it? Look who's here! Three Black Bears,Harry Stevens, Glen Howard and Jack Bosworth. How did you get here,boys, and did you bring anything to eat with you?"

The three Black Bears were introduced to the other members of theparty, then tongues ran swiftly, and they all talked at the same time.Occasionally Nestor stepped to the shelf, just around the angle of thecliff, and looked down on the outlaws, making their way to the plainbelow. When Harry Stevens asked about Fremont, the boys pointed at thedistant party and told the story of his capture.

"We'll have him back before night," Stevens declared. "There are sevenof us now, and that's enough to put up a lively fight."

"But how did you happen to light on this mountain?" asked Frank, stillstaring with the wonder of the meeting.

"It was as easy as following a white elephant," laughed Stevens. "TheEl Paso papers told all about Fremont being there, and about hisescaping to Mexico. We were there the morning after you left. We tooktrain for San Jose, and found where you had purchased provisions. Thenthere was the boatman who took you across the lake, or lagoon, and theguards coming down the slope with three prisoners. Oh, it was easy asfalling asleep until we left your little camp. In an hour, however, wecame upon the trails left by Jimmie and by Shaw, and came on. For thepast two hours we have been higher up than you, so we did not see eachother."

"You're a nice lot of fellows to go sleuthing," laughed Jack Bosworth."Why, it was no trick at all to follow you. If the police are asprompt and industrious as we were, they're out here in the hillssomewhere right now, after Fremont."

"Another matter kept us in the vicinity of this alleged civilization,"replied Nestor, referring to the necessity of capturing Don Miguel,"but now that is over, and we're going to burrow like rabbits in themountains, after we get hold of Fremont, until the truth is known."

"Well," said Stevens, "there's a good place to hide back here-a cave,with no one knows how many rooms. It was a fine residence some day.Come on. We found it while looking for a place to rest."

"And you said there were no subterraneous temples in Chihuahua," saidShaw, addressing himself to Fenton. "You said they were all in theneck of Central America."

"You wait a second, and you'll see whether there are or not," said GlenHoward.

Then the speaker led the way to the entrance of what appeared to be avery large ante-chamber, there being openings which resembled doorwaysat the back. Both the side walls and the floor were of rock, andshowed evidences of the work of man. A square of light lay on thefloor, the sunlight falling through a cut in the rocky roof.

"We haven't ventured any farther than this," Glen said. "We were shakyabout coming in this far, for there is no knowing what one will find inthese holes. It is dark in the rooms beyond, and it is what one can'tsee that he is afraid of."

"Besides," Jack Bosworth cut in, "we were hungry when we got here,and—"

"Great Scott!" shouted Shaw. "Do you mean that you've brought somethingto eat? Lead me to it. I never was so hungry in all me blamelesslife."

Following the custom of Boy Scouts when preparing for a trip into anunknown country, the three boys had provided themselves with a goodsupply of provisions, and the hungry ones they had found were soonenjoying a very satisfying meal.

"After we fill up," Frank said, busy with a whole pie, "we'll get ourflashlights and see what's in those other rooms. Say," he added,turning to Nestor "what's the matter of bringing Fremont here—-when weget him?"

"I'll bet these rooms are ten thousand years old," said Peter.

After the repast was over Nestor drew Frank aside, while the otherswere searching their outfits for the electric torches, and asked:

"You remember what I said about there being three men in the Cameronsuite the night of the tragedy?"

"Of course," was the reply. "Got something new on the subject? I guessyou have that matter on your mind day and night."

"I have," was the reply. "I'm always thinking about it. Well, I nowbelieve that there were four men there, but I can't think what thefourth man wanted."

CHAPTER XVIII.

FREMONT AND THE RENEGADE.

While the boys were discussing the situation in the outer chamber ofwhat appeared to be a subterranean, prehistoric temple, or at least anancient habitation or place of shelter, George Fremont was moving downthe slope of the mountain at a slow pace, the outlaws showing signs ofexhaustion.

The big Englishman, known as "Big Bob" by the messenger who hadidentified the boy for him, had ordered the boy's bonds removed, and sohe was scrambling along in comparative comfort, the way being quitefree of dangerous cliffs and fissures.

Occasionally Big Bob approached him with some question connected withthe night of the tragedy, but at first Fremont refused to talk on thesubject, well knowing that the big fellow would only criticize what hesaid. After a time, however, Fremont decided that it might be to hisadvantage to draw the fellow out, and the next time he came up heasked, abruptly:

"What do you know of Nestor's movements that night?"

"Did I say that I knew anything of them?" was the astonished reply.

"When you thought you had captured Nestor you said you knew of everymove he made that night. Not my movements, but Nestor's."

"Don't get gay, now," growled the other. "I'll talk about that withNestor, when I find him. I'll talk about your movements with you.There's plenty of proof that you did the job there."

"And you've got it, of course?" said Fremont, with a shrug of disbelief.

"Of course I've got it. The only thing I can't dope out is the motiveyou had."

"You ought to be able to find that," sneered the boy. "Yourimagination seems to be working well to-day. Were you there thatnight? If not, how does it come that you know so much about whatdidn't take place?" he added, provokingly.

"You were seen to strike the blow," was the blustering reply.

"Where were you at that time?" asked Fremont, knowing, of course, thatthe fellow was lying to him, and hoping to confuse him by theabruptness of the question.

"That does not matter," was the reply. "It is known that you sneakedinto the building after the elevator stopped, and went up to theCameron suite. After stopping there for some moments, long enough tocreate the disorder that existed there, you returned to the lowerfloor. Then you started up, giving notice of your approach bywhistling."

Fremont could not repress a smile at the positive manner of the man ashe described a situation which was purely imaginary. Then, anxious tolearn what other untruths the fellow would relate, he asked:

"You know Jim Scoby, the night watchman, and Felix, the Mexican?"

"I know nothing of them," was the reply.

The two walked on side by side for some time in silence, the big fellowturning now and then to look with disapproval at the smiling face ofthe boy. Indeed, if the proof against him was no stronger than this,the boy could well afford to smile, for lies in evidence discredit anytruth there may be on the side of the falsifiers.

"Where are the men you refer to?" the big fellow asked, at length.

"They are down here looking for the Tolford mine," was the reply. "Theystole a description of it that night. Ever hear of the Tolford mine?"he added abruptly.

The renegade gave a quick start at the question.

"How do you know they are down here?" he asked.

"Nestor says they followed on down after us. Were you there when theygot into the office and got the description?" he continued.

"I've heard of this mysterious mine," was the guarded reply, "and Iunderstand that this boy Nestor has a copy of the description."

"Is that why you wanted Nestor?" asked Fremont. "Are you after themine, too?"

The big fellow walked on in silence. It was plain to Fremont that hisabrupt questions were irritating him, so he decided to go on with them.

"Are you one of the Tolford heirs?" he asked.

No reply, save a threatening scowl.

"Are you the heir who has been making Mr. Cameron so much trouble?"persisted the prisoner, glad to note that Big Bob was fretting underhis cross-examination.

"Do you expect to find the mine down there in the sand?" continuedFremont. "That doesn't appear to me to be a good place to look forgold."

"It is a good place to look for a reward for a fugitive from justice,"snapped the big fellow. "Now cut out the gab!"

"You think you can get me across the border without meeting withopposition from my friends?" asked Fremont, not obeying the latestcommand.

"Your friends!" ejacul*ted Big Bob. "Who are your friends? A mess ofschool-boys who get lost in the hills! A gang of high-brows who can'ttake care of themselves off Broadway! Your friends!"

The idea of meeting with any effective opposition from Fremont's boyfriends was so amusing to the big fellow that he burst into a heartylaugh.

"Your friends!" he repeated. "Ho! Ho! Baby dudes!"

"About this reward," Fremont went on, resolved to keep Big Bob talkingif he could, "about this blood money! You will have to cut it up intoseveral piles, won't you?" glancing around the file of outlaws. "Or doyou intend to cut the throats of these fellows instead of cutting upthe reward? That would be something in your line, and quiteprofitable."

"I'll cut your throat," threatened Big Bob, "if you don't close youryawp. Speak when you are spoken to!"

"All right," replied Fremont. "I'm spoken to now. Did you steal theTolford will out of the envelope that night? If you are the heir whohas been trying to get it, you certainly got a chance then."

Big Bob started violently, walked rapidly for a few moments, and thendropped back to Fremont's side, just as the boy had figured on hisdoing. This talk of the Tolford estate seemed to be attractive to thefellow. Fremont saw that it was, but could find no reason why itshould be unless, indeed, he had hit on the truth in one of hisquestions, and the fellow was really an heir.

"What do you know about that will?" Big Bob asked as he took step withhis prisoner.

"Not a thing, except that it has been in good demand for a long time,and that it has made trouble for Mr. Cameron."

"You have had charge of the Tolford papers, including the will, onseveral occasions? You have taken the papers to and from the bank?"

"Sure," answered Fremont. "Where did you learn so much?"

"Never mind! You would know the will if you saw it anywhere?"

"No; I never looked at it."

It seemed to the boy that this answer brought forth a sigh of relieffrom the breast of the big fellow, so he decided to keep on with hisquestions about the will.

"You have seen the will?" he asked.

"Never. What caused you to think I had seen it?"

"You talk so much about it."

Big Bob grunted and walked on in silence. Fremont turned back for aninstant and swept his eyes over the slope, hoping to catch sight of oneof the Black Bears. Not a friendly face or form was in sight, however,and he trudged on, wondering what line of questions would be mostlikely to throw the big fellow off his guard.

"Why don't you take my advice and confess?" Big Bob asked, presently.

"I might do so," Fremont replied, provokingly, "but for one thing."

"And what is that?" was asked eagerly.

"I want to see the guilty man punished!"

"If you confess," the other went on, angrily, "you'll get a lightsentence if Cameron lives, and a life sentence instead of the electricchair if he dies. There is always hope in a life sentence—and you areyoung!"

"Why do you ask me to confess?" demanded Fremont.

"Well, to tell you the truth," was the reply, "I have a friend who maybe accused of the crime. He can't be convicted, of course, for theproof goes to show you to be the guilty one, but the cops can make hima lot of trouble and expense!"

"So you want me to confess and skip the country?"

"Yes, to skip out of the country, just as you skipped out of New York."

"And permit this friend of yours, who committed the crime, to go free?"

"My friend did not commit the crime!" threateningly.

"Oh, yes he did! Who is your friend—yourself?"

Big Bob lifted a hand as if to strike the boy, but he changed his mind,or got control of his temper, and lowered it again.

"At least," Fremont said, "you know who did commit the crime. That issomething."

The big fellow grumbled out some sarcastic reply and trudged ahead.Fremont, knowing that a valuable point had been gained, hastened alongby his side.

"And, with my false confession in your pocket," the boy went on, "youwould find it convenient to leave me out there under the sand?"

"You're a plucky cub to talk like that to me."

Big Bob was in a great rage, but he did not lift his heavy hand again.

"I was wondering if your friend would pay for leaving me out there,"the boy said. "If I went back to New York, you know, I might deny theconfession, or claim that it was secured under duress. You know what aconfession is worth when secured under duress? What about it?"

"You're a fool!" shouted Big Bob so loudly that the others turnedinquisitive faces toward him. "That was only a joke, that about myfriend. I wanted to see what you would say if I asked you to confess,and then when you asked why I wanted a confession I gave you the firstreason that came into my head. So shut up about it."

"Sure," said Fremont, "after you give me the real reason you asked fora confession."

Big Bob saw that he had made a mistake in talking with the shrewdyoungster, and decided to get out of it the best way he could.

"All right! I'll tell you," he said. "A reward will be paid rightdown on the nail when a confession is filed with the prisoner. Now youknow all about it!"

"Your imagination is working all right to-day," Fremont laughed. "Thelast explanation is more foolish than the first. You knew very wellthat the payment of the reward would follow conviction, and you knowthat I am innocent."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you know who the real criminal is."

"That is not true!" thundered the other. "Now, I've had enough ofthis. You mog along and keep your mouth shut or it will be the worsefor you."

Fremont knew very well that Big Bob was considering a desperate meansof retrieving the error he had made in speaking of a friend who mightbe accused of the crime. The boy was afraid that he had gone too farin his desire to provoke the big fellow.

For there would be no one to ask questions if the boy should neverleave the hills alive. Unless the Black Bears were within strikingdistance, no one would ever know what had become of him. He looked andlistened again for some signs of his friends, but the slope behind toldhim nothing.

CHAPTER XIX.

WHAT WAS FOUND UNDERGROUND.

While Fremont was clambering down the eastern slope, studying therenegade Englishman whenever opportunity offered, and puzzling over thesource of the fellow's information concerning the Cameron building andthe Tolford estate papers, Ned Nestor and his companions were preparingto visit the interior of the strange shelter-place in which they foundthemselves.

The outer chamber, which, for convenience they marked "Chamber A" onthe rough map they afterward made, was 30x40 feet in size, with theeastern side running parallel with the almost perpendicular face ofrock which shot upward from the shelf which has before been alluded to.The opening faced directly east, and from it one could look miles overthe desert of sand lying between the foot of the range and the RioGrande del Norte, something like a hundred miles away.

To the north and south of this main chamber the boys found niches inthe rock, evidently hewn there by man hundreds of years before. Therock was very hard here, and it seemed that work had ceased for thatreason.

On the west side of the chamber there were two openings, perhaps fourfeet by six, each leading into a chamber 20x30 feet in size. Beforeentering these rooms, which held an odor of dampness and decay, therecently arrived Black Bears produced electric flashlights.

"We looked up Old Mexico," Harry Stevens said, turning on the flame,"and knew we'd be nosing around in caves and tunnels before we got backto God's country, so we brought our glims along with us."

"Well, don't burn them all at once," advised Nestor. "We shall needthem for several days, probably, and there are no shops in the nextblock where dry batteries can be bought. Leave one out and put therest away."

"We have a few extra batteries," said Harry. "We looked out for that."

"We shall doubtless need all you have, no matter how economically theyare used," Nestor said. "Let me take the one you have, and I'll go onan exploring expedition into the south chamber."

"Me for the exploring expedition too!" cried Harry. "I want to see howit seems to go into a room ten thousand years old."

"Nixt ten thousand years!" observed Jimmie.

Harry nudged Peter Fenton and pointed to the west wall of the chamber,across which he threw the brilliant circle of the flashlight.

"There is the record," he said.

"Nix ten thousand years old!" insisted Jimmie.

"No one knows how old," Fenton said. "No one has ever been able totranslate the picture talk of the very early inhabitants. The man whocarved those lines might have existed when the sandy desert out therewas under water."

"Speaking of water, let's go on and see where they got theirdrinkings," put in Frank Shaw. "I'm nearly choked, and I'll betthere's a spring about here somewhere."

"Any old time you don't want something to eat or drink!" laughed Harry."Well," he added, handing the flashlight to Nestor, "we may as well goin and see if there is a water system here."

"There surely is," Fenton said. "The people who dug this shelter outdid not work where there was no water. If Nature did not supply it,they built aqueducts to convey it to locations where it was wanted.But Professor Agassiz says they lived ten thousand years ago, so, ifthey did put in a water system here, it may be out of commission now."

"How does he know how long ago they lived?" asked Jack.

"By their bones," was the reply. "Near New Orleans, under foursuccessive forests, one on top of the other, and each showing traces ofhaving been occupied by man, explorers recently discovered a humanskeleton estimated to be fifty thousand years old. That fellow musthave lived just after the last glacial epoch."

"I don't believe they know anything about how long ago he lived,"observed Jimmie. "How can any one tell how long ago the last glacialepoch closed?"

"Figure out how far the melting line traveled from south to north,"said Fenton, "then figure that the glaciers receded at the rate of onlytwelve feet every hundred years, and you'll know something about it."

"Come on!" cried Frank, "let's get in there and find their Crotonsystem. I'm so thirsty my throat sizzles. Come on!"

Nestor, closely followed by the others, led the way into the southchamber, called, for convenience, "Chamber B" on the rough map madelater on. The place was damp and cold, and a current of air came fromthe southwest corner, indicating an opening there.

After clearing away a heap of rocks and loose sand, which might oncehave been rock, the boys found an opening which had been, apparently,closed for a long period of time. When finally cleared, after an hourof hard work, the opening from which the current of air had come wasdiscovered to be a door like arch in the west wall of the main chamber.

The electric flashlight, however, when introduced into the opening,showed a narrow passage beyond the opening instead of a square room.This tunnel-like passage was not far from six feet in width and aboutthat in height. The walls showed that it had been cut through solidrock.

The boys listened for some indication of life or motion in the tunnel,but all was silent. Not even a bird or creeping thing disturbed thestillness of the place.

"Shall we go in now?" asked Nestor.

"Sure!" replied Shaw. "We may find a well in there!"

"Or a soda fountain, or a modern filter," grinned Jimmie. "How wouldthey ever get a well down through this mountain?"

"Water in wells comes from elevations before it gravitates to thebottom of the holes from which we pump it," Shaw declared, in defenseof his suggestion. "There may be a reservoir here somewhere."

"How far is this cavern floor from the surface above it?" asked HarryStevens, with a judicial air.

"About four hundred feet," was the reply. "We must be about thatdistance from the highest point here."

"Then there is no reason why there should not be a reservoir above us,"said Harry. "Water would filter through these rocks, all right."

The boys passed on in a southwesterly direction to the end of thetunnel, which was about fifty feet from the opening. Here they found achamber about 10x16 feet in size. At the south side of this chamberwas a trough-shaped place cut in the rock, and through this a smallrivulet of water ran.

"I knew the people who built this shop wouldn't put in their time whereno water could be procured," declared Fenton. "Why, this is simplyfort, a mountain residence, where valley people came in time of war andsecreted themselves. If we could read the hieroglyphics on the walls,we would be able to write a history of their troubles."

"Were they the real thing in cave-dwellers?" asked Jack, who was notnoted for his studious habits, and who depended on his companions for aknowledge of the countries he visited as a member of the Black BearPatrol.

"Earlier than some of the cave-men," replied Harry. "I wonder if thiswater is any good to drink?" he added, looking longingly at the crystalstream flowing under the round circle of the flashlight. "Who wants totry it?"

Frank Shaw did not wait to make many tests. Tormented with thirst, hefelt of the water by rubbing it between his thumb and fingers, smelledof it, put it cautiously to his lips, and then, experiencing no badeffects from this contact, took a few drops into his mouth.

"It is fine!" he shouted, then. "Cold as ice and sweet as sugar! Thisbeats a soda fountain, Jimmie!"

"Now, was this tunnel constructed on purpose to reach this spring?"asked Harry.

The lads examined the walls minutely, but there was no opening from thechamber, save the one by which they had entered.

"This must have been the milk house," laughed Frank, always ready toturn any subject under discussion into a joke. "I wonder if they kepttheir cows on the top of the peak? If they had tied their tailstogether and put one over each side, they never could have run away."

On their way back to Chamber B the boys discovered an opening in thenorth wall of the tunnel. This led to another tunnel, running in anorthwesterly direction for about one hundred feet and ending in achamber larger than any of the others. Nestor caught sight of asparkle on the walls as he swung the flashlight about and pointedglittering sections out to the boys.

"Gold!" cried Frank.

"I'll bet a cooky we've found the hidden mine!" cried Jimmie.

"It is gold, all right," Harry Stevens said, "but there's no knowingwhether it is here in quantities sufficient to pay the expense ofmining and crushing the ore."

"Huh!" cried Jimmie, in a tone of reproach. "Don't you know that rockthat will produce a dollar a tone is worth working? Well, then, lookat this! There's ten dollars worth in the spot I cover with my hand!We've found somethin', boys!"

"So it wasn't to escape their enemies that the old chaps sequesteredthemselves here," said Fenton. "It was to dig out gold!"

"I never heard that there was gold in this part of Mexico," observedJack. "I reckon we'll wake up when we get out into the sunlight."

"If you'll read up," Fenton replied, "you'll find that the state ofChihuahua abounds in niter and other salts, and is rich in mines ofgold and silver. Do you really think we have come upon the desertedmine Jimmie talks about so much?" he added, turning to Nestor.

The latter took a folded paper from his pocket and examined it underthe light of the electric torch.

"It seems that we have," was the reply. "I was not thinking much aboutthe mine as I ascended the mountain, but now it strikes me that Iunconsciously followed the directions given in this paper."

"That big lobster of an Englishman was looking for the mine," Jimmiesaid, "and so it was natural that he should lead you to it. I can'tsee how it belongs to any old estate, though," he added. "Looks likeeverybody's property to me."

"Perhaps it was the knowledge of the whereabouts of the mine that hadvalue," suggested Nestor, "and not the fact of ownership. Anyway, we'vefound it."

The walls of the cavern appeared to blaze with gold, in flakes and insmall nuggets. Here and there were empty pockets which appeared tohave been stripped of their rich holdings. Upon inspection the floorof the chamber was found to be covered, in places, with crushed rock,where blocks cut from the walls had been broken up.

"There is no knowing how many million dollars worth of gold have beentaken from here," Nestor said, "and there is no way of estimating, atthis time, how far this rich rock extends into the mountain. The factthat the mine was abandoned may indicate that the ore became lessvaluable as the workers cut out from the center."

"It is rich enough now to pay for working, all right! cried Jimmie.

"There appears to be millions in sight," Nestor said, putting away hispaper.

CHAPTER XX.

BLACK BEARS TO THE RESCUE.

Frank Shaw drew Nestor aside as the boys searched about the cavern fornuggets. As a small one was occasionally discovered, the quest wasconducted with an enthusiasm which left the two to themselves.

"It is a strange chance that has brought us to this mine," Nestor said,thoughtfully. "It seems like a fairy tale come true."

"Do you really think this is the long lost Tolford mine?" asked Frank."I think it is," was the reply. "The location is right, at least."

"It is remarkable," Frank said, "but we can talk of that at anothertime. I called you over here to ask you more about the fourth man—theone you referred to, but a short time ago, as having visited theCameron suite that night. I didn't think much of the idea when yousuggested it, but, somehow, I can't get it out of my head. Do youstill believe there was a fourth man? If so, what was he there for?"

"That will show in time," replied Nestor, with a little pause aftereach word.

"But," insisted Frank, seeking to argue the matter in order to bringout the opinion of his chum, "these other men had strong motives indoing what was done there, and you don't indicate any motive the fourthman might have had!"

"I have a faint hint of a motive humming in my brain," Nestor answered,"but it is not sufficiently well developed to talk about now. Therewas something afoot in the building that night that has not yet come tothe surface."

"You surely don't believe the tales told by Scoby and Felix, or by DonMiguel, either?" asked Frank.

"They may be telling the truth, or part of the truth. However, Scobyand Felix are not sincere in their statements. There is something theyare not telling."

"Well," Frank observed, "we ought to be getting down to brass tacks. Ifwe get Fremont away from those ruffians to-night he'll want to bejumping at something right away, and there ought to be a line of worklaid out."

"Don't get excited," laughed Nestor. "We're getting along pretty well.We've found the mine, and we've taken three prisoners. If there was afourth man in the mixup that night, we'll soon know who he was and whyhe was there."

"I wish I knew whether the munitions of war got across the border,"Frank said, after a pause.

"The mountain has been remarkably quiet to-day," suggested Nestor.

"What does that mean?"

"Don't you think the men would be making a lot of noise if they hadarms in their hands?" Nestor asked.

"Perhaps they are making noise somewhere."

"They may make all the noise they want to, if they keep off Texassoil," replied Nestor.

"I have been talking with Stevens," Frank went on, "and he gives adoleful account of the situation in New York. They left nearly twodays after you did, you remember. It is said that Cameron is notlikely to recover, and that he still, in a rambling way, talks ofFremont as the person who assaulted him. That looks bad."

"It is fortunate that we got the boy out of New York," replied Nestor."Even the temporary captivity he is undergoing is better than theTombs."

"I'm afraid he's on the way to the Tombs now," Frank said. "He surelyis unless we can do something immediately. The big rascal may comeupon a band of outlaws any minute that would be too strong for us toattack."

During this talk Jimmie had been searching for nuggets on the easternside of the chamber, finding a small one occasionally when the lightwas turned toward him. As Shaw finished speaking the boy foundanother, and the watcher was wondering how rich the earth was.

Then he saw the boy, stooping to the floor of the cavern, evidently inquest of more gold, he being at that time close to the east wall,suddenly throw up his arms and disappear, apparently through the veryfloor of the chamber.

Frank stood for a second looking toward the place where this strangedisappearance had taken place, rubbed his eyes to make sure that he waswide awake, and then uttered a cry which brought the others hastily tohis side.

When the boys reached the point of disappearance they looked for afissure in the rocky floor, but found none. Instead, they saw a round,smooth opening into what seemed to be another tunnel. The light, whenheld into the dark break in the rock, revealed a landing about six feetdown, but Jimmie was not in sight. Presently, however, the alarmedboys heard his voice, coming up out of the darkness.

"Hey, there!" he said. "Get a rope and a light! I'm on a toboggan!"

"In a second," Harry replied. "Are you falling?"

"No, I'm hangin' on with me toes!" was the reply. "Hurry up, youfellers! I'll drop clear into the middle of the world if I let go!"

Harry darted away to the outer chamber and brought a line from hiscamping outfit. Tying a piece of stone to one end, to act as a sinker,he dropped it into the mouth of the tunnel.

"Catch it!" he called to the boy.

"Nothin' doin'!" returned Jimmie. "I'm hangin' out in space. If Ishould let go with one finger or one toe I'd take a tumble through toChina. One of you fellows come down on the rope. Hurry!"

"Are you hurt?" asked Nestor, anxiously.

"Not on your life, only in me feelings," replied Jimmie. "It breaks metender heart to get into a hole I can't help meself out of! Come ondown with that rope!"

Nestor drew up the line, tied one end about his waist, and, wonderingwhat might lie within the forbidding place, and where it might lead to,was slowly lowered into the tunnel. The flashlight showed a levelspace about two yards in extent at the bottom of the shaft, directlyunder the opening, but beyond that the tunnel dropped away toward theeast and the middle of the Chinese empire, as Jimmie declared. Thefall of the passage, which was not more than six feet in diameter, wasat least fifty degrees.

As soon as his feet struck the little landing Nestor saw Jimmie lyingflat on his stomach on the incline below, hanging on with his fingersfor dear life. As Nestor looked the boy's fingers slipped on thesmooth rock and he started, feet foremost, down the dark passage.

Calling to the boys above to cling tightly to the rope and to pay itout slowly, Nestor slid swiftly downward until the slack of the linewas gone, and was then brought up with a quick jerk, with the stillslipping boy's head a foot away from his hands. He whirled about anddropped his feet down the passage.

There was a second of nervous strain, and then he felt Jimmie's handsclinging to his shoes. He called to the boy to hang on and to theothers at the top to draw the line, and both were soon on the landingat the bottom of the shaft.

"I wonder where that hole goes?" Jimmie asked, examining his fingers,the ends of which were torn from slipping on the rock.

"You came near finding out," Nestor replied. "Regular rabbits, theseold-timers were, to dig tunnels!" he added.

Then assisting Jimmie out of the shaft, Nestor asked the boys to getall the rope they had in their outfits, making a line as long aspossible, and ease him down the steep incline. In five minutes all wasready and, with a line 400 feet long attached to his waist, Nestorstarted down the tunnel.

As he passed along, half sliding, with the rope holding him back, theflashlight in hand, he saw that the passage had been cut along the lineof a natural fault in the volcanic rock. It was clear that, duringsome seismic disturbance, probably hundreds of years before, thecontinuity of strata, until then on the same plane, had been broken,leaving a fissure where the drop had taken place.

There was no means of estimating the extent of the verticaldisplacement, but the boy was satisfied that it was the differencebetween the height of the range at the place where the cavern openedand the height to the north, probably three hundred feet or more. Thenorth end of the range had dropped down. The horizontal displacementwas not more than six feet, and it was through this that the tunnel ran.

The walls of the passage were smooth, and the floor was like polishedglass, a fact which the boy was at first at a loss to account for. Onthe north side the wall was dark and there were no traces of gold,while that on the south showed spots of precious metal.

Nestor proceeded down the incline until there was little more ropeleft, as the boys called out from above, and then came to an opening.He was now nearly 400 feet from the gold chamber. When he looked out ofthe round opening to which he had come he saw that beyond ran a deepgully, or canyon. At the point where the opening cut the wall of thecanyon, however, there was a gradual descent for perhaps 400 feet tothe bottom of the break in the mountain.

Elsewhere the walls of the canyon seemed to stand perpendicular, andNestor was for a moment puzzled to account for the filling of the breakat that particular spot, as if a rude stairway had been laid to theground below. Then the truth flashed upon him. The tunnel had beenbuilt as a chute for the disposition of the rock crushed in the mine.

There was no knowing how many years the natives had worked in thatunderground mine, crushing out the gold with rude appliances anddisposing of the refuse by means of the tunnel cut through the fault inthe rock. The canyon into which the crushed rock had been cast was awild and almost inaccessible break almost at the top of the mountainrange, and might have been used for years—perhaps forcenturies—without the truth of its gradual filling up becoming knownto hostile peoples.

Looking down into the canyon, Nestor wondered if an easy route to thebottom might not be found there. He was already more than 200 feetbelow the shelf of rock from which the mine opened. The floor of thecanyon was at least 400 feet below him, and at the south another cut,running east and west, seemed to connect with the first. He heard thetrinkle of water below, and was satisfied that there was a successionof canyons leading to the plain below, in which case descent would becomparatively easy.

This piece of good fortune, Nestor congratulated himself, would enablethe boys to reach the camping place of the renegade and his men shortlyafter dark, as the approach to the sandy plain would be comparativelyfree of obstruction. This was an important thing, as there might bemany miles to travel before the next day after Fremont was rescued.

It was not so easy getting back to the shaft, but in a short timeNestor made his way there and was soon in consultation with hisfriends. All were eager to pass through the tunnel, and so, one byone, they were let down until all were at the slope which led to thebottom of the canyon.

They found it easy to clamber down the heap of crushed rock to thefloor of the canyon, and also to pass along the bottom at the edge ofthe small stream of water which flowed toward the south. The water hadcut a passage under a ledge at the south, and now flowed eastward,toward the plain.

Following steadily on, now stooping under natural bridges in the rock,now wading through cuts which the water covered, and which must havebeen roaring torrents during time of storm, the boys finally came to alittle shelf looking east from which the renegade and some of hiscompanions could plainly be seen.

"Fremont is not so very far away now," Jack said, "and we ought toswarm down there and take him back with us. We ought to take the biglobster Jimmie seems to have on his mind back with us, too!" he added.

Nestor shook his head, for, much as he desired to hasten the hour ofFremont's release, he saw that an attempt at rescue now would bedangerous. It was certain that the outlaws, not suspecting that theyhad been trailed over the mountain by the tireless Boy Scouts, would beoff guard at night.

"Of course we want to capture that big lobster," Jimmie said. "We wantto know why he was so anxious for Nestor's society!"

"I think that question can easily be answered now," Nestor said, but hedid not answer it.

Leaving the view of the spot where Fremont was a captive reluctantly,the boys went back to the gold chamber by the series of canyons bywhich they had left it. It was not an easy journey, for there wereplaces where strength and skill were required, but at last they drewthemselves up the chute by means of the rope, after which they againfell to investigating the provision boxes which the newcomers hadbrought in.

By the time they had finished a second tolerably satisfactory repast,it began to grow dark, although the sun was still an hour from setting.Black masses of clouds were forming, and now and then flashes oflightning, darting from cloud to cloud, and from cloud-mass to earth,cut the gathering darkness.

Then a drenching rain-storm came on, and Nestor believed that the timefor the attack on the captors of his friend had arrived. In thedarkness and storm the outlaws would not be expecting danger. The windalmost flung the boys from their feet when they came to open shelves ofrock on their way to the plain below, but they kept steadily on theircourse.

CHAPTER XXI.

WOLVES BECOMING DANGEROUS.

On the last slope of the mountain, where the sand of the desert creptup to the ridge of rock which might, at some distant day, become sand,too, Big Bob and his band of cut-throats came upon a deserted hut whichhad undoubtedly been used at some time by men who were searching therefor gold.

The storm-clouds were shutting out the light of day when they pausedbefore the one-hinged door of the two-room habitation. Seeing theapproaching tempest, the renegade ordered his men to gather fuel andbuild a fire on the hearth, preparatory to passing the night there.This order was obeyed with reluctance, for the men were worn out withtheir exertions and ready to roll up in their blankets and seek restwithout the comfort of a fire. Besides, fuel was not plentiful there,and it was a long time before enough to satisfy the renegade could begathered.

Fremont was placed in a room to the west, a room only roughlypartitioned off from the other. There was one window opening to thisroom, and that faced the west and the mountain range.

The storm was soon dashing in fury against the roof of the hut. Thefrail structure trembled beneath the blows of the wind, and the clamorof the beating rains made all interior sounds inaudible. The prisonerknew that the outlaws were sitting before the fire in the outer room,probably jesting and smoking, but they might have been far away for allevidences of their presence he heard.

With individual noises thus shut away by the noise of the downpour, theboy felt himself isolated and alone. For the first time since hiscapture, his courage was wavering, not so much because of the peril ofthe moment, but because of the general hopelessness of the situation.

Only a few days before he had been a trusted and respected member ofthe Cameron family, one of the wealthiest and most exclusive in NewYork. Now, discredited and in danger from the threatened exercise of alaw he had not violated, he was presumably a prisoner on his way backto the Tombs. And yet, was he really on his way there? That was aquestion fully as puzzling as any other feature of the case.

It seemed a short time since he, with other members of the Black BearPatrol, had visited in their luxurious club-house, planning a trip toMexico. He had reached Mexico, all right, he thought, bitterly, butunder what adverse circ*mstances. Instead of the companionship of hisfriends, instead of the jolly camps on the hills and long, pleasantdays on the river, he was here a prisoner.

And he was the prisoner of a man who was desperate enough to take hislife at any moment. Indeed, the renegade might not be taking him tothe border at all. Fremont suspected another purpose. With thisthought came the memory of the signals he had heard on the mountain,and he arose and went to the window opening, barren of sash and glass,and looked out, hoping to again hear, above the rain, the calls of theBlack Bears. But no such sounds greeted his ears. There was only therush of the rain.

Fremont knew that the renegade would not be paid the reward until afterconviction, and he did not believe that any jury would convict him. Itwas not the fear of a penalty that had caused him to consent to flight,but the dread of the waiting in prison. He had an idea that Big Bobknew that he could not secure the reward at all unless he succeeded insecuring a confession, and that he had given this up.

Under these circ*mstances the renegade might not go to the trouble oftaking him to the border. Still, he seemed to be making for Texas withall secrecy and speed. Was there some other motive for landing him onTexas soil? The renegade had shown a strange familiarity withconditions in the Cameron building, and might be in some way interestedin some other affair there. There seemed to be no answer to thepuzzling questions the boy asked himself.

Looking into the immediate future, the boy could see but one ray ofhope, and that centered about Nestor, Jimmie, and the Boy Scouts. Heknew, from the call of the Black Bear Patrol signal, on the mountain,that his friends, loyal to the core, were not far away, but he did notknow how many there were in the party, or what chances of success theyhad.

"Good old Black Bears!" the boy whispered. "They are in the hillssomewhere, and will make themselves known when the right time comes."

After a couple of hours of such unpleasant thoughts as no boy of hisyears ought to be obliged to entertain, Fremont arose and again went tothe window looking out on the mountain. The rain came a little lessswiftly now, and the thunder heads were rolling away in heavy masses,leaving lighter spaces in the sky. He knew that a guard was at theangle of the building, placed there to prevent his escape, for he couldhear the angry mutterings of the fellow as he moved about.

While he stood before the small window, he heard the call of a wolf notfar away on the mountain. He bent nearer to the window and listenedintently. Yes; that was the whine of a wolf, but such a whine as hehad heard Jimmie give in showing the call of the Wolf Patrol.

His friends—the loyal Boy Scouts—were not far away! He wondered fora moment why the call of the Wolf Patrol had been given instead of thecall of the Black Bears, and then remembered that there were reallywolves in the mountains, while there were no black bears.

The guard at the corner growled something under his breath as thesecond signal came, and finally called out sharply:

"In the hut there!"

There was a short silence, silence except for the falling rain and thelashing wind, and then the voice of the renegade was heard.

"What do you want?" was asked.

"How much longer am I to remain here?" demanded the guard.

"Until there is no longer need of guarding the window," was the reply."You are the only man here I can trust. You must remain on guard."

"He has as yet made no move to escape," the guard said, in fair English.

"I know that very well," came in Big Bob's voice, "for I have heard noshooting."

So that was why he had been left alone there so long! He was to bepermitted to leave the hut by way of the window, and was to be murderedas soon as he touched the ground. The renegade figured that therecould be no penalty for shooting at an escaping man who was chargedwith a serious crime.

"Perhaps it is just as well," Big Bob said, directly, "for I have nottalked with him yet."

"Then you'd better do so at once," grunted the guard. "This is nopicnic out here in the rain!"

"Have patience!" replied the renegade, and the voices ceased.

In a few moments Fremont heard the renegade at his door, speaking in awhisper to the guard there. Then the door was opened and the bigfellow came bulkily into the room.

Fremont glanced up at the brutal face, only half revealed by theflaring candle he carried on a level with his enormous ears, but didnot speak. From the outer room came a clatter of Spanish words.

"I have been wondering," the fellow said, in a voice which showed adegree of education and culture not proclaimed by the coarse face, "whyyou attacked Cameron?"

"I didn't!" replied Fremont, hotly.

"The proof is against you!"

Fremont did not answer. He was listening for the call of a wolf on themountain.

"The proof is against you, boy," repeated the renegade.

After hearing the brief talk at the angle of the hut, Fremont hadlittle desire for a conversation with the fellow. The inference to bedrawn from that conversation was unmistakable. He was to be murderedby his captors. However, the boy could let this repetition of thecharge go unchallenged.

"Remember," he said, "that you have heard only one side of the case. Ido not know where you receive the information you claim to possess, butit goes without saying that it came from an enemy—probably from a manimplicated in the crime with which you charge me. In fact, you havealready opened up negotiations with me in the interest of the criminal."

"How so, boy?" demanded the other.

"You offered me my freedom if I would make a false confession. Whyshould you want a confession unless in the interest of one connectedwith the crime?"

"I told you why I wanted the confession," replied Big Bob, trying toforce a little friendliness into his voice and manner. "It would giveyou a lighter sentence, and it would make it easier for me to get thereward."

Fremont made no reply to this. The manner of the fellow was soinsincere that he could find no satisfaction in talking with him. BigBob, however, did not go away. Instead, he sat down on a packing boxwhich stood in the corner of the room and stuck the candle he carriedup on the floor, under the window ledge so the wind would notextinguish it, in a pool of its own grease.

"If Cameron gets well," he said, "he'll be likely to forgive you if youdo the right thing now."

No reply from the prisoner, sitting not far from the window, listeningfor another wolf call from the mountain.

"Cameron has always been your friend," the other went on.

"Indeed he has!" exclaimed the boy, almost involuntarily testifying tothe kindness of the man who had taken him from the streets and givenhim a chance in life.

"He took you from the gutter?"

Fremont looked out into the rain, only faintly seen in the glimmer ofthe flaring candle, and made no reply.

"He took you into his family?"

Fremont arose and went nearer to the opening where the sash had been,and stood for an instant with the rain beating on his face.

"How did he come to do it?"

Fremont began to see a purpose in this strange form of questioning.Nestor had asked questions similar to these, and had suggested thatMother Scanlon, the woman who had cared for him in a rough way at onetime, be looked up on their return to New York. Why this suggestion?

"Where did you first see Cameron?"

The voice of the renegade was threatening. Fremont heard only thesweep of the rain outside for a moment, and then the voice of the guardcame through the sashless window opening.

"I'm going in to warm up a bit," he said.

"All right," the renegade replied. "I'll let you know when to go onguard again. Boy," he added, facing Fremont with lowering brows, "Ican make it to your advantage to tell me all about your connection withCameron."

Fremont heard the words dimly, for as the door of the hut slammedbehind the drenched guard and his voice was heard in the outer room,the howl of a wolf came from the darkness just outside the window.

"Confound the wolves!" the renegade snarled. "They are becomingdangerous!"

"What you say may be true, so far as you are concerned!" Fremontreplied, grimly.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE CALL IN THE RAIN.

There was a sudden splash, heard above the downpour of the rain,followed by an exclamation of surprise, and then Jimmie's voice calledout:

"Say, you fellers, throw me that life preserver!"

Nestor turned the flame on the electric flashlight and directed ittoward the spot from which the voice had come. Jimmie, who had beenfeeling his way cautiously a few paces in advance of the party, wasseen floundering about in a pool of water.

"Come on in!" the boy cried out. "The water is fine!"

"What you doing in there?" demanded Frank, nearly choking with laughterat the odd plight of the little fellow.

"I came in to get measured for a suit of clothes!" replied Jimmie."Say, you fellows, give me a hand and I'll climb out."

The pool was neither wide nor deep, and the boy was soon on solid earthagain. The storm had filled one of the depressions in the canyon theboys were following, with muddy water, and in the darkness Jimmie hadtumbled into it.

"You're a sight!" Nestor said, turning the light on the boy, whoseclothes were now a mixture of mud and briars acquired while descendingthe mountain slope above.

"I ain't any wetter than you are!" retorted the boy, as the rainswitched his hair about his face. "Why don't you let me take the lightwhen I go on ahead, then?"

"For the same reason that we do not head our procession with a fife anddrum," laughed Frank. "We're not supposed to be here at all!"

"There's nobody out lookin' for a light in this canyon to-night,"grumbled Jimmie.

As he spoke he seized Nestor by the arm and drew him back.

"What's that square of light down there?" he asked.

"Probably the camp we are bound for," was the reply.

"Then we've made better time down here than that lobster of anEnglishman did," the boy exclaimed. "It took him most of the afternoonto climb down the hills, and we've been only about two hours on theway."

"It seems that we came by a much shorter and easier route," Nestorreplied. "Where the other party was obliged to wind around precipicesand crags, we made our way along the beds of what was once a successionof streams, cutting the side of the mountain into canyons. Wait here,boys," he added, "until I go down there and see what the situation is."

"Just you hold on until I let Fremont know we are coming!" Jimmie said,and the next moment the wolf-cry which Fremont had first heard rang out.

"Sounds like a wet wolf!" declared Frank.

"I know of a Black Bear that ain't any dryer!" replied Jimmie.

Nestor reached the level space in front of the west window of the hutjust as the guard left the corner in the interest of a little warmth.The steady fall of the rain and the swish of the wind drowned anynoises he made, and so he crept up to the wall of the structure withoutfear of discovery.

During the talk between the renegade and Fremont the patrol leadercrouched under the window, listening. He heard the inquiriesconcerning Fremont's early connection with Mr. Cameron with surprise.Who was this man, he asked himself, who knew so much of Fremont's earlylife? What motive could he have in seeking to learn more about it thanhe already knew?

Unable to solve the problem, and realizing that the time for promptaction had come, he retreated from the window and with a low whistlesummoned the boys to his side. As they joined him, led on by theirrepressible Jimmie, the boys gave the wolf call again.

"Just to let the kid know we're comin'!" Jimmie explained.

Then, while the boys stood considering the course to pursue, the squareof light was cut by a figure standing between the flame and the windowspace. The watchers could not, of course, see the face which waslooking out on the stormy night, but they knew that it was Fremont whostood there.

"There's no one in the room with him but that big lobster," Jimmiewhispered, "and there's no one watching outside! If I were in his placeI'd take a dive into the night! You bet I would."

"Perhaps he will," Nestor replied. "It would be a good thing to doprovided he can get out of the window and out of the little circle oflight before the Englishman can get out his gun and shoot."

"I'll give him a little advice on the subject," Frank observed, and thenext moment the low whine of a bear sounded through the storm. Itwhined, then lifted into a deep growl, then died away into a whineagain.

"What does that mean?" asked Jimmie.

"That is one Black Bear telling another to take to his heels!" was thereply. "You will see Fremont making for that opening in a second.Here he comes!"

Fremont was indeed springing through the opening where the sash hadbeen. The boys saw the renegade clutch at his clothing, saw the clothhold for an instant, then tear away under the impetus of the boy'smovement, and heard Fremont's answer to the call as he struck theground under the window.

Instead of going through the outer room and leaving the hut by means ofthe door, for some reason Big Bob concluded to follow the boy throughthe window. The opening was large enough for the passage of his burlyframe, but he was clumsy in getting through, with the result thatFremont was nearly beyond the circle of light when at last he came tothe surface outside.

Then the renegade made another mistake, a fatal one. He lifted up hisgreat voice in warning the boy to return, and fired his revolver intothe air as a means of intimidation. As he did so, the door of the hut,situated on the east, flew open and the outlaws rushed out, doubtlessunder the impression that they had been attacked. They left the doorwide open, and a red square of light lay on the rain-soaked groundbefore it.

The only members of the party who did not exit by way of the doorwaywas the messenger who had identified Fremont. He dashed into the innerroom when the cry and the shot came and looked from the window opening,there being no one in the room.

For hours this man, known to his companions as Ren Downs, had beenobserving the actions of Big Bob with suspicion. When the renegadetalked with the prisoner, as he had many times on the way down, Rensauntered close to the two in a vain attempt to hear what was beingsaid. He doubted the honesty of the big fellow, believing that it washis purpose to break away from the others, himself included, and soescape the necessity of dividing the reward.

Doubting the loyalty of the renegade as he did, it was natural that heshould decide that the fellow was planning an escape with the boy.Therefore, when he saw Fremont disappearing from view in the darkness,with Big Bob close after him, he drew his revolver and fired at therenegade. The shot took effect and Big Bob dropped to the ground.

"I hope he's killed him!" Jimmie said, heartily.

"No such luck as that!" Frank exclaimed. "See, the lobster is gettingout his own gun!"

Big Bob lay in an awkward pose on the ground, his face and the muzzleof his automatic revolver turned toward the window. The boys almostheld their breath as the figure of the messenger appeared, blocking theopening. When they saw what the purpose of the wounded man was theyshouted to Downs to warn him, but were too late.

The automatic sent a hail of bullets toward the opening, and Downs felllimply across the window-ledge. At the fusillade of shots the outlawscame to the corner of the hut and glanced fearfully about. The squareof light before the windows showed Big Bob lying on the ground andDowns hanging, head downward, from the window. Their naturalsupposition was that the hut had been attacked by a large force, sothey took to their heels and were seen no more by the boys.

After a minute devoted to Black Bear hugs, and handshakes, and words ofcongratulation over his escape, the boys left Fremont in the shelter ofthe darkness and advanced to where Big Bob lay.

"It is all off with me, lads!" the big fellow said, as he turned hisface to the boys. "I can't walk, for he shot me through the back.Will you get me into the hut?"

"Sure!" replied Jimmie. "You're pretty tough as a human proposition,but we can't see you suffer out here in the rain."

"Before you go any further," the man said, then, "see if Downs is dead.If I didn't get him right, he'll kill some one before he dies."

Nestor and Frank walked over to the body and made a quick examination.

"Stone dead," they said. "He never knew what hit him!"

"I am glad of that," Big Bob said. "Now get me into the hut."

The wounded man was carried into the hut and laid down on a heap ofcoats before the fire. It was easy to see that he was fatally injured,and the boys gathered about him with pale faces.

"I'm glad none of us shot him!" Frank said.

The storm grew wilder at midnight, the wind blowing in great gusts andthe rain falling in sheets. By dodging out into the rain now and thenthe boys managed to keep the fire going. Big Bob lay perfectly silentbefore the fire for a long time and then motioned to Fremont.

"You're a good lad!" he said.

"Not long ago you were accusing me of crime," the boy said.

"Gather the boys around," the man said, then, "I want them to hear whatI am going to say. You may write it down if you want to."

The wounded man did not speak again for a long time, and while thewatchers waited a call came from outside of the hut—a long, waveringscream, as of some one in dire distress.

"Some one lost on the mountain!" Frank exclaimed.

Nestor opened the door between the two rooms so that the light of thefire might show through the open window from which Fremont had escaped.The candle used by Big Bob had long since burned out.

The cries continued, seeming to come no nearer, and Frank went out intothe storm with the flashlight, watched by the others from the window.They saw him force his way against the wind until he came to the end ofthe gentle slope which terminated at an outcropping of rock, then theysaw him halt and stoop over.

In a moment more he was back at the hut, his face paler than before,his eyes showing terror.

"There's some one out there with a broken leg," he said, "and we mustgo and get him in."

"Who is it?" asked Jimmie.

"I don't know," was the reply. "It seems to me that I have seen himbefore, but I can't place him now."

"What hurt the man?" asked Jimmie. "Is he shot?"

"He says he fell down the mountain," was the reply. "He heard theshooting, and made his way here. Come on. Let's go and bring him intoour hospital!"

Three minutes later Fremont sprang to his feet as the man's face showedin the light.

"The night watchman!" he cried, and Jimmie echoed the identification.

CHAPTER XXIII.

SOME UNEXPECTED ARRIVALS.

Nestor gazed into the pain-drawn face of the newcomer with a feelingakin to awe. There seemed something uncanny in the fellow being thereat all. Had there come some new and unexpected development, inconsequence of which he had been released by the secret service men? Orhad he managed to elude their vigilance? If the latter, had Don Migueland Felix also gained their freedom?

And how had the man succeeded in crossing the mountain in the weakenedcondition he was in? He was now so weak and faint from loss of bloodand long suffering that he dropped to the floor like a dead man. Hadhe escaped, or been released soon after the departure of the party forSan Jose, and spent the entire day among the crags and canyons? Theman on the floor seemed a trick of the imagination, or, at least, acase of mistaken identity.

Nestor did not believe that Lieutenant Gordon would release the fellowunder any circ*mstances. There was some mystery about his appearancethere that could only be solved by the man himself, and so suchrestoratives as the Boy Scouts carried in their camping outfits werehastily brought forth.

There were bandages and a small flask of brandy which had formed a partof many an outfit and had never been uncorked, and these were soon onthe floor by the side of the sufferer. The injury proved to be acompound fracture of the right leg, and Nestor shook his head gravelyas he inspected it. Little could be done save to force the shatteredbones back into place and bind the whole up firmly.

The acute pain of the operation and the stimulating drink that wasgiven him caused Scoby to open his eyes and, screaming with the agonyof the injury, look about the room. His pale features contorted withrage or some other strong emotion, as he looked upon the renegade. BigBob eyed the fellow malevolently.

"You chaps appear to know each other pretty well," Nestor said,glancing from one to the other. "It would be interesting to know whereand when, and under what circ*mstances, you last met."

The wounded men glared at each other but made no reply. Big Bob thenturned his head away with an exclamation of rage. Scoby pointed to thebrandy bottle and moved his white lips. Frank, who held the stimulant,asked a question with his eyes.

"Yes," Nestor said, "give him a stiff dose. He is about all in."

The drink was taken greedily, and in a few moments the fellow appearedto be gaining temporary strength. Then Nestor asked:

"Where are Don Miguel and Felix?"

"I know nothing about the foxy guy," growled the watchman.

"Then where is the Mexican?" was the next question.

Scoby fixed his gaze on the brandy flask longingly, and Nestor saw thathe was bargaining for another drink of the liquid.

"Very well," he said. "Tell me what I want to know, and you shall havemore."

"What do you want to know?" growled Scoby.

"How did you manage to escape from the secret service men?"

"We, Felix and I, got away while they were arranging for a boat tocross to San Jose. They chased us up the slope and fired at us, butthere were so many men in the hills that they did not care to follow usin."

"And Don Miguel?"

"We left him with the officers. He would not even try to get away."

"And why did your flight take this direction?" asked Nestor, glad thatthe diplomat was still in custody, where he would be obliged to give anaccount of his doings.

"We came to look for the mine," was the impatient reply.

"And you found it, and left Felix there?"

Scoby's haggard face again contorted with anger.

"There is no mine!" he almost shouted. "We have been on a fool errand!The map is a fake and a lie!"

The boys glanced at each other and smiled triumphantly. Scoby caughtthe expression on their faces and dropped back hopelessly.

"And so you found it?" he said, consternation as well as inquiry in hisvoice.

"Never mind that now," Nestor replied. "Where is the Mexican?"

"Dead!" was the startling and unexpected reply.

"You quarreled, then?" asked Nestor.

"He fell over a cliff," was the reply. "I tried to save him, but hedrew me over with him. I broke my leg and he broke his neck. Give methe flask!"

The request was complied with, and the fellow drank thirstily, thestrong liquor slipping down his throat like water. He passed the flaskback and closed his eyes. Then Big Bob, who had evidently beenlistening to the conversation, beckoned to Fremont. Wondering what thefellow could have to say to him, the boy approached the side of thedying man.

"You recall my asking bout your first meeting with Cameron?" Big Bobasked.

"Yes, and I wondered at it."

"There was a photograph in the Tolford envelope. Have you ever seenit?"

Fremont shook his head, wondering if the man was going out of his mind.He had often handled the papers, and had never come upon a photograph.

"There was one there," the other insisted. "When you get back to NewYork look it up. It will pay you to do so."

"Very well," replied the mystified boy, "but why talk of that at such atime?"

Big Bob regarded the boy questioningly, as if doubting his word.

"When the man of the photograph," he said, weakly, "was of your age, hemust have looked exactly as you look now. It is no wonder that Cameronrecognized in the newsboy the heir to the Tolford estate."

Fremont looked from Big Bob back to Nestor, then swept his eyes aroundthe circle of interested faces.

"He is raving!" the boy said. "What have I to do with the Tolfordestate?"

"There can be no mistake," the other declared, with a long pausebetween the words. "Cameron knew who you were, and that is why he tookyou into his own home; that is why the settlement of the estate wasdelayed year after year. He was waiting for you to come of age."

Jim Scoby was glaring at the speaker as if he thought to finish him bya look. The night watchman appeared to be waiting for some developmentwhich had not yet been put into words—possibly some revelationregarding the night of the crime.

Nestor saw the look and understood it. Fearful that Big Bob would nothave the strength to speak the words which appeared to be forming onhis lips, he bent over him and whispered:

"What about that night in the Cameron building? We can work out theproblem of the heirship later on. Tell us what took place in theCameron suite on the night you went there last—the night of the crime."

"Let him tell the truth, then!" almost shouted Jim Scoby. "Let himtell the thing as he found it!"

"So you saw him there that night?" asked Nestor, turning to Scoby.

"Let him answer!" was the rasping reply. "Only make him tell thetruth! He might put the crime on the wrong shoulders."

It was long after midnight now, and the storm had died out. Save foran occasional dash of rain and an infrequent roll of electricity overthe mountains, the night was normal, and here and there a star creptout to meet the coming dawn.

"I was in the Cameron building that night," Big Bob said, glancingpainfully in the direction of the night watchman. "I saw him there!"

"The fourth man!" whispered Frank, nudging Nestor with his elbow. "Thefourth man you have been talking about!"

The dying man opened his lips again, but did not speak, for voices wereheard outside, and then a sharp command was given. The order was toshoot if resistance was offered by those inside. Then the door wasthrown open and a bit of polished steel flashed in the light of thefire. The alarmed boys dropped the weapons they had drawn at a signalfrom Nestor.

The man in the doorway, wet, draggled, and exhausted with the exertionsof the night was Lieutenant Gordon, and back of his stalwart figure thelight showed a dozen armed men in plain clothes. Some of them, atleast, were known to Nestor.

"You are safe, then?"

With a sigh of relief the lieutenant dropped down on a rude bench thatstood against the wall and beckoned his men into the shelter of thehut. Then he noted the two men on the floor and turned inquiringly toNestor.

"Wait!" the latter said. "We shall have plenty of time forexplanations later on. This man is dying, and there is something hewishes to say."

The secret service men, standing before the fire and swarming over thetwo rooms, uncovered their heads and checked the questions on theirlips.

Again Fremont stooped over the big fellow, and again the lips opened,but again there came an interruption. A sharp report came from theoutside and Lieutenant Gordon hastened to throw the door open. Arocket was mounting the sky, its red light giving the floor of the huta tint of blood.

It was followed by another, and another, then the lieutenant steppedout and saw code signals flying in the night above the peaks to thewest!

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE STORY OF THE CRIME.

Lieutenant Gordon stood for some moments reading the signals flashingfrom the mountain, and the boys, regardless of the storm, clusteredabout him. They were unable to understand what was going on, ofcourse, not being familiar with the code, but still they were greatlyinterested in the proceedings.

"It must be good news!" Jimmie whispered to Frank Shaw. "Look at himgrin!"

The lieutenant did appear to be pleased with the information he wasreceiving by means of the vaulting rockets, but he said nothing untilthe signaling ceased, and then he made his way into the hut. He wasabout to speak when Nestor laid a hand on his arm.

"Wait," the boy said. "This man cannot last much longer, and it isimperative that we listen to what he has to say."

Jim Scoby, sitting against the wall near the hearth, groaning dismallywith the pain of his broken leg, cast a keen glance at the big fellowand smiled—an ugly smile which informed those who saw it of his beliefthat Big Bob was now beyond the power of speech. Indeed, this did seemto be the fact for a moment, but then the renegade opened his eyes andmotioned to the lieutenant.

"I want to tell you who attacked Cameron!" he said.

A string of curses escaped the lips of the watchman, but they werealmost unnoticed in the excitement caused by the words of the dying man.

Nestor and Fremont drew nearer at a motion from Big Bob. Seeing thathis profanity did not avail, the watchman set up a loud cry, in fact, asuccession of loud cries, as if with the intention of drowning thevoice of the speaker. He was silenced only when one of the secretservice men threatened him with a billet of wood picked up from thefloor.

"I reckon this story ain't goin' to do that geezer no good!" Jimmiesaid, in a shrill whisper which brought smiles to the faces of hiscompanions.

"Sure not!" returned Frank. "This is the fourth man, and he was therethat night. Can you guess whom he will accuse?" he added, with aneager glance at Jimmie, who promptly shook his head and came closer tothe group on the hearth.

"I had been hanging around the Cameron building for some days," Big Bobbegan, feebly, "hoping to get a look at the Tolford papers. I hadbribed Scoby, and he was helping me all he could. It was for me thathe got the key to the suite made."

Seeing that the man would not be likely to survive long enough to tellthe story as he had begun, Nestor said:

"Wouldn't it answer if I asked you questions on the points we are mostinterested in clearing up? We can get through quicker that way."

Big Bob nodded, and the boy asked:

"You saw Don Miguel there?"

"Yes; he was there."

"Nod or shake your head if you find your voice failing," advisedLieutenant Gordon, and the big fellow expressed his satisfaction withthe arrangement by a look.

"Was Mr. Cameron working at his desk when you left him?"

An emphatic nod.

"Then that clears Don Miguel," said Nestor. "Who next entered theroom?"

Big Bob glanced toward Jim Scoby, still snarling at the group.

"Was Felix with him?"

"Yes; Felix and myself," was the unexpected reply.

"It is a lie!" shouted Scoby. "I never saw him that night."

"You'll see stars in a minute, if you have got a broken leg, if youkeep on interrupting!" said the secret service man, and Scoby subsidedfor the time being.

"Was the door locked when you entered?"

A nod from Big bob.

"And was Mr. Cameron there, sitting with the door locked, still at workat his desk?" was the next question.

"He was not there. He had been called away."

This was a new feature of the case, for Nestor had not considered Mr.Cameron's absence from the room as among the possibilities.

"Was he out of the building?" he asked.

Big Bob shook his head.

"And while he was away you three entered with the false key?"

Another nod. Fremont motioned for him to go on, but Nestor laid a handon his shoulder.

"Let me see if I can't help you," he said. "I think I can state thecase now. You were waiting about the building to secure the Tolfordpapers, and Scoby and Felix were with you. After the departure of DonMiguel you caused a telephone call to be sent to Mr. Cameron—a calltaking him to another part of the building. Is that right?"

The injured man smiled faintly and nodded.

"There were no telephone calls there that night!" howled the nightwatchman. "He is lying to you!"

"Mr. Cameron left the room, locking it after him," Nestor went on, "andyou three entered and began looking for the Tolford papers? Is thatright?"

Another nod from the big fellow on the floor.

"And you found the papers, after searching the safe and the desk, andFelix held the mine description while you copied it?"

"He read it off to me," was the reply.

"Now, what other paper in the Tolford envelope did you copy?"

This question brought a shake of the head.

"The will was there?"

"Yes," huskily.

"And you took that away with you, leaving a forged instrument in itsplace?"

It was now Fremont's turn to look amazed. He turned to Nestor with aneager look in his eyes.

"How did you know that?" he asked.

Nestor motioned for him to remain quiet. It was clear that Big Bob'shours were numbered, even his minutes.

"You are one of the heirs to the Tolford estate, and you objected tothe manner in which the property was left by Julius Tolford, especiallyas it was left mostly to Cole Tolford and his heirs. So you made a newwill, as much like the old one as you could manage, and left it in theenvelope?"

"Yes, I did that!"

"I thought so," said Nestor. "And you made a bad job out of it, for Ihad no difficulty in discovering the deception when I looked throughthe papers that night. The false will was on stained paper, like theother instruments, but the others were stained with age, while the oneyou introduced into the lot was colored with chemicals."

Big Bob nodded and looked with astonishment at the boy.

"And Mr. Cameron came back and found you three in the suite?" Nestorwent on.

Big Bob shook his head.

"You left before he returned?"

Another shake of the head, then the man whispered:

"Scoby was watching for him outside."

The night watchman seemed like a man about to throw a fit. He writhedabout the floor, regardless of his injured leg, and tried to reach thespeaker.

"And Scoby struck him down?" asked Nestor.

There was a strained silence in the room as they all waited for thereply, already suggested by Big Bob's previous words.

"Yes," he whispered. "Scoby struck him down with a billy."

The accused man dropped back against the wall and his eyes closed. Itwas plain that the words, together with his previous exertions andpain, had taken the nerve all out of the fellow.

"But Scoby did not do this of his own notion," Nestor went on,remorselessly. "It was done by your orders. You had bribed him to doit. It was your idea that if Cameron was killed no one would ever beable to detect the substitution of the false will for the original one."

Big Bob nodded, but did not stop there.

"I wanted to take no chances," he said, with a choke in his voice. "Iwanted the property! I did not care for the mine especially, but I toldScoby that that was my motive—the securing of the description. Iwanted to clear my title to the entire estate. If the boy working therethat night had not followed Fremont into the room, he, Fremont, wouldhave been attacked also."

"Then Fremont stood in your way?" asked Nestor.

Fremont, remembering Big Bob's talk with him about his earlyassociation with Mr. Cameron, his mention of the will, bent closer, astartled expression on his face.

"Yes, he stood in my way," was the reply. "He is the son of ColeTolford, who was killed in New York a long time ago, and would haveinherited the property."

"And Mr. Cameron knew that?" asked Nestor, his old suspicions, voicedto Fremont at the time they talked of Mother Scanlon, recurring to hismind.

"Of course he knew," was the reply. "With Cameron out of the way, andthe boy ignorant of his parentage, I would have been safe. Still, Ithought best to put Fremont out of my way also. Then there could havebeen no danger, for I was the next heir."

"I understand!" Nestor said, greatly shocked at the revelation of thecold-blooded murder plot. "You had seen Fremont about the building,and yet you pretended not to know him after your men had taken himprisoner?"

"I knew him," was the faint reply. "My men captured the boy Idescribed to them. I preferred that my men should think I had captureda marplot who had ruined their plans. Then they would have thoughtnothing of my killing him. But Ren Downs interfered."

"That is the man who lies dead out there?"

Another nod from the injured man, now almost too weak to talk.

"It was your intention to kill Fremont? You wanted him to try toescape and have him shot down by another?"

"Yes, that was my plan. And Scoby and Felix if necessary. I came herefor that."

"Great Scott!" whispered Frank. "I reckon this chap got just what wascoming to him! Only he ought to be hanged!"

"Hush!" whispered Nestor. "Look!"

Big Bob opened his eyes wider, shot out one hairy hand, gave aconvulsive motion which shook his great frame so that the floor of thefrail hut trembled, and then the end came. Later, when the body wasgiven rude burial, the original will was found in a pocket of the deadman's coat, together with letters from his brother, Cole Tolford,asking him to go to New York, search out Mother Scanlon, and protecthis son.

"Congratulations are in order, Mr. Black Bear!" Shaw whispered, as thepapers were handed to Fremont, "but, somehow, I feel like waiting untilwe get back to little old New York before showing any enthusiasm. Thishas been a tragic trip."

The other members of the party seemed to feel the same way, for therevelation of the dreadful plot and the death of Samuel Tolford, knownas Big Bob, had cast a gloom over the party which not even the clearingup of the mystery could shake off.

CHAPTER XXV.

READY FOR THE CANAL ZONE.

"This is the end of the case," Frank Shaw said, covering the face ofthe dead man with a handkerchief. "Fremont is free to go back to NewYork, taking his mine with him! Nestor was right when he declared thatthe solution of the Cameron mystery lay on this side of the Rio Grande."

"But the object of our visit has not yet been accomplished," Nestorsaid, "and so I can't go back with you. Perhaps you would better leaveme in charge of the mine!"

"You are wrong," Lieutenant Gordon said, then, "the object of ourjourney is accomplished. I was ready to announce the fact when youstopped me to listen to the last words of the poor wretch who liesthere."

"Do you mean that the arms and ammunition were stopped on the otherside?" demanded Nestor.

"That is what the signals said! When I left Don Miguel in charge ofthe secret service men at San Jose and came back into the hills to findyou, I left word with the men to climb to the top and signal if thenews came that the arms had been stopped. I don't know just how theygot the news, but it is undoubtedly reliable. The arms are in UncleSam's possession. The rag-tag-and-bob-tail-of-creation fellows we haveseen skulking about here will have to go away without a fight."

"That is too bad!" grunted Frank. "I wanted to see a raid!"

"It is better as it is," replied Nestor.

"And the signals told me something else," continued the lieutenant."Something about your end of the case," he added, turning to Fremont.

"About Mr. Cameron?" asked the boy, excitedly. "He is—"

"In his right mind again, and knows who struck him."

Then the Black Bears and the Wolves joined hands and actually dancedabout the old hut until it seemed about to collapse. The secretservice men looked on and smiled at the sight of so much happiness.Then Fremont asked:

"And he will live?"

"There is no doubt of it," was the reply. "I do not know the details,for one rocket told me that he was in his right mind again, and anotherthat he would live."

"Then we can all go back to New York and get ready for the trip downthe river!" said Jimmie. "You fellers can ride on cushions and I'llhoof it."

"Say," cried Stevens, in a moment, "if this raid scare is all over, geta couple of drums and let Frank and Peter drum their heads off."

"I don't want to drum," Frank said, "not here, anyway! I don't want togo down the Rio Grande, either. I've had enough of Mexico."

He turned to the night watchman with a shudder and bent over him. Theman's face was whiter than before, and his form seemed rigid. Seeingthe boy's action, Lieutenant Gordon also stooped down. When he arosehis face was grave.

"Prussic acid!" he said. "It seems that he was prepared for anemergency!"

"The last of the three conspirators!" Nestor said. "To wander throughthe world until past middle age and then to come to this! But it isbetter so."

It was daylight now, and the burials took place. After taking a verylight breakfast, the party started back over the mountain. They passedup the ravines and canyons to the mine, and Lieutenant Gordon ascendedthe mountain of crushed rock and entered the gold chamber.

"There is a fortune here," he said looking about. "What are you goingto do with it?" he added, turning to Fremont.

"I had not thought of that," was the reply.

"You'd better be thinking about it!" said Jimmie. "Some one will comedown here and geezle it!"

"No one will ever find it," Fremont said.

"But we found it!" Stevens remarked.

"There are a couple of men in my company," the lieutenant said, then,"who are anxious to get out of the service. Why not leave them here tokeep possession? After this revolution is over, you can come down hereand work it, or they can handle it for you. They are honest andcapable."

When spoken with about the matter the men were eager to undertake thetask of guarding the mine until peace should be restored, after whichthey were willing to undertake its development. And so, when the partyleft, these men stood on the shelf of rock by the opening, remindingLieutenant Gordon and Fremont for the twentieth time to be sure to sendup provisions. It is needless to add that the provisions were sent!

When the party reached El Paso one of the first men they met was DonMiguel, who smiled in a sarcastic manner as he greeted Nestor.

"And so you were released?" the boy asked.

"On orders from Washington," was the reply.

"The case ended when the arms were captured," Nestor said.

"And if they had not been taken?"

"If a raid had actually taken place, you would have been charged withmurder," was the quiet reply.

"Only for you," snarled the other, "my plans would have succeeded."

"Only for the strange combination of circ*mstances which brought usboth to the Cameron building that night, you should say," Nestorreplied. "It chanced that we appeared on the scene in time tointerrupt a murder plot."

"It is fate!" Don Miguel said, with a frown. "It was to be. Why, halfthe police officers in New York might have visited the suite withoutseeing anything significant in those letters. And even if they hadfound them interesting reading, they would not have been capable ofsmashing all our plans. At the beginning of the world it was set thatyou were to be there that night! It is fate!"

Don Miguel bowed to the boy and took himself off. The government,fearing international complications, had ordered his release, and theboy was glad of it. The boys were all back in New York in two days,accompanied by Lieutenant Gordon, who was interested in seeing thatNestor received a suitable reward for what he had done. When the checkfinally came from Washington Nestor was so surprised at its size thathe sought the lieutenant, who laughed at him.

"Uncle Sam always pays well," he said, "and he wants a little more ofyour time!"

"Wants me?" asked Nestor.

"Well, he asks me to get some keen fellows together and go down to theCanal Zone and look into a bit of treason."

"And you want me to go?" cried the boy, almost disbelieving his ownears.

"It is just this way," the lieutenant said. "I want some one with mewho can act and act quickly, and who can think on the spur of themoment. Also some one who will not be suspected of being in the secretservice of the government."

"I see!" cried the boy, his eyes flashing.

"And so," continued the lieutenant, "I was thinking that you might getsome of the Black Bears and Wolves we had in Mexico to go down thereand look about. Where is little Jimmie? I like the boy."

"Fremont has about adopted him!" laughed Nestor. "I guess the boy willhave an easy life from this time on."

"And Fremont is now the acknowledged heir?"

"Oh, yes. Mr. Cameron is holding the property until he comes of age,but is giving him the income, which is very large, to say nothing ofthe mine."

"Mr. Cameron, of course, knew that Fremont was the heir?"

"Oh, yes, he knew, and he had statements from Mother Scanlon to proveit. It was all clear for Fremont before the crime was committed. Alucky boy!"

"Of course he appreciates your efforts in his behalf?"

"Does he? Why, he wants me to stop working and come and play with himfor the remainder of my life! Suppose I take him to Panama if youreally want me to go?"

"I certainly do, and for the reason given," was the reply. "Get some ofthe Black Bears and Wolves together and organize an excursion to theCanal Zone. You must not mix with me, or the other secret service mendown there, but you must keep us posted as to what you discover."

"That will be a picnic," cried Nestor. "What is doing down there?"

"I don't know much about it myself," was the reply, "except that it isa plot to stop the building of the canal. You'll find out soon enoughwhen you get down there. When can you go?"

"In three days," was the answer. "Just as soon as I can round up theboys. The folks down there will think a menagerie has struck town whenthey see all the wild animals creeping in on them. Say, what wouldUncle Sam do if it wasn't for the Boy Scouts of America?" he added,with a laugh.

"Couldn't exist!" smiled the lieutenant.

It is needless to say that the prospect of a trip to Panama, with alittle intrigue thrown in, pleased the boys greatly, and in three daysthey were ready to start, waiting only for orders from LieutenantGordon.

THE END.

What they did and what they saw and heard in the Canal Zone will betold in the forthcoming book of this series entitled, "Boy Scouts inthe Canal Zone; or Plot Against Uncle Sam."