Frank Merriwell's Backers: or, The Pride of His Friends

CHAPTER XXIII.

BOXER CREATES A STIR

When Frank and Bart came out of the hotel, with Boxer at their heels, they found a group of men on the steps engaged in earnest discussion. Immediately, on sight of the two young men and the dog, the babel of voices fell to a hush and the men all squared about and stared. But Merry immediately noticed that it was not at Bart or himself that they were staring, but at Boxer. The dog seemed to observe this, likewise, for he stopped short, with one paw uplifted, surveyed the men, and Frank, who was a clever ventriloquist, made the animal apparently say:

"Say, Frank, what do you suppose the ginnies are gawking at?"

"Mother av Moses!" cried an Irishman in the group. "Oi swear be all the saints the baste did spake!"

"Yah! yah!" chattered a pig-tailed Chinaman by the name of Sing Lee, who ran a laundry in town. "Dogee talkee allee samee likee Chinyman."

"Go on, you rat-eater!" contemptuously exclaimed the dog. "If I couldn't talk better than you I'd go drown myself!"

Needless to say this brought the excitement of the crowd to a high pitch.

Benchy and Spikes were on hand, and now the former appealed to Frank.

"Is that your dog?" he asked.

"Well, I lay claim to him," smiled Merry.

"He – he – can he talk?"

"Didn't you hear him?"

"Yes, but – "

"Well, what better evidence do you want than your own ears?"

"That's enough; but Schlitzenheimer called me names and said I was trying to put up a joke on him because I told him I heard the dog talk."

"Who's Schlitzenheimer?"

"He runs the saloon down the street right in front of which your dog whipped those other dogs what jumped on him. He's a black-headed Dutchman. Come on down and show him the dog."

"Come on!" cried others.

Merry didn't mind the lark, but he now turned to the dog, with a very serious expression on his face, saying:

"How about it, Boxer? I believe you told me you hold an antipathy against Dutchmen. Will you go down to Schlitzenheimer's with me?"

The dog seemed to hesitate, and then he answered:

"Oh, I don't care; go ahead. I'm not stuck on Dutchmen, but I'll teach this one a lesson."

"All right," said Merry. "Come on."

Benchy triumphantly led the way, being followed by Frank and Bart and the dog, with the crowd at the heels of them. The Irishman was protesting his wonderment, while the Chinaman chattered excitedly.

Within the hotel a man had been watching and listening. He was a bewhiskered ruffian, and he strode forth and followed the crowd to the Dutchman's saloon. Cimarron Bill watched his tool depart, smiling darkly and muttering to himself:

"Good-by, Bob! You're going up against a hard proposition in Frank Merriwell, and it's not likely you'll call to collect that little sum of money from me. All the same, I hope you get in a shot, for you shoot straight, and you may make a round sum for my pocket, as I'll compel the old lady to lay down the cash. I'll be able to scare her into it by threatening to tell the whole story and bring her into the game as an accomplice. That will yank her around to her feet in short order, I opine."

For all of Bill's reputation as a "killer," he was willing to let this piece of work over to the attention of another.

So Gentle Bob followed Merriwell, an evil purpose in his black heart, nor knew that his employer believed and half-hoped he might be going to his own end.

Benchy burst into the saloon, uttering a cry of triumph.

"Here comes the dog!" he said. "Now I have you, you old duffer! You'll find out he can talk."

Schlitzenheimer stared at the door, through which the crowd followed Frank, and Bart, and the dog.

"Vos dot der tog?" he said.

"Do you take me for a monkey, you lobster-faced frankfurter?" saucily demanded the dog.

"Hey?" squawked the saloon-keeper, turning purple. "Vot id vos? Dit I hear correctness?"

"Be careful, Boxer," said Frank reprovingly. "Don't be so free with your lip. You may offend the gentleman."

"Gentleman!" exclaimed the setter, in a tone of profound contempt. "Do you call that sourkraut-barrel a gentleman? I'm surprised at you, Frank!"

At this there was a burst of laughter, and Schlitzenheimer turned as red as he had been pale a moment before.

"Vot vor did dot tog vanted to insult me?" he exclaimed indignantly. "I dit not someding to him do!"

"Boxer, I'm surprised!" cried Frank. "You will get me into trouble with your careless language. I insist that you apologize immediately to the gentleman. I insist, sir!"

"Oh, very well," said the dog; "if you insist, I'll apologize. I was joking, anyway."

"And I add my own apology, Mr. Schlitzenheimer," said Merry. "I hope this will be sufficient?"

"Oh, yah, dot peen all righdt," said the Dutchman at once. "But py dunder! der tickens id does peat to heard a tog dalking!"

"It's a good one on you, Fritz!" cried Benchy triumphantly. "Remember your agreement! You're stuck!"

"Vale, I will stood py dot agreements," said the saloon-keeper, rather reluctantly, "efen if in pusiness id does preak me up. Und I vill sdant treat der crowdt vor. Sdep up, eferpody, und your trink name."

"That's the talk!" cried the dog. "You're not such a bad fellow, Schlitzy."

Schlitzenheimer leaned on the bar with both hands and looked over at Boxer.

"Vot will you haf yourseluf?" he asked.

"Excuse me," said the setter; "I'm on the water-wagon. Go ahead, gentlemen, and don't mind me."

So they lined up in front of the bar, expressing their amazement over the accomplishment of the dog and burdening Merriwell with questions, all of which Frank cheerfully answered or skilfully evaded.

Boxer had been lifted and placed on one end of the bar, where he immediately sat, surveying the line of men with his clear, intelligent eyes.

"Hello, Mike!" he called to the Irishman. "When did you leave the Old Dart?"

"It's goin' on three year now," answered the son of the Old Sod civilly; "and me name's not Moike – it's Pat."

The dog seemed to wink shrewdly.

"It's all the same," he declared; "Mike or Pat makes no difference, as long as your last name is Murphy."

"But me last name's not Murphy at all, at all – it's O'Grady, av yez plaze."

"Thanks," snickered the dog. "I have it down pat now. It's a way I have of finding out a man's name when no one takes the trouble to introduce him. Drink hearty, Pat; the whisky'll add to the beautiful tint of your nose."

"Begorra! it's a divvil the crayther is!" muttered Pat, nudging his nearest neighbor.

"Ah, there, Chink!" called the setter, seeming to get his eye on the Chinaman, who was staring open-mouthed. "How's the washee-washee business?"

"Oh, velly good, velly good!" answered the Celestial hurriedly, backing off a little, his face yellowish white.

"Vele," said Schlitzenheimer, holding up a glass of beer; "here vos goot health to der smardest tog vot effer vos."

"Drink hearty," said Boxer; and, with the exception of Frank and Bart, all swallowed their drinks. Not wishing anything to drink, and still desiring to join in so that the saloon-keeper might not be offended, Frank and Bart had taken cigars, which they slipped into their pockets.

"Dot tog peen der vonder der vorld uf," said Schlitzenheimer, gazing admiringly at Boxer. "Vot vill you soldt him vor?"

"There's not enough money in Arizona to buy him from me," answered Frank at once.

"You know a good thing when you see it," chuckled the dog.

"Vos there anything exception talk vot he can do?" asked Fritz.

"Lots of things," answered Merry. "He can play cards."

"Beenuckle?" asked the Dutchman.

"You bet! He's a dabster at pinocle."

"Easy, Merry!" cautioned the setter, in a whisper. "If you want to skin the old bologna-sausage out of his shekels, don't puff me up. I can't beat him at his own game."

"Vale, I pet den tollars you can't dot do!" cried Schlitzenheimer. "I nefer vould acknowledgment dot a tog could peat me!"

Frank sternly turned on Boxer.

"What do you mean by getting me into such a scrape?" he demanded, shaking his finger at the setter. "You know I never gamble, and I will not bet on a game of cards. If you make any more such foolish talk, I'll not let you play at all."

The dog hung his head and looked quite ashamed.

"Beg pardon," he whined softly. "I was joking again!"

"I'll blay der fun uf him vor," said Schlitzenheimer. "Id vill peen a creat jokes to said I had a came uf beenuckle blayed mit a tog. Come on."

He hurried out from behind the bar.

"Begorra! Oi'd loike to take a hand in this!" cried Pat O'Grady, as a square table was drawn out and the cards produced. "It's a shlick game av peenockle Oi play."

"But three-handed – " said Frank.

"Be afther makin' the fourth yesilf."

"I have to hold the cards for Boxer, he having no hands of his own," explained Merry.

Then it was that Gentle Bob stepped forward, saying, in a very quiet voice and polite manner, that he would be pleased to enter the game.

Now, with the exception of Frank and Bart, all knew that Bob was a very bad man to offend, and so they were willing enough that he should play, and it was soon arranged.

Frank was keen enough to see in what manner the ruffianly looking fellow with the quiet voice was regarded, and, as he was not in Holbrook in search of a quarrel, he raised no dissent. However, he gave Hodge a look that Bart understood, and the silent youth nodded. From that moment Bart watched Gentle Bob closely.

The crowd drew about the table, eager to witness a game of cards in which a dog took part.

Merry sat on a short bench, with Boxer at his side. The cards were cut, and the deal fell to Schlitzenheimer.

"Be careful, Dutchy," advised Boxer. "We're watching you, and you'd better not try any slick tricks."

"Eferything on der lefel shall pe," assured the saloon-keeper, pulling at his long pipe.

O'Grady was likewise smoking, and his pipe contrasted ludicrously with that of Schlitzenheimer.

When the cards were dealt, it fell the dog's turn to meld first. Frank spread out the cards and held them in front of Boxer's nose.

"I will meld one hundred aces," said the dog. "Put 'em down, Frank."

Merry did so.

"Sixty queens," called Boxer, and Merry spread them out.

"Lally ka lolly loka!" chattered Sing Lee, or something like that; whereupon Boxer seemed to fix the Chinaman with a scornful stare, and observed:

"You ought to take something for that. It must be painful."

"Gleatee Sklot!" gasped the Celestial. "Dogee hab a debbil!" And he backed away.

"That's right," said Boxer. "I like you a long distance off, the longer the distance the better I like you."

"Pay attention to the game," said Frank. "Are you going to meld anything else?"

"Forty trumps, twenty spades, and twenty hearts," said Boxer.

"Dunder!" muttered Schlitzenheimer, and his hands trembled so that he dropped some of the cards.

"Get a basket," snickered the dog; and the crowd laughed loudly at the saloon-keeper's expense.

When all the melding was finished they prepared to play.

"I'll lead the ace of trumps," said Boxer.

Frank ran the cards over.

"It's here," he said. "But I didn't see it."

"What's the matter with your eyes?" snapped the dog. "Didn't I meld one hundred aces? You ought to learn something about this game!"

"I seldom play cards," said Merry apologetically.

"Well, you want to keep your eyes open!" exclaimed Boxer sharply. "These chaps may try to skin us."

At this Gentle Bob looked up and said:

"I do not mind a little faking none whatever, but I sure objects to being called a skin, either by a dog or his master, so I opine it will be best for somebody to apologize."

And, as he made this remark, he suddenly whipped forth a pistol, with which he covered both Frank and the dog, but held the weapon more in Merry's direction.

Cimarron Bill's tool had found the opportunity he sought, and he meant to make the most of it.

Merry saw in the fellow's eyes the full extent of his evil purpose.

"If the apology is not forthcoming instanter," murmured the ruffian, "I shall puncture the wonderful talking dog with a bullet!"

Now, it seemed that Bob had Frank at a great disadvantage, but at this point Bart Hodge shoved the muzzle of a pistol against the fellow's ear and harshly commanded:

"Put up that gun – instanter! If you don't I'll blow the whole top of your head off!"

But Bart had made a miscalculation, for Gentle Bob had not come alone to the saloon, having noted well that Frank Merriwell had a friend. He had picked up a chap of his own sort, and now this fellow had a gun at Bart's head.

"You're the one who'll lose the ruff o' his head!" he said. "You put up your gun!"

Gentle Bob still sat pistol in hand, but Boxer had taken advantage of an opportunity to drop down from the bench to the floor.

Of a sudden there came a wild yell from Bob, who kicked out with his feet and flung himself backward, his pistol being discharged straight up at the ceiling.

Boxer had seized him by the leg beneath the table.

Instantly there was a fearful uproar in the saloon. The action of the dog had disconcerted the plans of every one. Hodge ducked and whirled, catching the ruffian at his back a fearful blow on the solar plexus that drove him slam against the bar, and he went down and "out."

Merry went across the table in a leap at Gentle Bob, from whom he tore the revolver that the fellow was trying to use on Boxer.

"Let up, boy," said Frank to the dog. "I'll attend to his case."

Boxer seemed reluctant to let go, but he did so at the second command.

Merriwell pinned Bob down and deftly disarmed him, removing every weapon, which he passed over to Schlitzenheimer.

"Take care of these tools, sir," he said, "until I leave town. It will save this fellow's life – perhaps."

"Und dot vill peen a pity!" muttered the saloon-keeper, who had no love for the ruffian, but held him in great awe.

Having disarmed Bob, Merry rose and commanded him to get up. The fellow rose immediately and sprang at Frank, trying to strike him.

Boxer would have mingled in, but Bart held him in check, saying:

"Keep out of it. Frank can attend to that case now without any of your aid."

Hodge was not mistaken, as Merriwell quickly demonstrated. He avoided the blows of the ruffian and quickly knocked him down. Bob rose, only to be struck in the eye and sent to the floor again. Four times this happened, and then Merry picked the wretch up, carried him bodily to the door, and kicked him into the street, observing:

"If you come back here or bother me again, I'll send you to the hospital for a month!"

And the dog barked with great satisfaction.

CHAPTER XXIV.

BOXER TO THE RESCUE

The second ruffian was ejected, and Frank and the talking dog were regarded with unbounded admiration by every one present.

"I neffer haf seen Shentle Pob done upness pefore," remarked Schlitzenheimer. "He vos a pad man."

"You bettee!" put in Sing Lee, who crept forth from behind a barrel, where he had taken refuge during the encounter. "Him velly bad. Him shootee, stabbee, killee."

"An' so he will," nodded Pat O'Grady, seeming quite concerned. "It's me opinion he wur lookin' fer throuble whin he came here."

"Well, he found it," smiled Merry.

"That's what!" said Boxer, wagging his tail and looking up at Frank knowingly. "But he tasted disagreeable. You don't suppose it will make me sick, do you?"

Frank stooped and patted the dog's head.

"I hope not," he laughed. "You got hold of his leg just in time, old boy."

"Oh, I didn't dally when I saw him throw his gun out," said Boxer, winking rapidly with both eyes. "I allowed he was going to begin shooting directly."

"Uf you vould tookit my device," said Schlitzenheimer, "you couldt out uf dis town get a hurriness indo."

"Thot's roight," nodded O'Grady. "It's moighty dangerous to remain after this, Oi know."

"Pob vill got vor heemseluf another gun, und he vill look vor you on der sdreet," declared the saloon-keeper.

"Well, he may find us, eh, Boxer?" smiled Frank.

"Sure thing," said the dog. "And I reckon you can shoot as quick and as straight as he can."

Schlitzenheimer shook his head and averred that Bob was the greatest pistol-shot known in those parts, which, however, did not seem to alarm Frank Merriwell in the least.

Suddenly there came a scream from the street, the voice being that of a girl, and the sound indicating that she was in great fear and distress.

Frank sprang to the open door, Boxer barking at his heels, and Hodge was not slow in following.

The cry had issued from the lips of June Arlington, who was then on her way to the post-office to mail the letter she had written, not wishing her mother to see it.

June had arrived in the vicinity of the saloon as Gentle Bob was turning away. She noted that the man's face was cut and bruised and one eye was swollen. His appearance led her to look at him with something like sympathy, when, of a sudden, he turned on her, smiling evilly, and seized her arm.

"Derned ef you ain't a right peert gal!" said the fellow insolently. "Gimme a kiss, sweetness."

Then June screamed and tried to break away, striking at him with her clenched fist. She was frightened and angry.

"Stop yer squarmin'!" snarled the fellow, who had thought to kiss her quickly before she could make much resistance, and then hasten along, it being his intention to boast of what he had done.

But June would not stop. She saw a tall, athletic young man come bounding through an open doorway into the street, followed closely by a dog and another young man. Her eyes recognized the one in advance, and she cried out:

"Mr. Merriwell, help – help, quick!"

With a growl of rage, Gentle Bob released her and turned. As he did so, the dog, terrible in his fury, shot past Frank, and made a great spring through the air straight at Bob's throat.

Bob threw up his arm, and the teeth of the dog fastened on it. The force of the creature's leap hurled the ruffian backward.

The man went down in the dust, and Boxer was at him with all the fury of a mad animal. He would have torn the wretch to pieces right before their eyes, but Frank fearlessly grasped the dog and pulled him away, at the same time crying commandingly to him.

"Keep him off!" palpitated Bob, now filled with a great terror for the fierce animal. "Don't let him touch me ag'in! He's near bit me to pieces now!"

"You got just what you deserved, and no more, you miserable creature!" said Frank indignantly.

Then he turned and asked June what Bob had been doing.

"Oh, he grasped me, and he tried to kiss me!"

"Did he!" grated Merry, very white. "Then I should have let Boxer finish him!"

"No, no!" gasped June.

"No, no!" exclaimed Bob.

"On your knees!" cried Frank, in ringing tones – "on your knees and apologize to the young lady! If you don't do it, so help me, I'll let Boxer get at you again!"

Bob did not hesitate. Ruffian and desperado though he was reputed to be, he cast himself on his knees before June and humbly begged her pardon, all the while watching Boxer, who glared back at him and licked his chops.

"Get up and go, you pitiful coward!" said Frank. "Keep out of my sight while I'm in town, and be careful not to try any dirty tricks. If you hurt me, Boxer will eat you up; if you hurt Boxer, I'll have your life! Go!"

The wretch lost not a moment in getting away.

Frank stooped and picked up the letter June had dropped. He was restoring it to her when his eye caught the address upon it, and he stared in astonishment.

"Mr. Richard Merriwell,

"Fardale."

That was the name and address he read. Then he looked closely at June and recognized her.

"Miss Arlington?" he exclaimed, his hat in his hand; "is it possible?"

The color was coming back into her cheeks.

"Mr. Merriwell," she said, "let me thank you for coming so quickly to my assistance."

"It was Boxer who got there first. But I'm amazed to see you here – here in Arizona."

"I don't doubt it."

"What brings you to this place?"

"I came with my mother."

"Your – your mother?" he said, still further astonished. "And your father – he is here, also?"

"No, sir."

"He is coming?"

"No, sir, I believe not."

Merry had thought at once that there might be a very good reason why D. Roscoe Arlington should come to Holbrook to learn just how well the hired ruffians of the syndicate had performed their tasks, but the presence there of Mrs. Arlington and June, without D. Roscoe, rather bewildered him.

June looked back toward the hotel windows, thinking it must be that her mother had heard her cry and would be looking forth; but was relieved to see nothing of the lady.

"You were on your way to mail this letter?" said Frank, divining her destination.

"Yes."

"May I accompany you, to make sure you are not molested further?"

She accepted his escort. Bart had lingered near, and Frank presented him.

"An old school and college chum, Miss Arlington," he said, "and one of my closest friends."

Bart lifted his hat and bowed, smiling a bit on the pretty girl. In his way, which was dark and silent, he was almost every bit as handsome as Frank himself, and it is no cause of wonderment that June could not wholly repress the flash of admiration that came into her splendid eyes.

On his part, Bart was quite smitten with her, and he stood watching Frank walk away at her side, Boxer following, smiling without envy, yet thinking his friend fortunate to have the company of such a charming girl for even a brief time in that part of the country.

Frank found himself somewhat embarrassed, not a little to his surprise, as he walked down the street with June. The girl was the daughter of the man who was doing his best to bring upon Merriwell complete ruin – or seemed to be doing his best to that end, for Frank could not know that all his trouble at the Queen Mystery had not risen directly from D. Roscoe Arlington. Much less did he suspect that any great part of it came without Mr. Arlington's knowledge and through the vengeful malice of Mrs. Arlington.

It was not agreeable to speak of this matter with June, and still in his heart Merry was more than eager to know what had brought the girl to Holbrook. He had not forgotten that it was the hand of June that had restored to him the precious papers relating to the mines when those papers had been stolen from him in Fardale, a service for which he remained grateful.

Further than this, Frank had learned that Dick had a deep interest in June – so deep, indeed, that the boy himself did not quite suspect its measure. Merry had been able to read his brother, and his good sense told him beyond question that never would Dick hold his hand from the person of his most persistent enemy simply because that enemy's sister thus entreated him, unless there was back of it all a feeling of affection for the sister that was of no small magnitude.

That June cared something for Dick, Merry more than half-suspected, and the sight of the name on the letter she now carried in her hand seemed very good evidence that this was not false fancy on his part, for did she not care for the lad far away in Fardale, then why should she write to him?

It was June herself who relieved Frank's embarrassment by earnestly turning to him and beginning speech.

"Mr. Merriwell," she said, with such a sober face that he was greatly surprised, "I have wanted to see you since you came into town."

"Then you knew I had entered town?"

"I saw you; and I have wanted to speak with you to warn you."

"To warn me?" said Frank. "Of what?"

"Of your great danger, for you are in danger here. You have in this town a man who would kill you."

"I think we lately parted from such a man," smiled Merry.

"But he is not the one."

"Is there another?"

"Oh, yes! I saw him! Perhaps I saved your life."

At this Frank gave a great start of surprise and asked her how that could be, upon which she told him how Cimarron Bill had shot at him from the window, and how she had spoiled the aim of the would-be murderer. She held back the fact that the man had fired from one of the windows of her mother's rooms, and that her mother had shortly before been in consultation with him. Still Frank was keen enough to see that she was hiding something, and he had the good discernment to come close to guessing the truth.

"Miss Arlington," he said, "it seems that I owe you my life. I heard the shot, but I could not be sure it was fired at me. If I mistake not, the man who fired it has a deadly aim, and I could not have escaped but for your quickness in spoiling his sight. I owe you a great deal more than I can ever repay."

June knew something of the truth, and she was aware that her father was concerned in a movement the accomplishment of which meant ruin to both Frank and Dick; therefore this acknowledgment by Frank of his indebtedness to her caused her to flush with shame.

"It is I who owe you a great deal!" she exclaimed. "See what you have just done – saved me from a ruffian! But your brother – Dick – he did more. He saved me once from the fangs of furious dogs, at another time from being killed in a runaway, and that is not all. It is I who owe you much more than I can ever repay. My brother" – she choked a little – "my brother is Dick's enemy, yet, for a promise to me, Dick has been easy with him and has not forced him in disgrace from Fardale. Oh, Mr. Merriwell!" she suddenly exclaimed, feeling her utter inability to express herself, "it seems to me that never before was a girl placed in such a position as I find myself in! What can I do?"

"You can do nothing, Miss June," he said gently. "You are not to blame for anything that may happen, and I shall not forget that. I am very sorry for you, as I fancy you must be far from comfortable."

At this her pride returned, and she straightened, thinking she could not acknowledge to him that her people were in the wrong.

"You know there is always two sides to any question," she said, "and there may be as much of right on one side as the other. I presume my father has every reason to think himself right."

Now, June knew that it was her mother who hated Dick and Frank with undying intensity, while her father cared very little about either of the Merriwells, save that he had been led to wonder immoderately at the success of Frank in fighting the syndicate; but she wished to avoid the shame of confessing that her mother had such a vengeful nature and could enter with vindictiveness into an affair that might well be left to men.

Frank had no desire to hurt her feelings. He understood her pride and sensitiveness, and he said:

"It is very likely you are correct about that. At any rate, we will not argue it. It is no matter for us to speak of, as what we might say would not change the situation in the least. Still, if I should become satisfied that your father had the right in this thing, even though it stripped me of my last dollar and made me a beggar, I would surrender to him immediately."

She did not doubt him then, and she saw that the character of Frank Merriwell was one to be admired, his one concern being for perfect and complete justice, even though by justice he might be the sufferer. Inwardly she was struck with the conviction that her father seldom made inquiry into the justice of any project he wished to carry through, his one concern being to accomplish his ends by any method whatever, so long as it did not involve him in difficulties of a nature too serious.

"Mr. Merriwell," she said quickly, "you must leave Holbrook just as soon as you can!"

"Why?"

"The man who tried to shoot you is here – the man with the wicked face and evil eyes."

"I am not given to running away from one man."

"It's not that. He is an assassin! See how he tried to kill you without giving you a show! You don't know what moment he may try it again. If he were to meet you face to face it would be different. You cannot defend yourself from attacks in the dark. You have no show."

"Well, there is some truth in that," smiled Merry.

"He will attack you that way again. I know it! He will strike at you from behind."

"Possibly."

"You must go! You must leave Holbrook before dark!"

"I hardly fancy it," muttered Frank, frowning. "I do not like the notion. It leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth to think of running away from Cimarron Bill."

For, although June had not mentioned the ruffian by name, not knowing it herself, her description of him had satisfied Frank that it could be no other than the baffled scoundrel who had twice attempted to seize the Queen Mystery Mine.

"But you will go?" she urged.

"I'll think of it."

They had reached the post-office and were now standing in front of the building. Bart Hodge was sauntering slowly in their direction on the opposite side of the street, having kept within easy pistol-shot of Frank all the while.

Frank's words did not satisfy June. He saw she was in distress.

"If you will not go for your own sake," she said, "please do for mine."

He looked astonished.

"For your sake?" he said. "Why, I had not an idea in the world that it could be of so much concern to you. I'm afraid I do not understand why it should be. Now, if Dick – "

She stopped him with a gesture, her face flushing very warm.

"Don't!" she entreated, in a low voice. "At least, you are his own brother! But it is for my sake more than yours. I cannot explain. Do not embarrass me! But promise me you will go – for my sake!"

Having a quick perception, Frank suddenly fancied he caught an inkling of the truth. In that moment he saw Mrs. Arlington dealing with Cimarron Bill. It was a conjecture, but it struck him hard as the truth.

This, then, was the reason why June wished him to flee from Holbrook. She feared that her mother somehow would become involved in the murder in case Cimarron Bill should carry into execution his dastardly purpose.

Of course, it was not possible for him to be sure he had struck upon the truth.

"It is hard for me to refuse a girl when she corners me like this," he smiled.

"You'll go?" persisted June.

"If you insist."

"Oh, thank you – thank you! I shall not breathe easy until I know you are well out of this dreadful place."

"And I shall not breathe easy as long as I know you remain here, where you may become subject to such insults as to-day happened. It is no place for you at the present time. Holbrook is well enough in its way; but you are too pretty to walk its streets without an escort. Western gentlemen are gentlemen in every sense of the word, and no man can hold the honor of a lady more sacred; but Western ruffians are dangerous, and it seems there are several of the latter clas