Frank Merriwell's Triumph: or, The Disappearance of Felicia. Standish Burt L.

work to defeat them, and, later, Milton Sukes made it still harder for you.”

      “But I triumphed in both cases. Right is right, Bart; it makes no difference whether it is on my side or the other fellow’s.”

      “That’s so,” Hodge confessed. “But it would be an almighty shame to find some one else squatting on that claim. I’d like to get down into that valley now!”

      “It can’t be done before nightfall, so we will go back to camp.”

      They set out, and an hour later they reached their camp in a small valley. There they had pitched a tent near a spring, and close at hand their horses grazed. As they approached the tent, little Abe came hobbling up to them.

      “I am glad you’re back,” he declared. “That man has been going on just awful.”

      “Who? Worthington?” questioned Merry.

      “Yes; he said over and over that he knew his ghost would be lost. He declared his ghost was in danger. He said he could feel the danger near.”

      “More of his wild fancies,” said Hodge.

      “Mates,” observed Cap’n Wiley, “if there’s anything that upsets my zebro spinal column it is a crazy gentleman like that. I am prone to confess that he worries me. I don’t trust him. I am afraid that some morning I will wake up and find a hatchet sticking in my head. I should hate to do that.”

      “I am positive he is harmless,” declared Merry. “Where is he, Abe?”

      “I don’t know now. A while ago he just rushed off, calling and calling, and he’s not come back.”

      Frank looked alarmed. “He promised me he would stay near the camp. He gave me his word, and this is the first time he has failed to obey me implicitly in everything.”

      “He said he’d have to go to save you.”

      “It was a mistake bringing him here, Frank,” asserted Hodge.

      “But what could I do with him? He wouldn’t remain behind, and I knew the danger of leaving him there. Any day he might escape from the valley and lose himself in the desert to perish there.”

      “Perhaps that is what will happen to him now.”

      Merry was sorely troubled. He made preparations to go in search of Worthington without delay. But even as he was doing so the deranged man came running back into the camp and fell panting at his feet.

      “I have found you again, my ghost!” he cried. “They are after you! You must beware! You must guard yourself constantly!”

      “Get up, Worthington!” said Merry. “I am in no danger. No one can hurt a ghost, you know.”

      “Ah! you don’t know them – you don’t know them!” excitedly shouted the lunatic. “They are wicked and dangerous. I saw them peering over those rocks. I saw their evil eyes. Abe was asleep. I had been walking up and down, waiting for you to return. When I saw them I stood still as a stone and made them believe I was dead. They watched and watched and whispered. They had weapons in their hands! You must be on your guard every minute!”

      “I have heard about crazy bedbugs,” muttered Wiley; “but I never saw one quite as bad as this. Every time I hear him go on that way I feel the need of a drink. I could even partake of a portion of Easy Street firewater with relish.”

      Worthington seized Frank’s arm.

      “You must come and see where they were – you must come and see,” he urged.

      “Never mind that now,” said Merry. “I will look later.”

      “No! no! Come, now!”

      “Be still!” commanded Merry sharply. “I can’t waste the time.”

      But the maniac continued to plead and beg until, in order to appease him, Merry gave in.

      Worthington led him to a mass of bowlders at a distance, and, pointing at them, he declared in a whisper:

      “There’s where they were hiding. Look and see. There is where they were, I tell you!”

      More to pacify the poor fellow than anything else, Frank looked around amid the rocks. Suddenly he made a discovery that caused him to change countenance and kneel upon the ground. Bart, who had sauntered down, found him thus.

      “What is it, Frank?” he asked.

      “See here, Hodge,” said Merry. “There has been some one here amid these rocks. Here’s a track. Here’s a mark where the nails of a man’s boot heel scratched on the rocks.”

      Hodge stood looking down, but shook his head.

      “You have sharper eyes than I, Frank,” he confessed. “Perhaps Worthington has been here himself.”

      “No! no!” denied the deranged man. “I was afraid to come! I tell you I saw them! I tell you I saw their wicked eyes. This is the first time I have been here!”

      “If he tells the truth,” said Frank, “then it is certain some one else has been here.”

      Behind Worthington’s back Bart shook his head and made signals expressive of his belief that whatever signs Frank had discovered there had been made by Worthington.

      “Now, you see,” persisted the madman; “now you know they were here! Now you know you must be on your guard!”

      “Yes, yes,” nodded Merry impatiently. “Don’t worry about that, Worthington. I will be on my guard. They will not take me by surprise.”

      This seemed to satisfy the poor fellow for the time being, and they returned to the tent. There a fire was again started and supper was prepared. Shadows gathered in the valley and night came on. Overhead the bright stars were shining with a clear light peculiar to that Southwestern land.

      After supper they lay about on the ground, talking of the Enchanted Valley, as Merry had named it, and of the mysterious smoke seen rising from it. Later, when little Abe and Cap’n Wiley were sleeping and Worthington had sunk into troubled slumber, through which he muttered and moaned, Frank and Bart sat in the tent and examined the map by the light of a small lantern.

      “Beyond question, Merry, the mine is near here. There is not a doubt of it. Here to the east is Hawley Peak, to the south lies Clear Creek. Here you see marked the stream which must flow through that valley, and here is the cross made by Clark, which indicates the location of his claim.”

      They bent over the map with their heads together, sitting near the end of the tent. Suddenly a hand and arm was thrust in through the perpendicular slit in the tent flap. That arm reached over Frank’s shoulder, and that hand seized the map from his fingers. It was done in a twinkling, and in a twinkling it was gone.

      With shouts of astonishment and dismay, both Frank and Bart sprang up and plunged from the tent. They heard the sounds of feet running swiftly down the valley.

      “Halt!” cried Merry, producing a pistol and starting in pursuit.

      In the darkness he caught a glimpse of the fleeing figure.

      “Stop, or I fire!” he cried again.

      There was no answer. Flinging up his hand, he began shooting into the gloom. He did not stop until he had emptied the weapon. Having run on some distance, he paused and listened, stopping Bart with an outstretched hand.

      Silence lay over the valley.

      “Did you hit him?” asked Bart.

      “I don’t know,” confessed Frank.

      “I can hear nothing of him.”

      “Nor I.”

      “You may have dropped him here.”

      “If not – ”

      “If not, my map is gone.”

      As he was talking, Frank threw open his pistol and the empty shells were ejected. He deftly refilled the cylinder.

      “By George, Merry!” whispered Bart,