Produced by Richard Halsey





OWEN CLANCY'S HAPPY TRAIL;
Or, THE MOTOR WIZARD IN CALIFORNIA.

By BURT L. STANDISH.


CHAPTER I.

ALMOST A RIOT.

No, it was not an earthquake that happened in the city of Los Angeles,
California, on that beautiful sun-shiny morning. It was just a
tow-headed, cross-eyed youth shaking things up at the corner of Sixth
and Main in an attempt to find his father.

And not one corner of the cross streets was involved, but all four
corners. The upheaval that followed this search for a missing relative,
extended in several directions, so that a very small cause led up to
remarkably large results.

It was nine o'clock of a Saturday morning. That Saturday was some sort
of a festal day for the Chinese, and at the hour mentioned, a dragon a
block long, consisting of a hundred Celestials covered with
papier-mache, was twisting and writhing along Sixth Street.

On one corner, leaning against the side of a building, was a tall man in
seedy clothes. A card on his breast bore the sad legend, "Help the
Blind." The man's eyes were covered with large blue goggles, and in one
hand he held his hat, and in the other a couple of dozen cheap lead
pencils.

Across the street, on corner number two, was an Italian with a hand
organ. The Italian's assistant was a monkey in a red cap.

Corner number three, among others, held a grocer's boy, carrying a
basket with six dozens of eggs. He was very much absorbed in watching
the Chinese dragon wriggle along the thoroughfare.

The fourth corner was reserved for Hiram Hill, the tow-headed,
cross-eyed chap who was destined to cause all the commotion. While Hill
stood on the walk, telling himself that the gaudily painted dragon
looked very much like an overgrown centipede, he suddenly caught sight
of a man in an automobile.

The auto was headed along Main Street, and was waiting for the dragon to
clear the way so it could proceed. Hill looked at the machine across the
papier-mache spine of the chink monster, and he gave a yell of surprise
when his gaze took account of the one man in the tonneau of the car.

Undoubtedly that man was Hiram Hill's father--the parent who had been
mysteriously missing ever since the first Klondike gold rush! Hiram's
eyes were sharp, and to them the beetling brow, the one "squint eye,"
the very pronounced Roman nose, and the retreating chin which made the
face resemble a bird's beak, were all very plain.

After that first yell of surprise, Hiram's astonishing good luck held
him speechless. Following a year of a trying town-to-town canvas of the
whole Southwest, he had at last come within hailing distance of his
long-lost parent.

Only one point remained to make assurance doubly sure. Had the "suspect"
a brown mole on the back of his neck? Sharp as Hill's eyes were, they
could not determine that.

"Who wants a pencil?" came feebly from the hapless person on the first
corner. "Help the blind."

"Jocko," said the son of sunny Italy, on corner two, "maka da bow, taka
da mon!"

The monkey lifted his hat and went through motions that passed for a
bow. He also looked at his master and showed his teeth, not relishing
the way his chain had been pulled.

"Pipe de chink wid de pigeon toes and de bow legs!" yelped the grocer's
boy. "If he's goin' de way dem feet are pointed, foist t'ing yous know
he'll be runnin' into himself."

The boy with the basket of eggs was very observing. As he shouted his
remarks he leveled a finger at a pair of coolie legs supporting one of
the vertebra of the passing dragon. The legs were badly sprung at the
knees, but they ended in feet which the Chinaman had to step over as he
walked.

"Dad!" whooped Hiram Hill; "I say, dad!"

Hiram recovered his speech, and all at once became as active as a swarm
of bees after some one has kicked over the hive. He wanted to get to
that automobile and give his father a filial embrace--and he was in a
hurry. The Chinese dragon was in the way, but Hiram didn't mind a little
thing like that.

He jumped at the papier-mache thing and hit it in the vicinity of the
bow-legged Chinaman. That particular chink went down, and the dragon was
broken squarely in two, midway of its length.

Now, a papier-mache dragon is a sort of a blind-follow-my-leader affair.
The Chinaman at the head is the only one in the procession who can see
where he is going, and the remaining sections of the monster hang onto
him and follow his lead.

The rear half of the dragon got lost, and went groping wildly for the
front half. Somehow or other, it ran into the crowd on the corner, and
there was a mix-up in which three dollars worth of eggs were badly
scrambled.

The last section of the front half, missing the part behind, began
swinging back and forth across the street in an attempt to find the lost
tail. It carromed into corner number two, smashing one perfectly good
hand organ, freeing an excited monkey, and drawing forth a volley of
lurid words from the Italian.

Jocko ran across the street, and began climbing the tall man who was
selling lead pencils. With a roar of consternation, the tall man rushed
into the street, flourishing his arms, and begging some one--any one--to
"Take it away! Take it away!" He finally collided with the head end of
the dragon, demoralizing that half of the chink procession as completely
as the latter half had been.

By that time; Sixth and Main was in a turmoil. The dragon had broken up
in a hundred parts, like a jointed snake, and each part was thrashing
around blindly, trying to get rid of its papier-mache so it could see
where it was and what it was doing.

From the four corners the crowd flowed into the street. Eggs, entirely
whole or only slightly cracked, flew from mischievous hands over heaving
heads, only to smash against some particularly inviting mark.

The monkey leaped from one pair of shoulders to another, chattering
wildly. In course of time, he reached the automobile, landed in a heap
on the bosom of the beetle-browed, Roman-nosed passenger in the tonneau,
and encircling him with his hairy arms. The beetle-browed man got up and
fought for his freedom, clamoring furiously for "Police! Police!"

Just at that moment, the only policeman in that vicinity was at the
patrol box, sending in a riot call. Meanwhile, Hiram Hill was having his
own share of troubles.

The bow-legged Chinaman had slipped out of his papier-mache shell. He
did not know, of course, that Hill was the one who had knocked his
section of the dragon out of line, but the instant he was able to look
around, he saw Hill, and immediately selected him as a suitable object
for hostility.

The chink did not step on himself, nor in any way interfere with his
progress in going for Hiram. He hit Hiram so hard over the head with the
piece of dragon that he knocked a hole in the papier-mache, and, just as
Hiram freed himself of the encumbrance, and straightened up to get his
bearings and swoop down on his assailant, an egg smashed in his face and
effectually blinded him.

A hollow murmur sounded in Hiram's ears, like the roar of the sea. He
was picked up on the troubled waters of the melee, and borne back and
forth in the surging tide. At last he slammed into something and fell,
limp and dazed, to the ground.

He drew his sleeve across his eyes, thus freeing them for clearer
vision. To his joy and wonder, he found that destiny had hurled him
against the side of the automobile he had been trying to reach.

Jocko had jumped from the shoulders of the passenger in the tonneau, and
the passenger was still on his feet and had his back toward Hiram. The
latter, boiling over with filial sentiments, climbed up on the running
board and encircled the beetle-browed man in a fond embrace.

"Dad!" clamored Hiram excitedly; "don't you know me?"

"Get off! get off!" roared the man, going at once into a flurry. "Whose
monkey is this, anyway? Police! Police!"

The man, naturally, was in a highly excited state of mind and thought
the simian was upon him again. Just then, the driver of the machine
found a cleared space ahead and started for it. He started so quickly
that Hiram was thrown from the running board, dropped to the hard
pavement, and there stumbled against and fallen over by the jostling
mob.

This rough usage was more than Hiram could stand. The senses were being
knocked out of him by swift degrees. He felt his wits going, and he made
a frantic attempt to stay them as they drifted away. The attempt was
useless, however, and a great darkness suddenly descended upon Hiram and
closed him in.

When he regained his senses, he was lying on a bench in a drug store. A
clerk was holding a handkerchief, saturated with a drug of some kind, to
his nostrils, and a bluecoat was standing near, twirling his club and
looking down at Hiram speculatively.

"Question is," said the policeman, "what is he doing with two hats?"

"That's more than I can tell you, officer," answered the clerk. "Ah,
he's coming to!"

Hiram sat up on the bench and pushed aside the drug-soaked handkerchief.
"Dad!" he murmured confusedly.

"I'm not your dad," said the officer. "I'm just the fellow who pulled
you out of the crowd. Where'd you get that hat?"

Hiram looked down. His own hat was on his head and had, in some manner,
remained with him throughout all the excitement, but in his hand he was
clutching, like grim death, a battered black Stetson.

Turning the hat over, Hiram looked into the crown. The gilt letters, "U.
H." met his eyes.

"It's dad's hat," he gurgled. "Upton Hill, that's his name! I knew I had
a bean on the right number! I--I---"

A bit of white showed under the sweatband. Westerners, of a certain
type, sometimes carry important documents under the sweatband of their
hats. Hiram pulled his object out of the Stetson, examined it, and then
inquired his way to the nearest telegraph office. Five minutes later he
had sent the following telegram:

"OWEN CLANCY, the Motor Wizard, Phoenix, Arizona: Hot on the trail. You
said you would help me find dad. Come to Los Angeles at once and get
busy. Meet me Renfrew House.
            HIRAM."

"This here's a great day for me," murmured Hiram, rubbing his bruises as
he turned away from the operator's window. "I reckon that'll fetch
Clancy, if he's well enough to come. Him and me can run out this happy
trail together, with ground to spare. That red-headed wizard has got
more sense in a minute than I have in a year, and I reckon we'll get
along. He's a good feller to tie to, in a time like this."


CHAPTER II.

CLANCY HITS THE "HAPPY TRAIL."

"How's the shoulder, Clancy?" Doctor Ferguson asked, as the young motor
wizard walked into his office.

"I know it belongs to me," was the smiling reply, "every time I make a
move, but I guess it's coming along all right at that, doc."

"No reason why it shouldn't. You're as tough as a piece of whalebone,
and a little nick like that can't put you on the retired list. Sit down
here--I've got a few words to say to you."

The doctor indicated a chair close to his desk, and then sank back in
his own seat with the air of one who is about to say something weighty
and important.

"Don't you try to scare me about anything, doc," said Clancy
apprehensively, as he slid into the chair.

"Tush!" and the physician wagged his head. "You haven't got sense enough
to be scared at anything. That's the main trouble with you. It's two
weeks since you went to Wickenburg and got in front of that bullet. We
kept you in bed for a week, and now you have been on your feet for
another week. So far as the wound is concerned, Clancy, you are all
right, but so far as something else is concerned, you are all wrong."
Ferguson's eyes narrowed and he leveled a forefinger at his patient.
"What happened, up there at Wickenburg?" he demanded.

"What happened?" repeated Clancy. "Why, you just spoke of that. I got in
front of a bullet."

"Stop, trying to play horse with me!" went on the doctor sourly.
"Something took place between you and your partner, Lafe Wynn, at
Wickenburg, and I want to know what it was."

Clancy stiffened.

"That's a personal matter, Doctor Ferguson," he answered, "and I don't
have to explain it to anybody."

"Well, you needn't get hot about it. There's something on your mind, and
it's holding back your complete recovery. I'm asking questions and
talking from the standpoint of your physician. If I knew the nature of
the thing that bothered you, very possibly I could take means to
counteract it."

Clancy was impressed by Ferguson's shrewdness. Yet he had no intention
of revealing the cause of his secret worry.

How could he tell Ferguson, or anybody else, what really happened at
Wickenburg? Only two or three people knew that Lafe Wynn had forged
Clancy's name to a check and had absconded with that money, and with all
the cash assets of the firm of Clancy & Wynn. Only two or three knew how
Clancy had trailed Wynn to Wickenburg and had sent him back to Phoenix
to take charge of the Square-deal Garage, as usual, while
he--Clancy--was in bed in the other town for a week.

Apparently all was the same as it ever had been between the two
partners. In this instance, however, surface indications were not to be
trusted.

Clancy's confidence in Wynn had been rudely shattered. The motor wizard
had spared his partner--had been generous with him, in fact, far beyond
his deserts. This was not particularly on Wynn's account, but on account
of Wynn's mother, an old lady who had come to Phoenix on the very day
Wynn had absconded.

Mrs. Wynn, proud of the business success her son had made, had come to
him so that he might make her a home in her declining years. Clancy had
not the heart to tell the old lady the exact situation, and he had gone
to Wickenburg to get Lafe and make him return to Phoenix.

Wynn knew that Clancy had spared him on his mother's account. This
knowledge caused a restraint between the two partners, all the greater
because Wynn's forgery, and defalcation had wiped out all the cash
assets of Clancy and the firm--some fifteen thousand dollars which had
not been recovered.

Clancy would not tell all this to any one, for fear it might reach Mrs.
Wynn. And he was anxious that Wynn should have another chance, without
letting the one error of an otherwise blameless life weigh in the scales
against him.

"I'll get along, doctor," observed Clancy. "I'll bet all the fretting I
do won't land on me so hard you can notice it."

"Confound it," burst out the doctor, "I do notice it! You've got to get
away from things for a while. Take the Happy Trail, Clancy, and run it
out. I reckon you can afford it--after the way you held up that
street-car company."

"Happy Trail?" echoed Clancy; "what's that?"

"It's the carefree road of pure and unadulterated joy," explained
Ferguson solemnly. "It takes you out of yourself, gives you new scenes
and experiences, and finally you wake up feeling better than you ever
felt before in your life."

"Lead me to it!" said Clancy.

"I wish I could," was the answer, "but I can't. A Happy Trail for you
might be a mighty miserable one for me, and vice versa. You'll have to
find it for yourself, Clancy, but when you do find it, hit it hard!"

"That's a fine prescription--I don't think," laughed Clancy, getting up
to leave. "You tell me what I must do, but don't tell me how I'm to do
it."

"I'm as frank with you as you are with me," growled Ferguson. "Good-by!"

Clancy got back to the Square-deal Garage to find the whole force of
employees moving the repair shop over to the garage known as the Red
Star.

In order to keep Rockwell, of the Red Star, from driving the Square-deal
place out of business, Clancy had been forced to buy the building and
lot that housed the establishment belonging to him and Wynn. He had
consummated this deal for ten thousand dollars, paying three thousand
dollars down and getting time on the balance at seven per cent. And the
mortgage had come due just before Wynn had absconded with all the cash
resources. A stroke of luck alone had saved Clancy.

The street-car company had suddenly developed a need for the property he
had bought. Judge Pembroke, a friend of Clancy's, did the negotiating,
with the result that the premises sold for twenty thousand dollars.

The judge, knowing that Clancy & Wynn would have to move and must have
some place to go, had secured an option on the Red-star establishment
for four thousand dollars. So Clancy had financed the tottering affairs
of Clancy & Wynn, had bought Rockwell's old place, and the transfer was
in progress.

Lafe Wynn was overseeing the removal. When Clancy entered the garage,
Lafe turned abruptly on his heel and walked into the office. Clancy
followed him.

"What's the matter with you, Lafe?" inquired Clancy. "Why do you take
pains to avoid me, all the time? We can't get along like that--and
remain partners."

A look of suffering filled Wynn's face.

"Owen," said he, with an effort, "every time I look at you I think of
what I am--a thief and a forger, only saved from the penitentiary by
your generosity. It isn't a pleasant thought for a man who wants to be
independent. If I could undo the wrong I did you--if I could---"

"You can--some time," said Clancy. "After you are able, you can pay me
back my just proportion of that fifteen thousand."

"After I am able!" murmured Lafe sarcastically. "That will be a matter
of years, Owen. I can't feel like this for years without going crazy. If
I could find my rascally brother, Gerald, I--I might induce him to give
back the money."

"Never," returned the motor wizard shortly. "Your brother Gerald has
probably got rid of the money by this time. There were two to help him
spend it, remember--Bob Katz and Hank Burton. Those three would make it
fly."

There were extenuating circumstances about what Lafe Wynn had done. The
extenuating circumstances were wrapped up in his unscrupulous brother.
Gerald had told Lafe a pretty fiction about needing money to save him
from dishonor--and Lafe had covered himself with dishonor in order to
help Gerald. No sooner had Lafe secured the money than he and his two
cronies had taken it and made good their escape. This was when Clancy
had been wounded. At the time, he was seeking to help Lafe save the
fifteen thousand dollars.

"I have got to make that loss up to you somehow," muttered Lafe, "and
I've got to do it soon. My conscience will send me to a madhouse, if I
don't."

Clancy studied his partner curiously for a few moments.

"Lafe," he went on presently, "you and I have got to get away from each
other for a while. We are simply millstones around each other's neck.
You can't look at me without thinking you owe me the biggest part of
fifteen thousand dollars, and I can't look at you without thinking how
you betrayed my confidence."

"You can get rid of me, Owen, in about two shakes," said Wynn. "Kick me
out. I haven't any right to be one of the firm, anyhow."

The motor wizard shook his head.

"You've got to hang on and make good in the place where you lost out,"
Clancy returned. "You've got to do this for the sake of your mother, who
thinks so much of you. We've got to allow a little time, you know, for
us to get back on our old footing. I need a change. Ferguson says so,
and I have a feeling that he knows what he is talking about. I---"

A boy came into the office that moment with a telegram. He knew the
motor wizard by sight, and went directly to him.

"This is for you, Mr. Clancy," said he.

Clancy signed for the message, tore it open, read the contents, and
laughed.

"By thunder," he cried, "here's just the thing!"

"What do you mean?" asked Wynn.

"It's a hurry-up call from Hiram Hill. You remember Hiram?"

Wynn winced. "Yes," said he, "I remember Hiram Hill quite vividly."

"He left Phoenix for the coast several weeks ago, carrying on his search
for his father. I always thought that search of Hiram's was more or less
of a joke--and I haven't any positive information yet that it isn't--but
here's a message asking me to come to Los Angeles at once. Hiram says
that he is 'hot on the trail,' and that I promised him to help him find
his father--which is true."

Clancy arose with sudden determination in his voice and manner.

"Wynn," he continued, "I'm going to leave you here to get Clancy & Wynn
started in the old Rockwell garage. It will give you plenty to occupy
your mind. While you're hard at it, I'm going to soldier and have a good
time. Here's where I hit the Happy Trail!"

"What in the deuce is the Happy Trail?" queried Wynn.

"Ferguson will tell you about it. I'm going with Hiram on a wild-goose
chase, and I'm hoping to have some fun. When I come back, old man, I
want you to be feeling differently, and I expect to be feeling
differently myself. This afternoon I am starting for the Pacific coast,
and if Hiram and I, between us, can't stir up a few thrills, and corral
a little enjoyment, then I've got another guess coming. Lafe, I'm for
the Happy Trail, and I'm going to hit it hard!"


CHAPTER III.

HATCHING A PLOT.

"Say, fellows, here's a how-de-do, and no mistake! You ought to have
been at the corner of Sixth and Main about two hours ago. You'd have
seen something that would have made a horse laugh--but there's something
back of it that isn't so thundering funny, at that."

Gerald Wynn could smoke a cigarette and talk at the same time. He burst
into the room in the cheap boarding house, where he and his friends had
taken up their headquarters, and eased himself of the foregoing remarks.

Hank Burton and Bob Katz sat at a table playing cards. There were a
bottle and two glasses on the table. Katz was smoking a pipe and Burton
a cigar.

"Hanged if I care a hoot about anything, just now, but annexing a little
kale," said Burton, turning in his chair to look at Gerald with a scowl.
"Here I haven't a sou in my jeans, and I've got as much right to that
fifteen thousand as you or Katz have, Wynn. Fork over a hundred! I'm
tired of bein' broke."

"Nary, I don't fork!" Wynn answered positively. "You know what we're
going to do with this money, Hank, and you know that if we start to
break into it the whole will go and we'll be up a spout on this Tia
Juana business."

"Blast the Tia Juana business! A bird in the hand beats a whole flock in
the bush! Give me my share now, Gerald, and you and Bob can do what you
blamed please with your own part of the swag."

"That won't go!" spoke up Katz. "The share we want in that gamblin'
layout below the border will take all the fifteen thousand. You agreed
to go inter it, Hank. Don't crawfish now!"

"I want somethin' to jingle in my pocket!" barked Burton.

"Take a couple o' nails," suggested Katz.

"I allow it's right funny to you," continued Burton sourly, "but it
ain't pleasant to go around with nary a red in your pants."

"I'm paying your expenses, Hank," put in Gerald. "Staked to your three
squares, your smoking and your travel pay, I don't see what more you
need. If this Tia Juana scheme works out, we'll all of us get rich."

"I want a little loose cash now," cried Burton.

"Go out and work for it, then," said Gerald, out of patience. "If we put
anything into the Tia Juana game it's got to be fifteen thousand, and
I'd be mighty foolish to give you money out of our capital."

"Give it to me out of your own pocket if you don't want to give me any
of the capital!"

"I've got just enough to get us to Catalina where we're to see Jack
Lopez and clean up the Tia Juana business. Why don't you do a little
something on the side, Hank? You're a champion swimmer--go to some
natatorium and give swimming lessons. That would be easy money."

"Gammon!" snorted Burton.

In a fit of anger he jumped to his feet, and he would have left the
room, but Gerald stood in front of the door and barred the way.

"Now, don't get ugly!" said Gerald. "I've got something to tell you
that's mighty interesting. I think, fellows, that we have been trailed
from Phoenix!"

That was more than interesting. Burton's flash of temper left him at
once, and he and Katz showed their apprehension.

"Who trailed us?" demanded Katz.

"That cross-eyed, tow-headed freak, Hiram Hill."

"How do you know he trailed us?" asked Burton.

"Well, he's in Los Angeles. It isn't a happenchance that we're here at
the same time."

"When did you see Hill?" went on Katz.

"About two hours ago, at the corner of Sixth and Main. He--he---" Gerald
paused to laugh.

"I don't see anythin' humorous in this layout!" grunted Burton. "If
we've been trailed to Los we'd better be diggin' out instead of enjoyin'
the situation."

"What's funny about it, Gerald?" asked Katz.

"There was a chink dragon going down the Street--you know the kind--a
dragon in sections, with a yellow boy under each section. Well, I was
watching the procession when I heard some one yell 'Dad!' in a voice
that sounded pretty familiar. The next minute, who but Hiram Hill
knocked a hole in that chink snake. He was trying to get to a man who
sat in an automobile on the other side of the street. In about two
seconds there was the biggest kind of a rough-house. I kept out of it,
and saw Hiram get to the automobile and begin hugging the chap in the
tonneau. The fellow in the car didn't like it, and the driver started up
and Hill was left behind.

"The crowd rolled over the place where Hill was lying and I saw him
picked up by a couple of policemen and carried to a drug store.
Naturally, I was in a good deal of a taking, not knowing but Hill had
been following me, see? Well, I waited till he came out of the drug
store, then I camped on his trail for a while. He went to a telegraph
office and sent a telegram---"

"Who did he send it to?" cut in Burton apprehensively.

"What do I know about that? You don't think I was foolish enough to go
close and try to get a line on what Hill was writing, do you? Well,
after he left the telegraph office he went to the Renfrew House. I
reckon that's where he stays."

"I don't like this a little bit," commented Katz. "I allow we'd better
duck--and do it pronto. If Hill is really trailin' us, maybe he has sent
a telegraft message to the sheriff, back in Phoenix. We got to look
sharp, Gerald, or we'll be pinched."

"That's my motion, Bob," said Burton. "Hanged if this Hill business
hasn't got me on the run."

"Don't fret," continued Gerald reassuringly. "I've hatched a plot that
will take care of Hill, all right."

"Plot?" said Burton. "What sort of a plot?"

"Listen, Hank. You know about this Hill. I've told you and Bob how he's
got a fool bee in his bonnet, and is running around the Southwest
looking for his father. The old man--judging from his photograph, which
Hill totes around in his pocket--is a bigger freak than Hiram is. He's
got a beak like a pelican, and is homely enough to stop a clock."

"You know plenty about Hill and his hunt for his dad," returned Burton.
"You flimflammed Hill out of five hundred by offering to take him across
the Mexican boundary and showing him where his father could be found,"
said Burton, with a laugh. "But you got the money, and Hill got the
experience," he added.

"Which," said Gerald calmly, "is mainly the reason why Hill is trying to
get even with me. I know enough about Hill's father, though, to put over
a scheme that will get this cross-eyed buttinsky off our track."

"What's the scheme?" inquired Katz.

"It hinges on this point, that Hiram Hill would rather find his father
than get even with me for that 'con' game I worked on him. I'm going to
write Hiram a letter, Bob, and send it to him at the Renfrew House."

"What sort of a letter?" put in Burton.

"I'm going to sign the name of his father, Upton Hill, to the thing, and
play up that incident at Sixth and Main pretty strong. Where's that pen
and ink, Hank? And give me a sheet of paper and envelope."

While his companions got the writing materials, Gerald seated himself at
a table and began getting his thoughts busy. By the time pen, ink, and
paper were put in front of him, he had his letter mapped out in his
mind, and had only to put it upon paper.

"Won't Hiram know that the letter isn't in his dad's handwritin'?"
suggested Katz.

"I reckon he won't," answered Gerald craftily, leaning back in his chair
with the letter in his hand. "It's been some sort of a while, Bob, since
the first Klondike rush, when old 'Up' Hill disappeared. It isn't likely
that Hiram remembers anything about his father's handwriting. Here's
what the letter says:

"DEAR SON: Was it really you who jumped aboard my automobile at the
corner of Sixth and Main this morning? My conscience has been troubling
me ever since. I have hunted up the policeman and secured from him your
name and address, but am in a hurry to get back to San Diego, where I
live, and cannot remain in Los Angeles to prosecute a personal search
for you. If you are really my son, come to San Diego, make my house at
eighteen-twenty Q Street your home, and I will ask you certain questions
whose answers will prove indisputably whether or not you are my son. I
must have the proof, you know, because I am a very rich man, and you, as
my sole relative, will inherit everything I leave. Hoping to see you in
San Diego at your earliest convenience, I remain, yours expectantly,
           'UPTON HILL.'"

Gerald dropped the letter on the table, and looked up at his friends
with a guileful smile.

"How's that for a bait?" he asked.

"Bully!" declared Katz. "Hiram Hill will tumble all over himself to go
to San Diego."

"What'll happen when he can't find any Upton Hill in San Diego?" said
Burton.

"We don't care what happens--then," answered Gerald. "By that time, you
know, we ought to have finished our deal with Jack Lopez, and to be away
from Catalina, and where Hill will never be able to find us."

"How do you know he gave his name and address to a policeman?" continued
Burton.

"That's what people always do when they get into trouble on the street,
or meet with an accident, isn't it?"

"Maybe it is, but if it happens that Hill didn't give his name and
address to the cop, the fact will queer that whole letter."

"I allow Hank is right, Gerald," chimed in Katz, "This here is one of
them cases where you can't be too careful. Reckon I'd write another
letter and change that."

"It's not necessary," insisted Gerald. "Hill was stunned. If he can't
remember giving his name and address to the policeman, he'll think he
did it at a time when he didn't know what he was doing. The letter goes
as I have written it."

Gerald began addressing the envelope. Both the sheet of paper and the
envelope were plain, and bore no clew of the hotel in which they had
been written.

The letter was folded, thrust into the envelope, and the envelope sealed
and stamped.

"It's dinner time, fellows," announced Gerald, "and we'll post this on
our way to the noon eats. Come on."

They all got up and left the room.

"When do we hike for the island, Gerald?" asked Katz, as they went
downstairs.

"We'll pull out for San Pedro to-morrow, and catch the morning boat,"
was the reply. "We want to wind up our business with Lopez and clear out
before Hill discovers that letter is a fake and gets back from San
Diego. We can turn the trick with ground to spare--don't fret about
that."


CHAPTER IV.

CLANCY REACHES LOS ANGELES.

The Renfrew House was a very modest hostelry in South Hill Street. Hiram
stopped there because the establishment was in Hill Street, and he
believed in omens. Incidentally, too, he preferred the Renfrew to the
Alexandria or the Hayward because the rates on the American plan were
two dollars a day.

It was about eleven o'clock Monday morning when Clancy entered the lobby
of the Renfrew House. The lobby was crowded, bell hops were hustling
back and forth, and the place was as busy as a high-class establishment.

Clancy stood at the counter, caught the clerk's eye, and asked for Hiram
Hill. The clerk, who had curly hair, and parted it squarely in the
middle, forthwith gave the newcomer his full and complete attention.

"You a friend of that guy's?" the clerk asked.

"Yes," acknowledged Clancy.

"Then I'm mighty glad you showed up."

"Why?"

"Well, I think he's locoed and needs a keeper. About every day he does
some fool thing."

Clancy grinned.

"What has he done to-day?"

"Nothing yet, but he's due to break out 'most any minute. You wait
around a spell and you'll---"

The clerk was interrupted by a wild whoop of "Dad! here's Hiram!" Clancy
looked in the direction from which the yell came and saw a little group
of people heaving around the lobby in excitement.

"That's him, now!" cried the clerk. "What did I tell you?"

The motor wizard hurried toward the scene of the commotion. He found a
fat man pounding a dent out of the crown of a shabby silk hat, and
mumbling wrathfully.

"Get an officer!" shouted the fat man. "I don't know but I'm robbed!"

Hiram Hill stood in front of the aggrieved gentleman, stood and stared
at him blankly.

"I--I thought you was my dad," murmured Hiram.

"Your dad?" repeated the fat man, glaring. "You ought to be arrested for
that, anyhow. I refuse to be insulted, by gorry! What's your name,
anyhow?"

The fat man was feeling about his person, making sure that his watch,
pocketbook, and other person property were safe.

"That mole on the back of your neck," explained Hiram, "was what caused
me to make the bobble."

"Well," snorted the fat man, walking off, "don't make any more bobbles
around me, or there'll be trouble. It's my opinion that you're crazy."

The crowd set up a laugh. Clancy elbowed his way to Hill's side and took
him by the hand.

"Howdy, Hiram?" said he.

"Clancy!" exclaimed Hill. "Say, the sight of you is good for sore eyes!
I just been hankerin' for a friend."

"You need a guardeen more'n a friend," remarked some one.

Hill began to bristle and to look around in search of the one who had
spoken. Clancy grabbed his arm, and drew him away down the lobby to a
couple of leather chairs.

"What's the matter with you, Hiram?" the motor wizard asked.

"I reckon my nerves have got twisted, Clancy," Hill answered. "I'm all
in a twitter, seems like. Ever since I piped off dad in that automobile
last Saturday mornin' I haven't been able to look around without seein'
some un I think's him. Queer, ain't it? I'm all flustered."

"Better put the clamps on your nerves, Hiram, or you'll be in jail the
first thing you know."

"How's the shoulder?"

"Coming along in fine shape."

"I didn't know whether you'd be able to answer that there telegram of
mine in person, and if you was able, I didn't know whether you would."

"Look here, Hiram," said Clancy, "didn't I tell you I'd help you find
your father if you'd keep mum about what Lafe Wynn did?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I always try to pay my debts."

"Got any trace o' Gerald Wynn, Burton, and Katz yet?"

"No."

"Then that fifteen thou' is gone for good?"

"I'm afraid so. But let's not talk about that. You say you're hot on the
trail of your father. Tell me about it."

Hiram started with the Chinese procession at Sixth and Main Streets.
Very earnestly he told how he had disrupted the dragon, and he described
other events that happened down to the point where he found himself with
the extra Stetson in his hand.

"That hat," declared Hiram, "sure belonged to dad. I got it away from
him somehow, and I hung to it all the while my wits was woolgatherin'
and I was bein' toted to a drug store. Then I--- Say, what you laughin'
at?"

Clancy had been enjoying Hill's recital to the limit it would be hard to
mix six dozens of eggs, a Chinese dragon, and a runaway monkey into a
small-sized riot and not get a little fun out of it. The sober,
matter-of-fact way in which Hiram narrated the details added to the
humor of the story.

"Never mind what I'm laughing at, Hiram," sputtered Clancy, wiping his
eyes. "You say you found something under the sweatband of that Stetson.
What was it?"

"A card. Here it is."

Hill thrust a hand into one of his pockets and drew forth an oblong
square of pasteboard. This he handed to his companion.

"Sr. J. Lopez," was the name on the card, followed by the address:
"Avalon, Catalina Island, California." Then in the lower left-hand
corner, were the words: "Representing the Fortunatus Syndicate, of Tia
Juana, Mexico."

"What do you make out of this, Hiram?" the motor wizard asked.

"What do you make out of it?" countered Hill.

"If you are sure the Stetson belonged to the man in the automobile--to
the man whom you thought was your father---"

"I'll take my solemn Alfred on that!"

"Well, if this is the man's business card, it proves that the man is J.
Lopez--and he can't be your father."

"That's not his business card, Clancy."

"How do you know?"

"There was two gilt letters pasted in the crown o' that Stetson, and
them letters was 'U. H.' Sabe? My dad's name is Upton Hill."

Clancy was suitably impressed.

"Well, who's this J. Lopez and the Fortunatus Syndicate?" he inquired.
"Those are two things we ought to find out."

"I'm wise to the Fortunatus Syndicate, all right," said Hill. "You
remember I was down in Tia Juana, that time I got hornswoggled out o'
five hundred dollars by Gerald Wynn. Well, I heard about this Fortunatus
Syndicate while I was in the place. Some Americanos are planning a
gambling resort, just across the boundary line, and they call their
company the Fortunatus Syndicate."

"And your dad's mixed up with it, Hiram? That doesn't speak very well
for him."

"Maybe he's mixed up in it, and maybe he isn't. I wouldn't go and
connect him with any gamblin' syndicate just because I found that there
card under the sweatband of his Stetson. What do you allow is the thing
for us to do? My hand's on the table, Clancy, and I want you to help me
play it."

"Strikes me," said Clancy reflectively, "that the best move is to go
across to Catalina Island and talk with this man Lopez."

"I allowed we'd better, advertise in the papers," remarked Hill. "We
could use the Lost and Found Column."

"How?"

"Well, we could say, 'Lost--One man about fifty with a squinch eye, a
Roman nose, and a mole on the back of his neck. Answers to name of Upton
Hill. Communicate with Hiram Hill, Renfrew House, City.' And then we
could put in another, like this: 'Found--One black Stetson, initials "U.
H." in crown. Picked up corner Sixth and Maine time the chink dragon went
to pieces. Communicate with Hiram Hill, and so forth.' I don't see any
use in huntin' up this Lopez."

"Your father must have, business, with Lopez, Hiram, or he wouldn't be
having the Mexican's card. Would he?"

"I reckon not."

"It's likely your father is over at Catalina now. If we go to the
island and hunt up Lopez, there's a chance of our locating Upton
Hill--or the man you think is Upton Hill."

"Maybe you're right," said Hill.

"I don't think advertising would do any good. Your supposed father
didn't seem very enthusiastic about meeting you, the time you landed on
him in the automobile."

Hill's cross eyes blinked.

"It was the way I come at him," said he. "I been thinkin' since. There
was a hull lot of excitement, and I'll gamble dad didn't have time to
get the run o' what was happenin'. He didn't have no good chance to be
affectionate."

"I suppose not," returned Clancy, trying hard to keep a straight face.
"The trail seems to be a pretty warm one, all right, and--- Where are
you going?"

Clancy broke off his remarks to grab hold of Hiram and restrain him. The
tow-headed chap had suddenly leaped out of his chair like a restive wild
cat.

"Ain't that dad over yonder?" he asked. "I see a feller that seems to be
built on the same lines of the photograft, but--n-n-no," he finished
musingly, "that feller's a Mexican."

"Letter for you, Mr. Hill," said a bell boy, coming across the lobby
from the clerk's desk.

Hill took the letter wonderingly, stared at it, tore it open, and then
sank into a chair while he read the communication. Presently he began to
breathe hard, and to gurgle in his throat.

"I knew the old man didn't have a marble heart," he muttered joyfully.
"I reckoned he'd come around, if I'd only give him time enough. The
trail's a short one, Clancy, and it leads to San Diego instead of to
Catalina. There," and he thrust the letter into the motor wizard's hand,
"read that."


CHAPTER V.

THE MOTOR WIZARD'S JUDGMENT.

"This has a fishy look to me, Hiram," said Clancy, after reading the
letter. "Upton Hill, who claims to have written it, says he got your
address from the policeman who pulled you out of the melee and helped
you to the drug store. Mighty queer he couldn't spend time to call on
you, after getting your address, instead of putting you to all the
expense of going to San Diego to find him."

"Don't be a wet blanket, blame it!" begged Hill. "Only dad I got in the
world, and here you go to throwin' cold water on his motives."

"Did you give your address to the policeman?"

"Give it up. I was plump batty, just after I got away from that mob, and
I don't know what I did. Reckon I must have given up the information, or
dad couldn't have got it and sent me that letter."

The motor wizard was conscious of a deep distrust regarding that
communication upon which Hill was setting such store. Instinctively he
had become suspicious, and the more he considered the letter's contents,
the more suspicious he became.

"Do you recognize your father's handwriting, Hiram?" asked Clancy.

"Well, hardly," was the grinning response. "Dad got lost in the shuffle
almost before I'd cut my teeth. I'm not familiar with his handwritin'.
Did you read what he says about bein' well off? Gosh! Say, I'm li'ble to
come into some money! I reckon this is one time my cup's right side up
when it rains good luck."

"Haven't you got a sample of your father's penmanship anywhere, Hiram?"

"Not that I know anythin' about. You see, all the letters he'd written I
left back home, and---" Hill paused abruptly. "Gee," he went on,
reaching into the breast pocket of his coat, "I allow I have got a scrap
o' dad's writin'. It's on the back o' that photograft."

He drew the photograph into sight, turned it over, and pushed it under
Clancy's eyes.

"There!" and he pointed with his finger. "That's a sample o' dad's
fist."

Upton Hill, age thirty-six. This was all the writing on the back of the
photograph. It was enough, however. Clancy compared the name signed to
the letter with that on the photograph. It could be seen at a glance
that the same hand had not written the two signatures--they were utterly
different.

"Just as I imagined," observed Clancy. "Hiram, either your father did
not write what is on the back of the photograph, or else that letter is
a forgery. The same hand did not trace the two signatures. Look! You can
see that just as plainly as I can."

Hill took the letter in one hand and the photograph in the other,
squinted up his cross eyes, and tried to institute comparisons.

"The signature ain't the same," he finally agreed, "and that's a fact."

"Which proves that the letter's a forgery."

"I'm not a-sayin' that, Clancy. It can't be that dad wrote what's on the
back o' the picter."

"You have always thought he did the writing on the back of the
photograph, haven't you?"

"Then you're thinking he didn't, now, so you can believe the letter's
genuine."

"Well, what of it? I'd a heap rather pin my faith to the writin' in the
letter than to what's on the photograft."

Clancy saw that argument was useless. Hill was completely carried away
with the letter, for it steered him along the line of least resistance
right into the haven of his happiest desires. He believed in that letter
because he wanted to believe in it, and for no other earthly reason.

"Then," said the motor wizard quietly, "you think you'll go to San Diego
and not to Catalina Island?"

"What's the use o' wastin' time on Catalina when that letter tells us
right where to go?" demanded Hill. "You're goin' with me, ain't you?"

"Not if you're going right away, Hiram. I just reached Los Angeles after
a long ride from Phoenix, and I'm not going to hit the iron trail again
before I have a chance to get the cinders out of my eyes and the dust
off my face. If you're going to San Diego this afternoon, or to-night,
you'll go alone."

"You don't take any stock in this letter at all, huh?"

"No."

"Who do you think wrote it if it wasn't my lost dad?"

"I don't know who wrote it,"

"Well," grumbled Hiram, "I won't start for San Diego afore to-morrow. I
want you to be along, and I'm waitin' over so'st to have you. S'pose we
go and eat? Registered yet?"

"I'll register now," said Clancy, "and then we'll sit in at the chuck
table and have dinner."

He went over to the desk alone, put down his name, and then wrote out a
telegram. He handed it to a boy along with some money, and asked that
the message be put on the wires as soon as possible. After that he went
to his room, got the dust and cinders off his face and out of his hair,
joined Hill, and the two went into the dining room together.

Clancy was determined to make the most of his "Happy Trail," and
directly after dinner proposed that he and Hill should spend the
afternoon at one of the beaches. Hill, who was all wrapped up in San
Diego, now that he had received that supposed letter from his father,
consented reluctantly. The two boarded an electric car and went to
Venice.

There was a big crowd at this particular beach. Hill, in spite of the
fact that he professed to believe his father was in San Diego, was
scanning every face he passed for the beetling brow, retreating chin,
Roman nose, and squint eye. He acted so wild and unreasonable that
Clancy was tempted to believe he had gone daffy on the subject of his
lost father.

He would run up to a man with a prominent nose, grab him by the
shoulders, and study his face in a search for the other specifications.
Once he was knocked down, and another time he was nearly arrested when
an irate man, whom he had stopped to investigate, raised a shout for a
policeman.

"Look here, Hiram," remonstrated the motor wizard, drawing his
tow-headed friend apart, "if you're convinced your father is in San
Diego, what the deuce are you expecting to see him here in Venice for?"

"I got the habit of lookin'," answered Hill lamely, "and seems like I
can't give it up."

"Well, you've got to give it up for the rest of to-day or you and I will
separate here and now. You act as though you had just escaped from a
lunatic asylum, and when people see me they are apt to think there are
two of us."

They went out on the pleasure pier, bought post cards to send to their
friends, had their pictures taken on a couple of burros, and finally got
into bathing suits and went into the surf. Hill at last forgot about his
lost parent and let himself loose for a good time.

Both he and Clancy enjoyed themselves to the limit. Refreshed by their
plunge in the ocean, they went into a restaurant, and did ample justice
to a splendid, meal. After that they started back to Los Angeles.

"This here has been a great afternoon, Clancy!" sighed Hiram, sinking
back in the car seat and showing his weariness. "We haven't done much
toward runnin' out the trail, but we can begin on that again to-morrow."

"I'm running out my own trail, Hiram," laughed Clancy.

"Eh?" returned Hill blankly.

The motor wizard did not explain. His companion, he knew, would not have
understood him if he had explained. But Clancy realized that he was more
contented in mind than he had been at any time during the last two
weeks. Tired though he was, it was astonishing how much better he felt.

"New sights and new scenes," thought Clancy, "do a lot to put new life
into a fellow. I'm beginning to wish I had taken this Happy Trail a long
time ago."

It was ten o'clock when they walked into the lobby of the Renfrew House.
As they stopped at the counter to get the keys to their rooms, Clancy
asked the clerk if there was a telegram for him. The clerk thumbed over,
a bunch of messages and tossed out one.

"Owen Clancy?" he queried. "There you are."

"I hope it ain't Wynn wirin' you to come back," remarked Hill, with
sudden foreboding.

"It isn't from Wynn," said Clancy; "I know that before I open it. I'll
bet something handsome it's from the chief of police at San Diego."

"The chief of police? What's he wiring you for?"

"Come over here, Hiram, and I'll explain."

Clancy led his companion to a couple of chairs.

"Now," said he, after, they had seated themselves, "we're about to
decide whether we're going to Catalina Island, in the morning, or to San
Diego."

"That's already decided!" asserted Hill. "Whatever makes you think it
ain't?"

"Look at that letter you received at noon, Hiram," went on Clancy. "You
were asked to come to eighteen-twenty 'Q' Street, weren't you?"

"Yes," Hiram answered, consulting the letter.

"Well," explained Clancy, "I wired the chief of police at San Diego,
asking him who lives at that number in Q Street. If this reply to my
message says that Upton Hill lives at that address, then I'll
congratulate you, and we will go on together to, San Diego in the
morning.

"Sure!"

"But if the message says that some one else lives at the address, it's
proof positive that your letter was a fake, and that going to San Diego
is worse than a waste of time, eh?"

"Let's see what the message says," parried Hill.

Clancy opened it, removed the folded yellow sheet, opened it out, and he
and Hill read the following:

"OWEN CLANCY, Renfrew House, Los Angeles: No such street as 'Q' in the
city. No such man as Upton Hill in directory. Never heard of him.
            PENNYPACKER, Chief of Police."

"What do you think of that?" asked Clancy.

"I reckon your judgment is good, Clancy," answered the baffled Hill. "If
it wasn't, I'd not have asked you to help me run out this trail."

"Then we'll cut out San Diego and go to Catalina?"

"What's the use o' goin' to San Diego; lookin' for a street they haven't
got in the town? Of course we'll try the island--nothin' else for us to
do."


CHAPTER VI.

THE GLASS-BOTTOM BOAT.

The distance from the mainland to the island of Catalina is only about
twenty miles, and the steamer from San Pedro makes the trip in something
like two hours and a half.

At ten o'clock in the morning Clancy and Hill went aboard, at
ten-fifteen the boat got under way, and promptly at ten-seventeen Hiram
became seasick. There wasn't anything halfway about it, either, he was
sick all through and all over. For an hour he was afraid he was going to
die, and for an hour and a half he was afraid he wasn't.

Clancy was so busy with Hill that he had no time to enjoy the trip. As
soon as the boat tied up at the Avalon pier and the gangplank was run
out, Hill galloped ashore, and sank down on the dock with a groan of
thanksgiving. Clancy hurried after him, picked him up, and supported him
to solid earth.

"I thought you were a better sailor than that, Hiram," chuckled Clancy.

"Me--a sailor?" whimpered Hill. "Say, it always makes my stomach do a
hornpipe just to look at a picture of the sea. I can't cross a creek on
a bridge without getting separated from my last meal. Darn it! This is
why I wanted to find my lost dad in San Diego--I could go there by land.
Clancy, I'm goin' to stay on this island, and live and die here. I won't
never go back. Let's find a restaurant somewhere and fill up, I never
was so empty in all my life."

Finding a restaurant was not difficult, for the little town was full of
them. A rattling good fish dinner put Hill in a pleasanter mood, so that
his wretchedness of the morning survived as only a faint and far-off
memory.

Senor Jack Lopez had a curio store on the main street of the town. The
investigators were directed to his place of business, but to their
disappointment, Lopez was away on the other side of the island and would
not be back until evening. As they came out of the curio store, a man
approached them and sounded the praises of the glass bottom boats.

"Ugh!" said Hiram, trying to get away, "no boats for mine!"

"But you don't want to leave the island without seeing the marine
gardens!" exclaimed the man.

"There are enough gardens on shore to do me," answered Hill.

"My friend is afraid he'll get seasick," observed Clancy, with a wink.

"You can't get seasick in one o' my boats any more'n you could on land,"
averred the runner. "We jest go out around by the Sugarloaf--we're close
inshore all the time."

"It's makin' me feel faint just to talk about it," said Hill. "Come on,
Clancy!"

He caught the motor wizard's arm and tried to drag him off. Clancy,
however, held back.

"I've heard a lot about these glass-bottom boats," said he, "and I'll
have to take a trip in one. If you don't want to go, Hiram, you can sit
on the dock and wait till I come back."

"No, you don't!" growled Hiram. "You and me don't get separated this
trip, if I can help it. If you're going, Clancy, I'll go, too, even if
it kills me."

"You won't be the least mite sick, friend," the runner insisted. "If you
are, I'll give up your fare."

"That won't be a patchin' to what I'll give up--if you have to give up
my fare," commented Hill. "I only hope I don't step so hard on the
glass-bottom that I go through."

"You can't do that," the man laughed. "This way, gents."

He led them out on a pier and down a flight of steps to a float
alongside of which a boat was moored. The boat was a flat-bottom affair,
rigged with a canopy top, and having seats along the sides.

Extending down the middle of the craft was something which looked like a
long box, open at the top. The lower side of the box was covered with
glass. Passengers on the seats could look into the box, through the
glass bottom, and see objects on the ocean's bed with wonderful
clearness. A man up near the prow did the rowing.

"I claim," said the runner, "that this here's the only kind of a boat to
use in seein' the marine gardens. We can go places in these little boats
that they can't get, to in the big ones."

That must have been a particularly slack day for the glass-bottom boats,
for Clancy and Hill were the only passengers on this particular craft.

"I reckon that's all, Ike," said the man who had brought the two youths
to the boat: "let 'er go!"

Ike proceeded to use the oars, and, while the boat rounded the end of
the pier, Hiram hung to his seat with both hands, and looked wildly and
expectantly at Clancy.

"Beginnin' to feel squeamish," mumbled Hiram.

"Don't think about it," returned the motor wizard. "Look down at the
marine gardens, Hiram."

Hill gradually forgot his uneasiness. There was hardly any motion to the
boat, save a slow, steady gliding onward. Off Avalon there is no surf,
the tides rise and fall, as on the mainland, but the sea is usually as
quiet as the waters of a pond.

There were other glass-bottom boats out that afternoon, and they were
scattered just off shore to Sugarloaf Rock and beyond. Not far from the
towering Rock were two or three rowboats, each manned by an oarsman, and
carrying a man in a bathing suit.

"Them's divers," explained Ike, nodding to the men in the bathing suits.
"Didn't you see 'em when your boat come in?"

"No," answered Hill, "I was too busy gettin' ashore. What were those
divers doing when our boats came in?"

"Passengers were throwin' money overboard and they were divin' for it.
You'll see 'em when you get in the steamer to go back to Pedro. Over yan
by Ole Sugarloaf the divers goes down under the glass bottoms, looks up
at you from below, makes faces, throws kisses at the girls, and I don't
know what all. Likewise, they brings up abalone shells; you can see 'em
brought up, and can buy 'em for a quarter apiece. A very pretty and
interestin' souvenir of your trip to the island. Now, look down, for
we're right over, the gardens."

"It's funny," remarked Hill, "that I'm such a good swimmer when this
seasickness takes holt o' me so, hard and quick. Maybe if I'd swim the
ocean the water wouldn't bother my stummick at all. I---"

The words died on Hill's lips. He suddenly found himself gazing from one
world into another of weird beauty and wondrous enchantment.

Beneath his eyes and Clancy's there unfolded a landscape of rainbow
tints flecking a forest of softly waving trees. Some of the trees bore
fruit, and in and out among their branches swam fishes of silver and
gold. It was like fairyland, that landscape on the bed of the sea.

"Beats anything I ever seen!" whispered the entranced Hiram. "If a
mermaid was to float up to the glass bottom of this here boat and shake
a finger at me, I'd go right over the side and join her in them pretty
gardens."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Clancy. "Look at the rocks and shells! You can,
see them as clearly as though they were out of the water and on the
land."

"Them forests," explained Ike, "are made of kelp. From kelp is where we
get our iodine of commerce. It takes four hundred pounds of kelp to make
one pound of iodine."

"And a million pounds of the iodine o' commerce," snorted Hiram, "ain't
worth one pound o' kelp, down below and growin' same as we see. What do
they, want to root it up for? Why don't they leave it where it is, to
please the eye that looks down through these glass-bottom boats?"

"I pass," answered Ike wearily. "I ain't no philosopher, that-a-way.
Kelp's no good and iodine's useful--that's all I know. Diver's goin'
over and comin' this way," he added, with sudden animation. "Watch
close, now, and maybe you'll see him pick up an abalone shell, and look
up and make faces. It's right remarkable how long some o' them divers
can stay under the water. Look sharp!"

Clancy and Hill looked sharp, but they couldn't see anything of the
diver.

"Shucks!" grunted Ike. "He come up for another boat afore he got here.
But he'll be along after a spell."

Ike rested from his rowing a bit, and filled and, lighted his pipe.

"Up there," said he, waving his hand aloft, "is the towerin' summits o'
Black Jack and Orizaba, If you're goin' to be on the island overnight
you don't want to miss the coach trip to the top o' the uplifts. It's
ten miles up and two miles back, same road all the way," he chuckled as
he exhaled a cloud of smoke, "and the round trip is only eight miles.
It'll cost you a dollar apiece, and you don't want to miss it."

Clancy and Hill had already discovered that the inhabitants of Avalon
had a hand out for tourist money. When one had got all he could of a
guileless sight-seer, he passed him on to a brother who had something
else to show. But they were a kindly lot, those Avalonians for all that.

"Now, watch!" warned Ike. "Here the diver comes, for sure!"

This time Ike was correct. Clancy and Hill, peering through the glass
bottom of the boat, saw a human form glide gracefully to a point
directly underneath, turn over on its back, and float face upward, full
a dozen feet below the surface.

The diver commenced to throw kisses and to make faces, but he suddenly
ceased that pleasing performance. His face abruptly froze as with
horror, and his wide eyes looked, up at the two faces staring down
through the glass.

A sharp exclamation escaped Clancy's lips. Hill gave a yell, sat up and
began tearing off his coat, hat, and vest.

"It's--it's Hank Burton!" he murmured, far gone with wonder. "It's
Gerald Wynn's pard, and he helped walk off with your fifteen thousand,
Clancy! What's he doin' in the marine gardens, I'd like to know?
Wouldn't this put kinks into your intelleck? Say!"

Hiram Hill was climbing up on his seat, bending low to avoid hitting the
canopy top.

"What are you going to do?" shouted Clancy.

"I'm goin' down into the marine gardens, lookin' for trouble! If I can
get my lunch hooks on that chap below, I'll bring him aboard, or ashore,
or we'll both stay down in the kelp till the crack o' doom! You hear me,
Clancy? That feller gave us the slip once, but he'll not do it again!"

With that, Hiram Hill kicked off his shoes, rolled over the rail and
went into the water with a splash. Clancy reached for him, but was a
minute too late, for his fingers clutched only empty air.

"Look!" whispered Ike huskily, leaning over the glass bottom and
staring; "for the love o' Mike, look what's goin' on down there!"


CHAPTER VII.

AT THE BASE OF OLD SUGARLOAF.

Clancy and Ike had the privilege of seeing one of the strangest sights
that any one ever saw through a glass-bottom boat. They saw a half-clad
man grab another in a bathing suit, and immediately a submarine
wrestling match was staged. Burton gripped Hill about the throat, and
Hill's fingers slipped forthwith to Burton's windpipe. The scene grew
more and more horrible as the moments passed, and Clancy fell to
throwing aside his garments preparatory to making a trip of his own to
the marine gardens.

"Wait!" clamored Ike excitedly. "They've broke loose from each other!
They're comin' up. Don't go in!"

Clancy took another look through the glass. Burton's face was livid and
ghastly, and it was plain that he was hard put to it for breath. With
feeble, faltering strokes he was coming to the surface. Hill was
following him as relentlessly as a shark.

The rowboat, from which Burton had dived, came alongside the flat-bottom
craft. The fellow at the oars Clancy did not know. The motor wizard had
half expected to see either Gerald Wynn or Bob Katz, but the oarsman was
neither of these.

"What's happened?" he asked, a tense note of alarm in his voice.

Before Ike could answer, Burton's head bobbed to the surface, and a
gurgling cry for help floated over the water.

"Wait a minute!" called Clancy, catching the side of the smaller boat
before the man at the oars could get away from Ike's craft, "I guess
I'll go with you."

Without much difficulty, Clancy transferred himself from one boat to the
other.

"You needn't wait for us, Ike!" he called. "Have our clothes ready for
us when we call for them, that's all."

"What're you trying to do?" demanded the oarsman.

"We've got two fellows to pick up," Clancy answered, "and I'm going to
help. Are you a friend of Burton's?"

"I get half he makes for handlin' the boat for him."

"How long has he been doing this?"

"Yesterday and to-day."

"And your name is---"

"Mynie Boltwood."

"Well right, Mynie Boltwood! Steady it is, now, and we'll pick up the
two in the water."

"Never mind me, Clancy," sang out Hill, who had come to the surface, and
was swimming easily despite the weight of the wet clothing he had on.
"Burton is purty nigh tuckered. Take care o' him first."

Burton was a splendid swimmer, there was no doubt about that, but his
ordeal in the water had told on him severely. He grabbed Clancy's
outstretched hand desparingly, and was assisted to climb over the
bulwarks. Once aboard, he fell in a sprawl on the boat's bottom,
breathing heavily.

Hiram Hill got into the boat much more easily. Lifting his dripping body
to a seat, he grinned, and shook the long, tow-colored hair back from
his face.

"How was that for Hi?" he asked.

"It was a great piece of work!" Clancy answered admiringly. "You're
certainly there with the goods when it comes to swimming. I thought, for
a time, that both you and Burton would be drowned. We could have got him
just as easily, Hiram, if you hadn't gone into the water."

"I wanted to make sure, that was all."

"Boltwood," called Clancy, "put us all ashore on the rocks at the foot
of Old Sugarloaf. We'll bask in the sun, for a while, and I'll talk a
little with Burton, We're old friends, you know," and here Clancy
smiled. "The last person in the world I was expecting to see through the
glass bottom of that boat was Hank Burton. It was the surprise of my
life, and no mistake."

There was something here which Mynie Boltwood could not understand. He
was not ambitious in the acquirement of knowledge, however, and merely
did as he was told--and let it go at that.

Burton sat up in the boat's bottom, and peered at Clancy.

"Feeling better, Hank?" the motor wizard inquired pleasantly.

"What're you and Hill doing here?" inquired Burton confusedly. "We
reckoned you were in San Diego."

"Oh, you did!" returned Clancy. "You must know something about that
letter Hiram received, inviting him to hang up his hat in Q Street and
feel at home."

Burton, realizing that he had said something he hadn't ought to, bit his
lip angrily.

"How'd you happen to come to Catalina?" he went on.

"The Happy Trail branched in this direction."

"Eh?"

"Well," Clancy laughed, "Hiram came to Catalina to find his father, and
I'm helping in the search. We've got a few things to discuss, Hank, and
I think we'll do the chinning ashore."

By that time the boat was grounded among the rocks close to the foot of
Old Sugarloaf.

"I haven't got a thing to discuss with you," snarled Burton, "and I'm
not goin' ashore."

"Sure you are!" declared Clancy. "You'd a heap rather go ashore and talk
matters over with Hiram and me than go to jail. Wouldn't you, now?"

Fire snapped in the motor wizard's eyes, and his voice, although it was
like velvet, cut like steel. Burton saw there was no use trying to hang
back.

"If Wynn hadn't made me work for a little money," growled Burton, "this
wouldn't 'a' happened."

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

Boltwood had jumped to the rocks, and was holding the boat by the
painter. Hill followed him out of the craft, and now Burton followed
Hill. Clancy was last to leave the boat. He walked up toward the base of
Sugarloaf Rock.

"Boltwood," he called, "you stay there and take care of the boat.
Burton, you and Hill come up here with me."

The excitement that had claimed the passengers in Ike's boat had been
missed by the other boats. The rest of the glass-bottom fleet had gone
around Sugarloaf Rock, and Clancy was now able to look across the low
rise of rocks, separating the headland from the shore, and see the other
sight-seers.

"Hill and I came over here to find Hill's father," said Clancy, turning
to Burton, "and we find you. That strikes me as being mighty strange,
Hank. What are you and Gerald Wynn and Bob Katz doing here?"

"Who said Gerald and Bob were with me?" returned Burton sullenly.

"You said something before we got out of the boat which proved to me
that Gerald Wynn was here with you. And, if Gerald is here, Katz is
along, too. Why are you in this place?"

Burton did not answer.

"Why did one of you write that letter to Hill and try to get him to San
Diego?"

Still nothing from Burton.

"Did you fellows bring the fifteen thousand with you?"

Clancy's voice was sharp as he put this question.

"It must be clear to you," returned Burton, "that I haven't any of that
fifteen thousand. If I had, do you think I'd be divin' for quarters?"

The motor wizard seated himself on a bowlder. The sun was hot, but a
cool breeze from the sea tempered its warmth. As he stared at the
stubborn face of Burton, his eyes hardened.

"Hank," he went on, "I haven't any cause to love you, or Gerald Wynn, or
Bob Katz. One of you put a bullet into my shoulder, at the old adobe
near Wickenburg. The three of you, also, made off with fifteen thousand
dollars belonging to me and to Lafe Wynn. Now I can put you through for
all that, and put you through good and hard. Even if I can't get hands
on Gerald and Katz, I've got you securely. Do you want to save yourself,
or don't you?"

"Save myself? How?"

"Why, by helping me get back that stolen money. Tell us where Gerald
Wynn and Katz are hiding themselves, where the money is, and how we're
to get hold of it."

"Think I'm a squealer?" demanded Burton indignantly.

"Where are your clothes?" Clancy asked.

"Boltwood knows."

The motor wizard walked down to the water's edge.

"Boltwood," said he, "I want you to go and get Burton's clothes. Also
get from Ike the clothes belonging to Hill and me. Bring them back here.
And--listen! Don't say a word to anybody about what happened.
Understand?"

"I don't know what's happened, or what's goin' on now," answered
Boltwood, "so how can I talk?"

"Just remember that, then. Here's a five-dollar gold piece for you. Do
as I tell you and you'll be all right. Do something else, and you'll
find yourself in more trouble than Burton is in."

"I'm no fool, I guess," mumbled Boltwood, pouching the gold piece. "I
don't pry into things that ain't my business. I'll row across and get
the clothes."

He sprang into the boat, pushed off, and began using the oars
vigorously. The motor wizard turned thoughtfully and walked back to the
place where he had left Hill and Burton.

Hank Burton had issued his defiance. He was not a "squeeler," but he was
apprehensive regarding Clancy's next move.

"What're you goin' to do?" he asked.

"I'm sending for your clothes," was the reply.

"Then what?"

"Why, then I'll find some place where I can make a complaint against
you. You think more of your pals liberty than you do of your own. But
that's your lookout, not mine. If you want to go to jail and leave
Gerald Wynn and Bob Katz free to spend that fifteen thousand, why, have
it that way."

Clancy's tone was relentless. Burton knew enough of the motor wizard to
understand that he would do what he said he would.

The chap in the bathing suit walked back and forth among the rocks for a
few moments, then, finally, he flung up his hands helplessly and halted
in front of Clancy.

"You've got the whip hand, as usual," said he, with a tinge of
bitterness. "I'll exchange what I know for my liberty. What am I to tell
you?"


CHAPTER VIII.

TREACHERY THAT SUCCEEDED--AND FAILED.

The motor wizard congratulated himself, for a moment, that he had won
Hank Burton over to his side in the argument. But only for a moment.
Even as Clancy was getting ready to frame his first question, Burton
took to his heels and ran like a deer toward the other side of Sugarloaf
Rock.

On that side, three persons had landed in a small boat. They had secured
their boat by twisting the painter around a rock, and were now climbing
Old Sugarloaf.

Burton must have seen this landing party while walking back and forth
and turning Clancy's proposition over in his mind. He had gained a
little time by seeming to fall in with Clancy's desires, but now the
mask was dropped.

"Consarn the critter!" whooped Hiram. "Stop him, Clancy, stop him!"

This is exactly what Clancy was trying to do, but the feat was
physically impossible. Burton had too long a lead.

Snatching the painter from the rock, the fleeing rascal sprang into the
boat, picked up the oars and was twenty feet from shore before Clancy
and Hill came to the water's edge.

"Guess again!" taunted Burton, applying himself vigorously to the oars.

"This island ain't so big!" shouted Hiram furiously. "The steamer for
San Pedro has gone, and there's no other boat for the mainland until
to-morrow. You ain't out o' this yet, Hank Burton!"

What Burton thought regarding this did not appear. He put all his energy
into his rowing and was soon halfway across the bay.

"If we'd toted a popper," bewailed Hiram, "this couldn't have happened.

"Popper?" questioned Clancy.

"Meanin' gun. With a six-shooter we could have drawn a bead on Mister
Man in the boat and fetched him ashore. Blame it! I sure hate to see him
get away after bein' to so much trouble ketchin' him."

The motor wizard felt in the same way, but there was no use crying over
spilled milk. Mynie Boltwood got back from the other side of the bay
with a load of clothes, and Hill removed his wet garments, wrung them
out, dried them in the sun, and was soon back in his complete wardrobe,
and but little the worse for his drenching.

Clancy, hoping to develop something in the nature of a clew, searched
the pockets of Burton's clothes. He found nothing to repay his search.

"Now," inquired Hill gloomily, "what's the next step?"

"We came here to find your father, Hiram," Clancy answered, "and
suddenly got switched off into another trail. Now we'll get back to the
work that originally brought us to the island."

"And let that bunch o' grafters go?"

"I don't see what we can do, at present."

"We can set the police on their trail."

Clancy shook his head. "That won't do, Hiram," he answered. "I made a
crack of that kind at Burton, but it was only a bluff. The moment we
ring in the police, that moment we lift the veil on Lafe Wynn. Lafe must
be protected at any cost. If we could get back the money by our own
efforts, that would be all right. What we've got to avoid is making this
thing too public. We'll return to the curio store and see if Lopez has
got back from the other side of the island."

Mynie Boltwood displayed little curiosity regarding Burton. The
five-dollar gold piece had evidently blinded him, muzzled him, and tied
up his ears. He rowed Clancy and Hill back to the pier, and they left
the boat and proceeded to the establishment of Jack Lopez.

Lopez looked a good deal like a man who might deal in dazzling futures,
taking care that all the profit came to himself. He was swarthy and
good-natured, but with a crafty eye.

"The Fortunatus Syndicate?" he said, with an airy laugh. "Gentlemen, it
is gone--as you say--where the woodbine twineth. Yes, for two years
past. The concession was granted by Diaz for a great 'plant' dedicated
to the god of luck at Tia Juana, but--well, Diaz went out and some one
else came in. Down below the border, nothing remains as it was for long.
It took--what you call--too much money to grease the wheels. The
Syndicate dropped one hundred thousand dollars, and thought that was
plenty. No, no, you can not invest in Fortunatus, for there is no
Fortunatus."

"This is your card, isn't it?" inquired Clancy, offering for inspection
the card found wider the sweatband of the Stetson.

"Why, _si!_ I used that card at the time the Tia Juana matter looked
very bright and promising. Now, though, I use the card no more."

"Did you ever see a feller like this?" put in Hiram, handing over the
photograph of his father.

Lopez looked at the photograph, started, took it in his hands, and gave
it a more careful scrutiny.

"As I live," said he, "it is the picture of my good friend, Captain
Hogan, of the steam yacht _Sylvia._ Look!" and Lopez lifted and leveled
a forefinger.

They were standing in front of the curio store, and the stores all along
that street overlooked the bay. Lopez indicated a trim-looking craft,
painted white, and with the sun striking gleams from dazzling brasswork,
floating at anchor far from the shore line.

"That," continued Lopez, "is my good friend's boat. Her home port is San
Diego, and she can be chartered by any one with the price. Hogan is at
the island for a few days, looking for customers."

Disappointment struck heavily at Hiram Hill's heart and was reflected in
his face.

"You say his name is Hogan?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What's time whole of his handle?"

"Uriah Hogan. Strange you do not know, since you have his picture."

"There's a whole lot o' things I don't know," answered Hiram, "and am
just beginnin' to find out. Was Cap'n Hogan over to Los Angeles last
Saturday?"

"He was. He has told me about it. He returned to the island Sunday."

"Do you happen to know where I can find him?"

"Why, yes. In the quarter of the town called Buena Vista, there is a
bungalow called the Rest a While. There Captain Hogan stays whenever he
is in Avalon."

This ended the talk with Senor J. Lopez. Clancy took his friend by the
arm and walked with him to the restaurant where they had had their
dinner.

"Ain't this the limit?" queried Hill plaintively. "Nothin' goes right
for us, Clancy."

"Well don't fret about it," returned the motor wizard.

"Order up a good meal and try and be happy."

They sent in a generous order. Hill, however, could not get the hard
luck out of his mind. He continued to air the state of his feelings
while the order was being made ready.

"This Cap'n Hogan is a dead ringer for dad. Him and dad couldn't look
more alike if they had been twins. And then, Clancy, them initials in
his Stetson--'U. H.' I reckoned that made a cinch of this here trail I'm
follerin'. But, no. 'Stead o' standin' for 'Upton Hill,' them letters in
the Stetson meant 'Uriah Hogan.' Never before has fate played it so low
down on me as that."

"We have certainly blundered into some remarkable coincidences," agreed
Clancy.

A man with red hair, who sat, at their table, cocked up his ear as Hill
shook out his opinions.

"Hogan?" said he, leaning forward; "did I hear you mention Smuggler
Hogan, of the _Sylvia?_"

"I called him Uriah Hogan," said Hill.

"It's all one and the same. Hogan's bad medicine." The man surveyed
Clancy with an approving eye. "Maybe I shouldn't say anything about
this," he continued, "but your hair's the same color as mine, and I
always make it a point to pass valuable information along to a fellow
bricktop. Beware of Hogan! What's the fellow doing with that boat of
his? Some say he's smuggling arms into Lower California, for the use of
the revolutionists, and some say he's running chinks and opium--both
contraband goods--into the United States. Cap'n Hogan is not in these
waters for any good, take it from me."

The red-headed man finished with an ominous look, and then with great
politeness requested Hill to pass the salt.

"Hogan, I hear," the loquacious stranger continued presently, "charters
that boat of his to the unsuspecting. He does it for a blind--nothing
else. Now, if you gents want a trip up or down the coast, as far north
as San Fran, or as far down as the Horn. I've got just the
thing--slickest little schooner with steam auxiliary you ever put eyes
on."

A light broke over Clancy. Maybe Captain Hogan wasn't such bad medicine,
after all. This rival ship owner might be giving him a bad
character--for business purposes.

"We're not intending to charter any boat." said Clancy.

"No harm done, anyway," said the red-haired person. "I've given you a
straight tip about Hogan, though, and you can bank on it."

"Much obliged," returned Clancy.

A little later he and Hill got up from the table, settled their bill,
and left the restaurant.

"How about takin' a walk?" Hill asked. "The way that red-headed chap
throwed me into the man I thought was dad, kinder made me feverish."

"All right," agreed the motor wizard cheerfully, "we'll walk. It's
always a good thing to walk a mile or so after you've had your supper."

They strolled down the main street, Clancy doing his best to cheer up
his melancholy companion. Presently they turned a corner and started
along a thoroughfare that was bordered on both sides with eucalyptus
trees. A figure stepped suddenly out of the black shadow of one of the
trees and posted itself in front of Clancy, barring his path.

"Owen Clancy?" the figure asked.

"Yes," Clancy answered, thinking the voice sounded rather familiar.

"Well, I'm back again, and---"

"Burton!" the motor wizard exclaimed.

"Yes, Burton," the other returned. "I've had it rubbed into me by Gerald
Wynn and Bob Katz till I reckon I can't stand it no longer. I'm ready to
help you, now, and this time I mean it."

"What's happened to cause this great change, Burton?" Clancy asked
skeptically.

"Wynn and Katz are trying to beat me out of my share of the fifteen
thousand," was the reply. "If I help you, Clancy, maybe, between us, we
can beat out the pair of them. What do you say?"


CHAPTER IX.

A SPLIT IN THE GANG.

Clancy had no confidence whatever in Burton.

"I'm willing to hear what you've got to say, Burton," he said, "but
whether I believe you or not, is another question."

"You'll believe me, fast enough," was the confident response. "Down the
street, a little way, is a place where we can talk."

They walked down the street to a bench. The bench was in an obscure
place, and the gloom of the eucalyptus trees surrounded it. Here, after
they had seated themselves, Burton began his remarks.

"I've been treated like a dip by Wynn and Katz," said he, "and I'm going
to be square with you, Clancy, just to get even with them. When we
lifted the fifteen thousand, at the time you were shot, we laid a bee
line for Los Angeles. We've been there ever since, up to last Sunday
morning. Gerald was bughouse on a gambling proposition, across the
Mexican line. He heard of a stockholder he could buy out for fifteen
thousand dollars, and that's what set him to working his brother for the
money, in the first place.

"Well, he was as close-fisted with that dinero as any miser you ever
saw. I didn't have a cent in my pocket, and Gerald wouldn't give me any
cash. He paid my expenses, but that was all.

"Last Saturday he saw that mix-up at Sixth and Main, in Los Angeles, and
he got the idea that Hill was trailing him. Of course, Gerald knows all
about Hill's search for his lost father---"

"Of course he does!" grunted Hiram. "There's a reason for that."

"And he conceived the notion of sending Hill a letter and signing the
name of Upton Hill to it," went on Burton. "The idea was to get Hill off
of our trail, and we all reckoned the scheme had won out. I didn't know,
until I looked up into the glass bottom of that boat, that Hill was
within a hundred miles of Catalina Island! And I thought Clancy was
still in Phoenix! Say, it was sure a big surprise to me."

"That's what I reckoned," remarked Hill, with a chuckle.

"I used to be swimming instructor in a gymnasium," proceeded Burton,
"and as soon as we reached Avalon I made a deal with Mynie Boltwood, who
owns a boat, and we took to snorkin' the tourists. Gerald was still the
tightwad, and I couldn't live on prospects, no matter how rosy they
might be. Sunday afternoon, while I was out diving, Gerald and Bob
called on Lopez. I get it straight, from a fellow who knows, that Lopez
told them the Fortunatus deal had fallen through. Right then and there
is where those two skunks began to scheme to beat me out of my share of
the swag we brought from Wickenburg."

Burton fell silent for a moment, evidently reflecting on the great
wrong that had been done him by his former pals. At last he resumed:

"Wynn and Katz chartered the _Sylvia_ to take them down the coast. I was
told that by Lopez, and I reckon he got it from Captain Hogan. Lopez--I
saw him no more than half an hour ago--says Wynn and Katz are planning
to cut loose from me, I've been a fool all along to let those two do all
the schemin' and never put in my oar. But now I'm going to get busy."

"You saw Lopez pretty soon after you gave us the slip at Sugarloaf
Rock?" Clancy asked.

"Quite a long time after that. I laid low in town until Mynie Boltwood
brought me my clothes. You see, I was expecting every minute you'd have
an officer on my trail, so I didn't stir around very much."

"Lopez is a friend of yours?"

"He's treated me white when he saw how I was being double-crossed by
fellows I thought were my pards. Now, Clancy, here's a plan I've thought
of: From all I can find out, Wynn and Katz haven't an idea you and Hill
are up Avalon. Suppose we three go to their hang-out and jump them? We
can do it, and recover the money. We'll have to be quick, though, and
pull off the work before they leave in the _Sylvia._"

"Where are Gerald Wynn and Bob Katz?"

"Lopez says they're staying at Hogan's bungalow. I know where that is.
Will you go?"

Clancy hesitated.

"You're afraid I'm working some underhand scheme, eh?" said Burton.
"Well, forget it. All I want in this world is to break even with Wynn
and Katz. Don't you believe what I've been telling you?"

"You're a slippery customer," answered Clancy, "and you may be lying for
the purpose of getting Hill and me into hot water."

"Nothing to it. I tell you I'm square with you."

"Let's try him once, Clancy," suggested Hill. "If it turns out to be a
frame-up, Burton will be with us, and we can hand him a sample of our
regards."

"Very well," said the motor wizard. "Lead the way, Burton."

Burton moved down the walk to the first cross street, proceeded halfway
along the block, and halted in front of a small bungalow with a deep
porch.

"Here's where Captain Hogan stays when he's in Avalon and ashore,"
remarked Burton, in a guarded tone.

"Can't see any light," murmured Hill. "Looks like the place was empty."

"I should say, at a guess," put in Clancy, "that the captain is not at
home. He may be aboard the _Sylvia._"

"We're not looking for Hogan, but for Wynn and Katz," continued Burton.
"I'll not leave this place until I investigate a bit."

He began climbing the steps that led to the porch. Clancy was still very
distrustful of Burton, and watched warily while following the fellow to
the front door of the house.

Burton seemed straight enough. With a soft hand he tried the door, and
discovered it to be locked. Moving thence to a window that opened upon
the porch, he tried to raise the lower sash. It was secured.

"Maybe I can open the sash lock," he whispered to Clancy. "If it's the
ordinary kind, a knife will do the trick."

He took a jackknife from his pocket, opened a blade, thrust it upward
between the upper and lower sash, and maneuvered for a minute or two.
Finally he gave vent to a muttered word of satisfaction, closed the
knife, and slipped it into his pocket.

"Here's a little luck," said he. "We can open the window now."

Noiselessly the lower sash was lifted, and the way into the bungalow was
open.

"You can stay here," whispered Burton, "or you can go with me. If you're
afraid to trust me, I can look around and report what I find."

"I'll go with you," returned Clancy. "I don't want to take your report
about what you find, I want to see for myself."

As carefully as possible they crawled through the window, and while they
stood in the dark room at the front of the house. Hiram came through the
opening and joined them.

A noise reached their ears, as of heavy breathing. Hill caught Clancy's
arm in a convulsive clutch.

"There's some one in the place, all right!" said Burton, under his
breath.

"Strike a light," suggested the motor wizard. "I believe it's safe
enough."

"Here, let me," put in Hiram. "I've got a match right in my fingers."

He scraped the match on the wall. As a flicker of light blazed up, a
small, meagerly furnished front room was disclosed. Neither Captain
Hogan nor either of those who had chartered his boat could be seen.

Clancy stepped to a shelf on the side wall, and took down a candle in a
candlestick. Hill touched the match to the wick, and the investigation
continued under a better light.

There was a door opening off the rear of the room. Burton glided to it
and carefully pushed it ajar. Stygian darkness reigned beyond.

The opening of the rear door had caused the heavy breathing to grow
louder. The man--evidently the only one they were to find in the
bungalow--must be in that back room. Clancy, with the candle, pushed
into the lead, and entered the next apartment.

Hill was watching Burton as keenly as a cat watches a mouse. At the
first sign of a treacherous move, or the springing a trap, Hill would
have been at Burton in a flash.

Nothing occurred, however, to alarm the investigators. Something was
discovered, on the other hand, which certainly, astounded them.

A figure was lying on a cot bed--a figure that was bound wrist and
ankle. A towel was tied over the face of the helpless form, and from
behind this towel came the labored breathing which had already attracted
attention.

The candle revealed the gruesome situation dimly. There seemed no longer
any good reason for silence, and startled exclamations dropped from the
lips of the three investigators.

"Black work has been going on here!" growled Burton.

"Wonder if that's Hogan?" queried Clancy.

"Whoever it is," spoke up Hill, "if that towel ain't removed he'll soon
be smothered to death."

As he spoke, he hastened to the head of the bed, turned the form
slightly so he could untie the ends of the towel, and presently removed
the suffocating gag. As the head of the bound man fell back on the
pillow of the bed, his face was brought clearly into the full light of
the candle.

"By thunder!" gasped Clancy, startled.

"What do you think of that?" murmured the bewildered Burton.

"Katz, or I'm a Hottentot!" whispered Hill.

There followed a few moments of silence, during which the three at the
cotside exchanged wondering glances. Here was a situation which seemed
incomprehensible to all of them.

Katz's eyes were closed, and the breath came and went stertorously
between his bloated lips. His face was puffed and of a purplish hue.

"What's the matter with him?" queried Burton.

"He came within one of being suffocated, that's all," Clancy answered.
"Get the ropes off his hands and feet, so he'll be more comfortable. I
don't think it will be long before he opens his eyes."

The motor wizard was right. Hardly had Katz been freed of the ropes when
his eyelids flickered wide open. He stared up dazedly into the faces
bending over him.

"Wynn!" he exclaimed, his wits wandering. "You're double-crossin' me,
eh, same as we double-crossed Burton? You and Hogan are going to make
off with the swag! Well, it won't do you no good, you can gamble on
that. You'll be sorry you did this--some day--and---"

Here his voice trailed off into incoherent mumbling. It was quite
evident that there had been a bad "split" in the gang.


CHAPTER X.

PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT.

Burton's eyes glimmered as he listened to these wandering words from the
lips of his treacherous friend.

"He got a dose of the same medicine he helped give me!" he said. "Serves
him right. Gerald Wynn is a yellow dog! He turned against me, and then
he hitched up with Captain Hogan and the two turned on Katz. Wish I knew
just how it all happened."

"Bring some water," said Clancy, "and perhaps we can help Katz recover
his wits. He's half delirious now."

Burton found some cool water, and brought a basin of it. The bloated,
purplish face of Katz was bathed, his limbs were rubbed, and gradually
his condition, physical and mental, became more normal. He peered at
Burton with blinking eyes.

"Thank you, Hank?" he asked.

"Yes, it's Hank." was the taunting response. "How do you like bein'
double-crossed? You and Wynn put the kibosh on me, and here you've got a
taste of it yourself."

"Wynn's a coyote!" snarled Katz.

"He's not the only one."

"What took place here?" struck in Clancy, seeking to direct the talk
into more profitable channels.

A shiver convulsed the form of Katz. Slowly his eyes turned to Clancy,
and grew round with astonishment.

"That red-headed motor wizard!" he breathed. "However did you get here?"

"I'm here, and that's enough," said Clancy.

"He came on from Phoenix because I wired him to," put in Hill. "He's
helpin' me locate my father."

"It was Clancy's judgment, I'll bet," observed Burton, "that kept you
from going to San Diego?"

"Now you are shouting. I was bound to go there, but Chancy held me back
and steered me toward Catalina island."

Katz's eyes passed from Clancy to Hill. Slowly the wonder died out of
them, and a grim expression crossed his face.

"You're the clever boy, all right, Clancy," said Katz, "but Wynn is too
many for you. He's bit it off with Hogan, who owns the steam yacht
_Sylvia,_ and they're off for down the coast with all the money. After
we cut you out, Burton, Wynn and I had divided. I had seventy-five
hundred, all in the long green, in that dinky satchel of mine, when I
came to this wikiup to join Wynn and Hogan. Them two were layin' for me.
The minute I stepped in at the door they bowled me over. I went down
like a log, and when I came to myself I was lyin' on this bed, lashed
hand and foot, and with a towel tied so tight over my face that I could
hardly breathe.

"Hogan and Wynn were in the room, and they just laughed at me. 'You're
easier'n Burton was,' Wynn says. 'Hogan and I are leavin' the harbor
to-night,' he says, 'and we're takin' the hull fifteen thousand with us.
Good night, and happy dreams, Katz,' he winds up, then puts out the
light, locks the front door, and leaves me to strangle to death." Katz
turned his head and spat contemptuously. "That's the sort, of a jigger
this Wynn is," he finished.

"You're no better than he is," snapped Burton.

"If I could come within arm's reach o' him, by thunder, I'd show whether
I'm better than he is, or not!" cried Katz, getting up with an effort
and sitting on the edge of the cot.

"You say," said Clancy, speaking quickly, "that Hogan and Wynn are
intending to get away in the _Sylvia_ to-night?"

"I reckon they've already gone."

"Maybe not! There's a chance that the _Sylvia_ is still in the harbor.
Are you as anxious to get even with Wynn as Burton is, Katz?"

"Try me, that's all!" growled Katz, lifting his arms and working them
back and forth to get the cramps out of them. "I'd like a chance to show
Gerald Wynn just how I feel!"

"Then come with me! Perhaps we can head off Hogan and Wynn at the dock."

"No such luck. But look here oncet, Clancy. Are you intendin' to mix the
police in this game o' muggins?"

"No," was the answer. "We'll handle it ourselves."

"And the idee is---"

"To recover, the fifteen thousand dollars,"

"Who gets it, after it's recovered?"

"I do. It belongs to Lafe Wynn and myself, doesn't it?"

This part of the arrangement, it was clear, did not please Katz. Clancy
saw that, and his voice hardened and grew threatening.

"You're a plain thief, Katz! First thing you know, you'll get your just
deserts and land in the Los Angeles jail. You can either come with the
rest of us, or you can stay here. Suit yourself."

"When you talk in that tone of voice," returned Katz humbly, "I come on
the run. Give your orders, Clancy and count on me to help carry 'em
out."

"Where does Hogan keep the dinghy that carries him between the _Sylvia_
and the shore?" asked the motor wizard.

"I can show you. If the _Sylvia_ is still in the harbor, and there's any
one ashore from her, I can take you right to the place where the dinghy
is tied up."

"That's where we want to go."

The entire party emerged from the bungalow, descended the steps to the
street, and started forthwith for the water front. Katz led the way out
upon the same pier at which Clancy and Hill had taken, the glass-bottom
boat to view the marine gardens. Well out on the pier, they came to a
halt, and swept their eyes over the dark waters of the bay.

"By cracky," said Katz, pointing, "the _Sylvia_ ain't got away yet.
There's her lights, if I'm not mistaken."

Probably thirty or forty boats, most of them small, were anchored in the
bay. Each carried lights, and picking the _Sylvia's_ lights out from
among the others was no easy matter.

"I guess you've got it right, Katz," said Clancy. "Unless the yacht
changed her anchorage, that's about where she ought to be."

"We can tell to a certainty by goin' down to the floats and seein' if
the _Sylvia's_ dinghy is tied up at the pier."

"If the dinghy isn't there," spoke up Burton, "it wouldn't prove that
the _Sylvia_ wasn't still in the harbor. She may be at anchor, Katz,
with no one ashore."

"Right-o," answered Katz. "On t'other hand, Burton, if the _Sylvia's_
dinghy is at the pier, then it's a lead pipe that the yacht isn't far
away. We'll go look."

They went down the stairs to the floats. There were several boats
chained and locked to the floats, and among them was the _Sylvia's_
dinghy. The dinghy, however, was not locked to the float post, and a
pair of oars lay across the thwarts.

"She's here, by Jerry!" muttered Katz. "Hogan and Wynn haven't left us
yet--not just yet! I allow they're whoopin' it up, some'r's, and are
show gettin' out to the yacht."

"Maybe they're on the _Sylvia,_" said Burton, "and some of the crew's
ashore."

"What diff'rence does it make who's ashore and who's on the yacht?"

"It makes a good deal," put in the motor wizard. "Two of our party will
stay on the pier and watch this float to see who comes after the dinghy,
and the other two will take the dinghy and go out to the _Sylvia._ By
making a move of that kind, we'll be able to land on Gerald Wynn, no
matter whether he's ashore or on the boat."

"I'll watch this end o' the play," said Katz.

"No," objected Clancy, "you'll go with me to the yacht, Katz. Hill and
Burton will stay here and keep an eye on the float."

"Well, you're the doctor," acquiesced Katz grumblingly. Clancy had
divided the party so that he and Hill would each have a man to watch.
Neither Katz nor Burton would have the same opportunity to be
treacherous as they would have had if they had been left together.

The motor wizard fully believed that Hogan and Wynn were ashore, and
that the dinghy was waiting to carry them to the yacht. He felt that he
could trust Burton to be one to deal with Wynn much more safely than he
could trust the more desperate Katz.

"Who'll do the rowin'?" queried Katz.

"You'd better do that, Katz," said Clancy. "My shoulder isn't in the
right sort of condition for such work."

Katz was interested at once.

"What's the matter with your shoulder?" he asked.

"You ought to know. I'm pretty sure you're the one who put a bullet into
it."

"I got an alibi for that," muttered Katz, stepping into the boat and
adjusting the oars.

Clancy followed him.

"The idea is, Hill," said Clancy, "to get the money from Wynn. You and
Burton may have a hard time of it if Hogan and Wynn are together. I
can't tell you what to do, except to be careful and do the best you
can. There'll be no dinghy for Wynn and Hogan to use, and I think you
ought to have some success if you use your wits as well as your fists."

"If we get a chance, Clancy," answered Hill, "we'll either make good or
know the reason why."

"All right, Katz," called the motor wizard softly. "Make as little noise
as possible. If we can't get aboard the _Sylvia_ without any one knowing
it, we won't be able to get aboard at all."

"I sabe the burro, fast enough," answered Katz.

The fellow proved a good oarsman and there was scarcely a sound as he
dropped and lifted the oars. As they picked their way through the fleet
of harbor craft, coming closer and closer to the lights for which they
had headed, they found out that they had located the _Sylvia_ correctly.
Her white, trim bulwarks suddenly loomed up like a ghost ship.

No one was on deck to hail the dinghy, and Katz brought the small boat
to a stop under the _Sylvia's_ side, and at the foot of a short ladder
that was lashed to the rail.

Clancy laid hold of the ladder, and, with little noise, gained the deck.
Some one started out from the shadow of a deck awning and stepped toward
him.

"Is that you, Lewis?" the man asked.

Clancy's response was quick and to the point: With a tigerlike leap he
gained the man's side and pressed both hands about his throat.


CHAPTER XI.

ABOARD THE "SYLVIA."

Clancy's shoulder received a hard wrench and a tingling pain shot
through his arm. The man who had hailed him was of medium height and
stocky build, and well muscled. Clancy was in no physical condition to
keep up his end in such a set-to, and the result would probably have
been disastrous had not Katz leaped over the side and taken a hand.

Katz, remembering the way his pal had treated him was as venomous as a
rattlesnake. The motor wizard had all he could do to keep him from going
too far, and seriously injuring the man. With very little commotion the
fellow was overcome, gagged with a handkerchief, and tied with a rope
which Clancy picked up on the deck.

This rough work finished, the two intruders stood breathlessly in the
shadow of the awning, and waited and listened. They could hear a drone
of voices forward. The monotonous sound kept going without a break,
which seemed to prove that the slight noise aft had not been overheard.

"So far, so good," muttered Katz. "What next, Clancy?"

"Our next move is to look around and see who's aboard," was the reply.

"There's somebody in the cabin, that's a cinch, but I reckon this dub
was the only other chap around the works. Like enough he was a watchman,
or somethin'. What did he call you?"

"Lewis."

"Lewis is the engineer. If he saw you climb over the rail, and if he
thought you was Lewis, then it's a safe guess that Lewis is one of the
men who's ashore."

"That's right."

"If Lewis has shore leave, then I'll bet Hogan is on board."

"I think so--Hogan and Wynn."

"They're the two who are in the cabin, hey? It takes two to make a
talk."

"We'll find out who's in the cabin."

There was a deck house amidships, with steps leading up from the
afterdeck. Windows opening into the cabin were almost flush with the
deck, and by kneeling down, Clancy and Katz could look into the small
room below.

They found that they had been correct in their surmises. Wynn and Hogan
sat facing each other on upholstered benches. A table was between them,
and upon the table was a battered satchel of small dimensions. Katz
reached for Clancy's arm and gave it a quick pressure.

"That's the grip with the money!" he whispered. "What's the reason we
can't get hold of it?"

"We've got to get hold of it, somehow," returned Clancy. "Suppose you go
aft and yell for Hogan? It's possible, Katz, that your call will take
both Hogan and Wynn out of the cabin. That may give me a chance to duck
down the companion and grab the satchel."

"It's worth tryin'," approved Katz. "Even if it don't win out, we can
still end the thing in a fight. You got a shootin' iron?"

"No."

"Neither have I. Blamed if I don't feel kinder lost without one. I'll
bet Hogan is heeled, and I know Wynn never goes without his artillery.
We'll have to look sharp and be spry, Clancy, if things come to a
show-down."

While Clancy watched the two in the cabin, he saw Wynn draw the satchel
across the table, open it, and pull a packet of greenbacks from inside.
He held up the packet, and laughed. Hogan joined in the laugh.

The motor wizard had a very good look at Captain Hogan, and he did not
wonder that Hiram had been deceived into thinking the fellow was his
father. The bulging brow, the huge nose, and the retreating chin all
conspired to form a countenance that would have claimed attention
anywhere. One eye had an evil squint, and it gave to the whole face a
crafty expression.

Captain Hogan, it was clear, would never be hung for his good looks,
although it would be too much to say that he might not, some time, be
strung up for his evil deeds.

Wynn dropped the money into the satchel and sat back arm the bench. As
usual, he was whiffing at a cigarette. Hogan was smoking a big black
cigar.

Neither Clancy nor Katz was so situated that he could hear the
conversation going forward between the two in the cabin. The voices
sounded from below in considerable volume, but the words ran together in
hollow echoes that baffled the ear.

"Go on, Katz," whispered Clancy. "We'll try that scheme. If Hogan leaves
the cabin, I'll go down."

"Suppose Wynn stays with the money?"

"I guess I can take care of Wynn."

"Well, here's hopin'. I'd like to crack out a winnin', this play. Sit
tight, now, and listen to the meller trill o' my bazoo."

The motor wizard remained at his post while Katz crept back to the after
part of the boat. Then, suddenly, Katz opened up with a yell for "Hogan!
Cap'n Hogan!"

Hogan leaped to his feet, all energy and curiosity in a moment. A
startled look crossed Wynn's face, and was clearly visible in the rays
of the swinging lamp. The captain jumped for the companion stairs,
closely followed by Wynn. Clancy fell to wondering which side, of the
deck house they'd travel on their way aft. If they came down his side,
then the chances were good for a scrimmage instead of a dash into the
cabin.

In the excitement of the moment, the satchel had been left entirely
unprotected on the cabin table.

As luck would have it, Hogan and Wynn ran along the alley across from
the one in which Clancy was lying. The time had now come for Clancy to
act, and, without loss of a moment, he gained the companion, and made
his way swiftly down the steep stairs.

He could hear a sound of husky voices and a tramp of quick feet from
aft. What was going on, between the captain and Wynn, on one side, and
Katz, on the other, was a mystery. Clancy did not waste time in any
guessing, but grabbed up the satchel and started with it on his return
up the companion stairs.

But he only started. As he began going up at the bottom, some one began
coming down from the top. The fellow above was in as big a hurry as
Clancy, and he lost his footing on the steep stairs and came below with
a rush.

The motor wizard was caught full by the descending form, and knocked
flat. His game shoulder, as he fell, struck against the corner of a
locker with cruel force and a cry of pain was wrenched from his lips.
Almost as soon as he was down he was up again, and he had not let go of
the satchel.

The other fellow was also on his feet, It was Gerald Wynn! Wynn stared
at Clancy as though he could hardly credit the evidence of his senses.

"You--here!" Wynn gulped.

No answer was necessary. Besides, with Clancy time was pressing. Taking
advantage of Wynn's surprise, the motor wizard attempted to push by him
and get to the deck. Wynn, however, had full use of his limbs and his
faculties.

"Give me that satchel!" he cried, and tried to snatch the grip out of
Clancy's hand.

Clancy evaded him with a deft leap sideways. Wynn swore savagely, and
struck at the motor wizard with his clenched fist.

Clancy blocked the blow with his game arm--hurting it so that he almost
felt as though it had been struck by lightning. Then his other fist shot
out, catching Wynn fairly, and driving him against the bulkhead.

Clancy had to drop the satchel while executing his defense. He now
grabbed it from the floor, and plunged on up the companionway. As he
emerged through the companion doors, he beheld a form bulking largely in
the half gloom. It was Captain Hogan, braced in the passageway between
the top of the deck house and the rail, and leveling a revolver at the
crouching form of Katz.

"Stand where you are, you bloomin' beach comber," yelled Hogan, "or I'll
blow a hole through you!"

Katz swore, and continued his forward movement.

"Last call!" went on the captain. "Another step this way and I'll
shoot!"

"You're a robber!" cried Katz. "You and Wynn, between you, have skinuned
me out of seventy-five hundred dollars!"

"Where did you get the money?" demanded Hogan ironically. "It's no crime
to skin a skinner--or to shoot one either, Here's where you get yours!"

Before Hogan could pull the trigger, Clancy sprang upon him from behind,
and forced his revolver hand downward. The weapon exploded, and a bullet
plumped into the deck.

While the captain was struggling with the motor wizard, Katz ran forward
and wrenched away the six-shooter.

"Let go o' him, Clancy!" panted Katz. "I've got him now. The old sea
shark will do as I say or take the same medicine he's been threatenin'
to hand me."

Clancy flung himself from Hogan, and the latter stood at bay under the
muzzle of the revolver.

"You're a measly pirate," flamed Hogan, "to come aboard of me and carry
on like you're doing!"

"I'm no worse'n you, if I am a pirate!" snarled Katz. "Put your hands to
your back. Clancy, get another piece o' that rope and make Hogan's arms
fast."

Clancy put down the satchel and followed his companion's orders.

"Now sit down, Hogan!" snapped Katz,

"What's your scheme?" demanded the captain.

"To put you out o' the runnin'. Drop on the deck. I tell you!"

Katz flourished the revolver, as he spoke. Hogan lowered himself to the
planks on which he was standing, easing his pent-up feelings wrathfully
as he did so.

"Now a half hitch around his legs, Clancy," said Katz, and Clancy came
around with the end of the rope and got the captain's legs in limbo.

"You're a fine pair of grafters!" sneered the irate Hogan. "I hope I
live to manhandle you for this night's work."

Far off across the water could be heard a screech of oars in the locks,
and a faint sound of voices. Hogan, aware that some of his men were
coming from the pier, lifted his voice in a loud roar for help.

Katz, cursing furiously, sprang toward him and drew back his fist to
strike. Clancy caught the arm before it could deal the blow, and saved
the captain from such savage brutality. Katz turned on the motor wizard.

"Oh, you!" he yelped. "I reckon I'm about done with this foolin'. Gi' me
that satchel!"

"I'll keep this," returned Clancy. "The money in it belongs to me."

"Blamed if I care who it belongs to, I'm goin' to have it. Fork over!"
Katz pushed the point of the revolver in Clancy's face. "Fork, I tell
you, or take the consequences."

Clancy dropped the satchel.


CHAPTER XII.

MORE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR.

Yes, Clancy dropped the satchel. It was the only thing for him to do,
under the circumstances. He had discretion as well as bravery.

Besides, Clancy was facing the companionway and Katz had his back to it.
The motor wizard could see something which escaped Katz entirely, and
that was the stealthy advance of Gerald Wynn through the companion
doors.

Wynn would soon be a factor in the situation. There was nothing he could
do which would make the run of events worse than they already were for
Clancy.

What had happened showed the folly of putting any trust in a desperado.
It was through Clancy's efforts that Katz had been freed from his
dangerous predicament in Captain Hogan's bungalow. But Katz did not give
any consideration to that when the time came for him to turn the tables
and secure the satchel for himself.

Perhaps, all Katz had helped Clancy for was the hope that just such an
opportunity would come his way. Now that the opportunity had come, he
was making the most of it.

"Katz is doing you dirt, eh?" rumbled the captain, turning his eyes upon
Clancy.

"He forgets how I saved him at your bungalow," said the motor wizard.

"If you pulled him out of that scrape, then, keelhaul me, you deserve
all he gives you!"

Katz laughed in ugly fashion.

"I'll get back what you and Wynn stole from me!" he remarked, stooping
over to pick up the satchel.

As he bent down, two things happened. They happened very suddenly, too:

Clancy and Wynn sprang toward Katz at the same time--Clancy for the
satchel and Wynn for the revolver. The work of both was excellent, for
each got what he went after.

The approaching boat, by that time, was close alongside. In another
moment, Hogan and Wynn would be supplied with reenforcements.

"Give me that!" yelled Katz, jumping toward Clancy.

Here the captain took a part in the combat. Bound though he was, he
swung his feet upward suddenly and powerfully. Katz was struck in the
side and toppled to the deck.

Four men came bounding over the bulwarks. "Captain!" they called; "where
are you, captain?"

"Here!" yelled the captain. "Make prisoners of these two fellows, Katz
and Clancy. Katz is on the deck, there, and Clancy---"

Clancy was just going over the side and into the water, so it was
impossible to make a prisoner of him. He took the valuable satchel
along.

"Get back into that boat, two of you," bellowed Hogan, "and snake that
red-headed streak of lightning out of the water and back aboard the
_Sylvia!_ Look alive, now! A hundred-dollar bonus to the man who
captures Clancy and recovers the satchel he's got with him!"

Two of the men flung themselves into the boat and put off. The other two
gave their first attention to Bob Katz, and bound him with the rope
which was taken from the captain. So Katz, as it will be seen, was left
in the hands of his enemies, thereby getting vastly more than he had
bargained for.

Meanwhile, the motor wizard was swimming. He was perfectly at home in
the water, and, even though he was handicapped with a game shoulder, he
found no difficulty in keeping afloat with the satchel, and in spite of
the weight of his wet clothes.

"Clancy!" called a voice across the water. "Where are you, Clancy?"

Two boats, at that moment, were searching for the motor wizard. One, of
course, held enemies and was coming from the _Sylvia,_ the other,
carrying Hill and Burton, was approaching from the pier.

It was Hiram Hill who had hailed. Clancy knew, for he had recognized the
voice.

"This way, Hiram!" the motor wizard cried.

Two boats were aimed in Clancy's direction, and two pairs of oars struck
the water.

"Crack your back, Burton!" yelled Hill, "If you want to get even with
Wynn, now's your chance! Do your prettiest! The two men from the
_Sylvia_ are trying to beat us to Clancy--and it's a close race."

Hill could see the dark form in the water, and the black shadow of the
other boat rushing toward it. An idea flashed through his mind--an idea
as dangerous as it might possibly be successful.

"Starboard oar, Burton!" he whooped. "Hard on the starboard oar!"

Burton's back was to the exciting little scene. He could only obey
orders as he heard them. All his strength went suddenly into the
starboard oar. The boat began to whirl; and then:

Crash! The bow of the craft swung against the side of the boat from the
_Sylvia._ The _Sylvia's_ men were dumped into the water, but Hill flung
himself on the port gunwale of his own boat and kept it from turning
turtle.

Burton, hurled from his seat by the force of the collision, picked
himself up and took note of the situation Hill had caused. Two life
preservers came whizzing from the deck of the _Sylvia,_ and the two men
in the water each grabbed one.

"Bully!" yelled Burton, as Hill helped Clancy aboard. "There's the
satchel! Clancy brought away the grip with the money! Oh, this is better
than I hoped for!"

The motor wizard dropped with a splash into the bottom of the boat.
While Hill held up his head and wrung the water out of his red hair,
Burton got back on the midship thwart and grabbed the oars.

"Where's Katz, Clancy?" Hill asked.

"He must be on the _Sylvia,_" Clancy answered.

"No use trying to go back after him, is there?"

"Great Scott, no! Hogan and Wynn would get the satchel away from me, if
we went back. Anyhow, we're not indebted to Bob Katz for anything. If he
hadn't turned on me, at the last moment, and taken the satchel away at
the point of a gun, he and I would both have got clear of the _Sylvia_
in the dinghy. Katz is to blame for what happened."

"That's like him!" growled Burton. "He's getting it all around. See what
he did to me!"

"He's a pesky varmint!" grunted Hill. "He might 'a' died, there in
Hogan's bungalow, if it hadn't been for Clancy. It was almost the same
as turnin' on the fellow that saved his life. I ain't got no use for
such coyotes."

Clancy sat up on the boat's bottom and looked in the direction of the
_Sylvia._ The yacht's dinghy could be dimly discerned, putting off to
the rescue of the two men in the water.

"I'm in luck to be safe out of that mess!" muttered Clancy. "Where were
you when those four fellows from the _Sylvia_ came down to the pier?"

"We saw that Hogan and Wynn weren't among them," Hill answered, "and so
we didn't interfere. There was a big howl when they couldn't find their
dinghy. They managed to get another boat, though, and put off from the
pier. A little later we heard the commotion on the _Sylvia_ and thought
we'd better get a boat of our own and investigate."

"It's lucky you did," said Clancy. "If you hadn't been close enough to
pick me up, I'd now be in the hands of Hogan and Wynn, along with
Katz--and Hogan and Wynn would have the money. I guess, taking it by and
large, we haven't anything to complain of."

They reached the pier, and made the boat fast to the float from which
Hill and Burton had taken it. The excitement in the bay had not been
heard, and there was no one besides themselves moving about the pier.

Clancy, carrying the water-soaked satchel, slopped and splashed his way
to the street, followed by his two companions. On the sidewalk the motor
wizard paused for a final word with Burton.

"What are you going to do, now that your two pals have passed you up?"
Clancy asked.

"I'll work this diving stunt with Mynie Boltwood," Burton answered, "and
see if I can't get together a bit of a stake."

"Come around to the Bolingbroke in the morning, Burton, and ask for me."

"Changed your mind? Think you'll turn me over to the police, after all?"

"Haven't any such idea. I think you could be decent, if you'd give your
mind to it. What's the matter with turning over a new leaf and trying to
be honest from now on?"

"When I want to hear a sermon," sneered Burton, turning on his heel, "I
know where to go."

Without pausing to hear or to say anything further, he passed rapidly
down the street, and vanished in the night.

"What do you want to see him in the mornin' for?" queried Hill
curiously.

"I'd like to grubstake him," answered Clancy.

"You'd--what?"

The motor wizard repeated his words.

"Well, I'm blessed!" murmured Hill, "Why, Hank Burton is one of the three
who helped Lafe Wynn nearly ruin you! And now you talk o' grubstakin'
him. That red hair of yours certainly covers a lot of foolish idees."

"Burton is the best of Gerald's old gang, Hiram," said Clancy, as the
two walked in the direction of the Bolingbroke House.

"That ain't a-sayin' a heap in his favor."

"He's a whole lot better than Bob Katz."

"Not much in that, nuther. But you won't have no chance to grubstake
Burton, Clancy. He won't show up in the mornin'."

They reached the hotel, secured a room, and Clancy at once got out of
his wet clothes. He was so tired and sleepy that he dozed off without
thinking anything about the water-soaked satchel.

Hill, however, had the satchel on his mind, and took good care of it.
When Clancy awoke in the morning, the bright sun was streaming in at the
two windows of the room. On the floor in front of the windows Hill had
spread two newspapers; and on these newspapers, where the warm sun would
strike them, he had spread out the bank notes that had gone into the
ocean with Clancy the night before.

It was pleasant work for Hiram, drying all that money. He whistled
joyously as he changed the wet bills around, shifting the dryest to the
shade and the wettest to the place where they would receive the hottest
part of the sun's rays.

"How much is there, all together, Hiram?" Clancy asked.

"You're shy just half of the fifteen thousand, Clancy," was the reply;
"there's only seventy-five hundred here--hardly enough to bother with."


CHAPTER XIII.

A "WIRELESS" FOR LAFE.

Clancy was startled. He had only been half as successful as he thought
he had.

"Well, thunder!" he exclaimed, sitting up in bed. "Last night, Hiram, I
was sure I had all the money that had been taken from Phoenix by Lafe."

"This Was Bob Katz's satchel, wasn't it?" Hill asked, nodding toward the
grip.

"Yes."

"Well, Katz said he had only severity-five hundred in it, when it was
taken from him by Hogan and Wynn."

"That's so," mused Clancy. "I didn't have much time last night, to
reason matters out to a fine point. Half a loaf is better than no bread,
though, I've heard say. I hadn't dreamed of recovering a cent of that
fifteen thousand. Lafe and I are just so much ahead."

A knock fell on the door. Hill answered the summons and admitted Hank
Burton.

"Well, by golly!" exclaimed Hill.

"What's the matter?" queried Burton sourly.

"I told Clancy I didn't think you'd come. Seein' you sort o' surprised
me."

"What made you think I wouldn't come?" demanded Burton.

"Oh, the way you acted, the way you talked, and your low-down character,
gen'rally."

Burton flushed and scowled. Turning away from Hill he addressed himself
to Clancy.

"Here I am," said he. "Why did you want me to call here this morning?"

"I want to give you a grubstake," answered the motor wizard. "Hiram, if
there are five dry twenty-dollar bills in that heap, give them to
Burton."

Burton started, stared at Clancy, and then watched Hill while he knelt
down and selected five twenties from the drying bills.

"What are you doing this for?" asked Burton falteringly.

"Just trying to give you a little boost in the right direction."

"I'm not entitled to any of that money!"

"I think you are. You earned something last night. Take the hundred,
Burton, and see if you can't be square."

The young fellow's face paled, then the color dyed his cheeks. He stood
looking down at the floor, then presently lifted his head and moved
slightly toward Clancy and half raised his hand. Then he paused, once
more, whirled suddenly, and got out of the room as fast as he could.

Hill had been watching these strange maneuvers in frank amazement. "I
reckon he's locoed," he said, as soon as the door had closed behind
Burton.

"No," returned Clancy, "his gratitude was trying to express itself, but
couldn't quite make it. He has had his lesson, Hiram, and will profit by
it."

"He has profited a hundred dollars' worth, anyhow," commented Hill
dryly. "This Happy Trail of yours, Clancy, is a mighty queer one, seems
to me. For a ways, it follows the one I took in huntin' for dad; then it
branches off and points straight toward Gerald Wynn and his gang. Now
here we are at the end of it--and you're seventy-five hundred to the
good."

Clancy laughed.

"Get me a pencil and a piece of paper, Hiram," he requested.

Hiram found the writing materials and Clancy wrote out the following
message:

"LAFE WYNN, Phoenix, Arizona: Luck. Seventy-five hundred of the missing
fifteen thousand recovered. Cheer up. Happy Trail panning out better
than expected. Still gunning for Hill's father.
            CLANCY."

"Right across the street," said Clancy, "is a wireless station. Take
this message over there, Hiram, and let the Hertzian waves get busy with
it at once."

"On the jump!" answered Hill.

"Better take a five-dollar bill with you," Clancy suggested.

Hill picked up the bank note.

"I'd like to see that money get dry before we spend it all," he
complained, and then went out with the wireless message for Lafe.

"Wonder if Lafe will feel any different when he gets that?" Clancy
murmured, smiling happily. "I know I'm feeling a whole lot different
myself!"

THE END.

"Owen Clancy's Double Trouble; or, The Motor Wizard's Mystery,"
concludes the red-headed chap's series of adventures, in the midst of
which we have left him at the conclusion of this story. You will find
the double-trouble story in the next issue of the weekly, No. 88, out
April 4th.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[Chapters 4 - 6 of _The Snapshot Mystery_ not included as the story is
continued from a previous issue and continues in later issues.]

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

THE COSSACKS.

The Cossacks are a race of freemen. The entire territory belongs to the
Cossack commune and every individual has an equal right to the use of
the land together with the pastures, hunting grounds, and fisheries. The
Cossacks pay no taxes to the government, but in lieu of this--and here
you see the connection between them and the Russian government--they are
bound to perform military service. They are divided into three
classes--first, the minors up to their sixteenth year; secondly, those
on actual service for a period of twenty-five years; therefore, until
their forty-second year; thirdly, those released from service, who
remain for five years, or until their forty-seventh year in the reserve,
after which period they are regarded as wholly released from service and
invalided. Every Cossack is obliged to equip, clothe, and arm himself at
his own expense, and to keep his horse. While on service beyond the
frontiers of his own country, he receives rations of food and provender,
and a small amount of pay. The artillery and train are at the charge of
the government. Instead of imposing taxes on the Don Cossacks, the
Russian government pays them an annual tribute, varying in peace and
war, together, with grants to be distributed among the widows and
orphans of those who have fallen in battle.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A SATIRICAL REWARD.

There was perhaps more satire than gratitude in the reward bestowed by a
French lady on a surgeon for bleeding her--an operation in which the
lancet was so clumsily used that an artery was severed and the poor
woman bled to death. When she recognized that she was dying she made a
will in which she left the operator a life annuity of eight hundred
francs on condition "that he never again bleeds anybody as long as he
lives."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

DODGED THE TRAP.

Doctor James B. Angell tells in his reminiscences the following
enjoyable story of his college days at Brown University under the
presidency of Doctor Wayland:

The doctor's son, Heman Lincoln Wayland, one of my classmates, inherited
from his father a very keen wit. The passages between father and son
were often entertaining to the class. One day, when we were considering
a chapter in the fathers textbook on moral philosophy, Lincoln rose with
an expression of great solemnity and respect and said:

"Sir, I would like to propound a question."

"Well, sir, what is it?" was the reply.

"Well, sir," said the son, "in the learned author's work which we are
now perusing I observe the following remark," and then he quoted.

The class saw that fun was at hand and began to laugh.

"Well, what of it?" asked, the father, with a merry twinkle in his eye.

"Why," continued the son, "in another work of the same learned author,
entitled 'On the Limitation of Human Responsibility,' I find the
following passage."

He quoted again. Clearly the two passages were irreconcilable. The boys
were delighted to see that the doctor was in a trap and broke into loud
laughter.

"Well, what of it?" asked the doctor, and his eyes twinkled still more
merrily.

"Why," said the son, with the utmost gravity, "it has occurred to me
that I should like to know how the learned author reconciles the two
statements."

"Oh," said the father, "that is simple enough it only shows that since
he wrote the first book the learned author has learned something."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

THE COMPASS
News from All Points
[illustration: compass]

Books for Trainers and Athletes.

So many inquiries reach us from week to week concerning the various
manuals on athletic development, which we publish, that we have decided
to keep a list of them standing here. Any number can be had by mail by
remitting 10 cents, and 3 cents postage, for each copy, to the
publishers.

"Frank Merriwell's Book of Physical Development."

"The Art of Boxing and Self-defense," by Professor Donovan.

"Physical Health Culture," by Professor Fourmen.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wants to Exchange Post Cards.

PROFESSOR FOURMEN: It was with great pleasure that I read in Tip Top of
your return to this country.

I have been a reader of the Tip Top for three years now, and I think it
is the ideal weekly of the age. I would like very much to get in touch
with other readers of your great paper.

Although the Items of Interest were interesting to read, they are
nothing like the good old Applause Column.

The part I like best in the Merriwell stories is the way Mr. Standish
keeps the reader interested all the way through. They are not like most
stories, because you can't tell how they are going to end. There is
something new all the time.

I would like some of the Tip Top post cards. And it will be a pleasure
to exchange cards with any of our Merriwell admirers. I hope to hear
from some of them soon. I remain for the Tip Top always,
            Elgin, Ill.   355 Chicago Street.   WM. DE GARIS.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Has Read "Tip Top" from No. 1.

Was pleased to note the return of the Applause Column to Tip Top. I
believe it will serve to increase the popularity of your long-famed and
world-renowned "King of Weeklies," and thought this an appropriate time
to drop you this note of appreciation.

I have followed your weekly from No. 1, Old Tip Top, to date, and can
recommend it to any friend as the weekly that stands alone. There are no
others in its class.

Although I never expect the Frank, junior's, to equal the old-time
stories, I find them all good.

I will deem it a favor if you will tell me if I can get any of the
Merriwell stories in the cloth binding, which were published several
years ago.

This tribute probably sounds a little strong, but, sincerely, every word
is sent in good faith, and I am sure hosts of others who have followed
the Merriwell adventures for any length of time join with me.

I don't wish to appear as "butting in," but don't you think a few
illustrations in your _New Medal_ books would aid in increasing interest
in this fine series of stories, and interest to the readers?

Please send me a set of the postal cards formerly sent to Tip Top
readers, if you still have them.

With best wishes for a successful future to Street & Smith, a long life
to Burt, the author, I will end, hoping to long remain a true
Tip-Topper.
     Gravette, Arkansas.   H. WYRIC LEWIS.

P. S.--Would welcome some of the Old Tip Top characters back to the
front. Some of Frank or Dick's old-time friends and schoolmates.

You are certainly a loyal, Tip-Topper, and we thank you for your letter
of praise, and for its suggestions. The Merriwell stories have never
been bound in cloth, but you can find them all in _The New Medal
Library._ The post cards have been mailed to you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Some Suggestions.

I have read Tip Top for over a year now, and I buy it every week. It is
an excellent weekly, and I think the revival of the Applause Column will
make it more interesting.

In G. Patient's letter, in No. 79, he asks for some, Tip Top post cards.
I don't know what they are, but if you have another set, I would like to
have it.

Has the joking quality died out of the Merriwell family? I notice that
Frank, junior, takes life too seriously. Too much association with grown
people. Let's have a joke now and then. Also, it's about time young
Frank's girl is introduced to the reader, don't you think?

Hoping to see part of my letter in the Tip Top at some early issue, I
am, yours truly, ROSWELL NOTHWARY.
            Little Rock, Ark.   2609 Battery Street.

We have mailed you the post cards. Thank you for your suggestions. There
is a humorous character coming in the Clancy stories that we think you
will like.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A Poet Tip-topper.

Upon opening a recent number of Tip Top, I discovered, to my great
delight, that you have reopened the Applause Column. I have read most of
the Merriwell  stories, but I have never written to the Applause Column
before, so I think it is about time. I agree with Mr. Charles W. Meyers
that when the Professor Fourmen and Applause were left out, and also
when Frank and Dick were dropped, there was surely something lacking.
Frank Merriwell, junior, is all right, but, to my mind, he will never
quite come up to his father and uncle; but, of course, I expect him to
improve as he grows older. I do not like the Owen Clancy stories. I
think they just about spoil the series. I hope that Dick will soon win
back his fortune, which he lost in the revolution. What about June
Arlington, and all of Dick's old friends, especially Jim Stretcher? I
hope that old Joe Crowfoot is still among the living. I would like very
much to see Bart Hodge's daughter in the stories. I also read the
_Top-Notch Magazine,_ and I like it next to Tip Top. I like the
adventure stories the best, but the athletic stories are good, also. I
have a little doggerel here that I would like to see in print:

Now, boys, fill up your glasses,
  In calm weather as well as in blizzard,
For the hero of men of all classes,
  For you, Frank Merriwell, the wizard.

Once more for Dick, Frank's brother,
  The boy who will always be trailed,
Because on all things he does not falter,
  The fellow who never failed.

And now for Frank Merriwell, junior,
  Who is one of the Merriwell flock,
Who always gets there a little sooner---
  A chip of the old sturdy block.

I see you have some Tip Top post cards, and I would be immensely pleased
to receive a set of them. Waiting eagerly for the return of both Frank
and Dick, I will close, hoping that you will not consider this letter
too long to print, and will think it good enough to escape the
wastebasket.   CLARENCE WELCH,
              Olean, N. Y.   209 West Henly Street.

The post cards have been mailed to you. Thank you for your frank letter.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A New Jersey Admirer.

I like Tip Top because it has such interesting stories.

It has helped me to be very fond of good reading. I get the Tip Top, and
often give it to others to read.

Please send me the set of six colored post cards with lifelike pictures
of the Merriwells.
              Bartley, N. J.    WALTER MORGAN.

We have mailed you the cards.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Thinks We Are Improving.

I have been an ardent reader of Tip Top for a number of years, and
consider it the best weekly of its kind, and think it is improving.

There is something so fascinating about its stories, especially those
about Dick and Frank Merriwell, senior.

Glad to read in one of the last issues that we are to hear more of them,
also pleased to see the Applause Column on the pages again.

I would be pleased to receive a set of Tip Top post cards.

Hoping you will pardon the extent of this letter.

              Hanover, Ontario, Canada.   SIDNEY DANKERT.

Glad you think we are improving. We have mailed you the post cards.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Cigarettes Are Certainly Bad for Your Wind.

PROFESSOR FOURMEN: Seeing you were back in Tip Top, I thought I would
write and ask you a few questions.

I belong to the Y. M. C. A. in my city, and to an athletic club. I play
baseball, but cannot hit the ball very well. How can I remedy that?

I also play basket ball, but get winded very early in the game. This is
the same with running. I cannot run any distance. How can I improve my
wind?

Is smoking cigarettes harmful, and would you advise me to drink coffee
with my meals, or milk and water?

After playing basket ball or taking any kind of exercise, what kind of
shower should I take--cold or hot?

What kind of a game is soccer? Is it as good as football, and what time
of the year is it played.

Hoping you will answer my questions, and thanking you in advance.
            W. O. K.   Rochester, N. Y.

Practice hitting. _Keep your eye on the ball._ Don't try to "swat."
Those are a few suggestions, but ordinarily to learn to bat, one must be
under the personal supervision of a coach.

Smoking is the worst thing you can do to injure your wind. Stop it, then
see how your wind will improve.

As long as you get a warm reaction, and do not feel weak after you bath,
but refreshed, take it cold.

There is no best game. Some like one, some another. Soccer is a cracking
good game, and can be played any time that the ground will permit.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

American College Yells.

There have been so many requests for us to reprint a list of college
yells printed in Tip Top several years ago, that we have decided to do
so.

The collection--probably the most extensive one ever made--will be
presented in three parts--one part appearing each week.

PART I.

Alabama Polytechnic Institute: "Ki-yi-yi! Ki-yi-yi! Hoop-la-hi! Auburn!
Auburn! A-P-I!"

Albion: "A-l'-b-i'-o-n', Bis Boom Bah, Albion, Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Alma: "Hip, hi, hoo, ray, ALMA, Rah-a-ah!"

Amherst: "Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Amherst!"

Armour Institute Technology: "Arch, Mech, Cie, Elec, Rah, Rah, Armour
Tech!"

Augustana: "Rocky-eye, Rocky-eye, Zip zum zie, Shingerata, Shingerata,
Bim Bum Bie, Zipzum zipzum, Rah! Rah! Rah! Karaborra, Karaborra,
Augustana!"

Baker University: "B. U.! Rah, Rah! (repeat) Hoorah! Hoorah! Baker!
taker! Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Baldwin University: "U rah rah, U rah rah, U rah rah tiger!"

Bates: "B-A-T-E-S--Rah Rah Rah! Boom-a-laka, Boom-a-laka, Boom, Bates,
Boom!"

Baylor University: "B! B! B-A-Y! L! L! L-O-R! U! U! U-NI-V! V!
VAR-SI-TY! Baylor! Baylor!!"

Beloit: "Oh-aye, yoh-yoh-yoh-Be-loit! B-e-l-o-i-t--Rah-Rah-Rah!"

Berea: "Rah, Rah, Rah, sis boom bah, Cream and Blue, Be-re-a!"

Bethany (Kan.): "Rockar, Stockar, Thor och hans bockar, Kor i genom, kor
i genom, tjo, tjo, Bethania!"

Boston University: "Boston, Boston, B-B-B-Boston, 'Varsity, 'Varsity,
Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Bowdoin: "B-o-w-d-o-i-n, Rah, Rah, Rah! (three times) Bowdoin!"

Brigham Young: "Rah Ry B Y, Rah Ry B Y, Rah Ry Re, B. Y. C.!"

Brown University: "Brunonia! Brunonia! Brunonia! (Siren - - -)
B-R-O-W-N--Brown! Brown! Brown!"

Buchtel: "Hoo, Rale, Rale Roo! Wa hoo, Wa hoo! Hullaballo, hullaballo!
Rah Rah Rale, Buchtel, Buchtel, Buchtel! ye ho! ye ho! ye Heza, Hiza, Ho
ho! Rah, Rah, Rah, Buchtel!"

Bucknell University: "Bucknell-el-el! Bucknell-el-el! Give-er-el,
Bucknell! Give-er-el, Bucknell! Ray! Ray! Ray!"

Case School Applied Sciences: "Hoo! Rah! Ki! Rah! S-C-I-E-N-C-E! Hoi!
Hoi! Rah! Rah! Case!!"

Cedarville: "Razzle dazzle, never frazzle, not a thread but wool! All
together! All together! That's the way we pull! Cedarville!!!"

Central University of Kentucky: "Razzle dazzle, razzle dazzle! Sis,
boom! Ah! Central University, Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Claflin University: "Rah! Rah! Rah! Claf-lin-ia!"

Colgate University: "Colgate, Colgate, Rah (nine times), Colgate!"

College of the City of New York: "'Rah, 'Rah, 'Rah, C. C. N. Y.!"

Colorado: "Pike's Peak or Bust! Pike's Peak or Bust! Colorado College!
Yell we must!"

Columbia University: "'Ray 'Ray 'Ray C-o-l-u-m-b-i-a!"

Cornell College: "Zipp, Ziss, Boom, Caw-w, Caw-w Ca-w-w-nell; C. C.
Tiger-la, Zipp Zipp Hurrah!!!"

Cornell University: "Cornell! I Yell Yell Yell! Cornell!"

Cotner University: "Cotner, Cotner, the Cotner University--Don't you
see!"

Creighton: "C. U. C. U. Rah, Rah, Creighton, Creighton, Omaha!"

Cumberland University': "Wang! bang! siz! boom! bah! Cumberland,
Cumberland! Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Dakota Wesleyan University: "Ha! Ho! Whee! Ki! Yi! Ye! D. U. Varsity Zip
Boom! Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Dartmouth: "Wah hoo wah! wah hoo wah! da-di-di, Dartmouth! wah hoo wah!"

Davidson: "Hac-a-lac-a boom-a-lak, Hac-a-lac-a red and black,
Hello-bulue-lo-le-la-run, Davidson!"

Delaware: "D-E-L-aware, Siss-Boom-Tiger-Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Denison University: "Heike! Heike! Rah, rah, rah, hoorah, hoorah,
Denison! Denison!"

De Pauw University: "Zip, Rah, Who! D-P-U! Rip, Saw! Boom! Baw! Bully
for old De Pauw!"

Dickinson: "Hip-rah-bus-bis--Dickinson--Sis-Tiger!"

Drake University: "Rah! (ten times) Hoo rah! Hoo rah! Drake! Drake!
Drake!"

Drury: "Rah Rah Rah Rah Rah Rah! Drury!"

Earlham: "Rah, rah, Quaker! Quaker! E! C! Quaker! Quaker! Quaker!
Hoorah! Hoorah! Quaker! Rah! Rah!"

Fairmount: "Ki yi yi, Sis Boom Bah, Fairmount, Fairmount! Rah! Rah!
Rah!"

Fisk University: "Clickety! Clackety! Sis! Boom! Bah! Fisk University!
Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Fort Worth University: "Rip! Rah! Ru! The Gold and the Blue! Fort Worth
U.!"

Franklin and Marshall: "Hullabaloo, bala! (twice) Way-up, Way-up! F. and
M. Nevonia!"

Georgetown University (D. C.): "Hoya! Loya! Saxa! Hoya! Loya! Georgetown
Hoya, Loya! Rah, Rah, Rah!"

George Washington University: "G-E-O-R-G-E--George! Washington!
Washington! Washington!"

Grant University: "G. U., Rah, Rah, G. U., Rah, Rah, Whoorah, Whoorah,
Rah, Rah, Grant!"

Grove City: "With a vivo, with a vivo, with vum vum, vum! Vum get a rat
trap bigger than a cat trap! Vum get a cat trap bigger than a rat trap!
cannibal, cannibal, siss-s! boom!! rah!!! Grove City College! Rah! Rah!
Rah!!!"

Gustavus Adolphus: "Hip, Hah, Rip, Rah, Thez-Zah! Z-i-p! Boom G. A. R.!"

Hamilton: "Rah! Rah! Hamilton! Road! Road! Road!"

Hamline University: "Boom get a rat trap! Bigger than a cat trap! Boom
get a rat trap! Bigger than a cat trap! Boom! Cannibal! Cannibal! Zip!
Boom! Bah! Hamline! Hamline! Rah! Rah! Rah!"

Harvard University: "Rah rah rah! rah rah rah! rah rah rah-Harvard!"

Heidelberg University: "Kili-kilik! Rah, rah! Zit, zit! Ha! Ha! Yai!
Hoo! Bam! Zoo! Heidelberg!"

Hillsdale: "Rha-hoo-rah Zip boom bah Hipizoo rhu zoo wah-hoo-wah
Hillsdale!"

Hiram: "Brekekex! Koax! Koax! Brekekex! Koax! Koax! Alala! Alala!
Siss-s! Boom-Hiram!"

Hobart: "Hip! ho! bart! Hip! ho! bart! Hip ho! Hip ho! Hip ho!
Hip--Hobart!"

Holy Cross: "Hoi-ah! hoi-ah! hoi-ah! chu, chu, rah, rah, chu, chu, rah,
rah, Hoi-ah! Holy Cross! Rah!"

Howard University: "Rah, rah, rah! Howard, Howard! Rah! Rah! Re!"

Illinois: "Rah who rah Boom a la ka, kick-a-rick-a-roi, Old Illinois,
Boom zip boom, Tiger-zah!"

Illinois Wesleyan University "Rah! Rah! Wesleyan!"

Indiana University: "Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Indiana!"

Iowa College: "Grinnell, we yell, Grinnell we yell, Iowa College,
Grinnell, Grinnell!"

Iowa State College: "A-M-E-S! Rah! Ra! Rah! Ra! A-M-E-S! Rah! Ra! Rah!
Ra! Hoo Rah! Hoo Ray! State College! I-O-A!"

Iowa Wesleyan University: "Rah, rah, rah! zip boom bah! Razoo
razoo-Johnny blow your bazoo-Rip ziddy-i-lu-uvi-We-e-e-e-es leyan!"

Jacob Tome Institute: "Rah (nine times) Tome, Tome, Tome!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Spends $24.40 on Phone Call to Girl.

A young man who said he was Douglas Whitaker, of Winthrop, Mass.,
entered a telephone booth in a hotel, at Newark, N. J., got his home
town on the wire, and talked for an hour and two minutes to a girl in
that place. The toll charges were $24.40. He did not have enough money
to pay the bill.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Football Rules for 1914.

Coaches will not be permitted to walk the side lines during football
games during the coming season, as a result of a change in the rules
adopted recently by the intercollegiate football rules committee, in
their meeting at the Hotel Martinique, Manhattan. The annual meeting of
the committee adjourned without making any radical changes in the
existing rules.

The proposal that after teams have lined up for play, the team in
possession of the ball will not be allowed to encroach on the neutral
zone in shift plays, before the ball is snapped, was also adopted. The
question of numbering players was only informally discussed, it was
declared. No final action will be taken until after further experiments
are made next fall.

The proposed change in the rules to provide for an additional official,
suggested by Walter Camp, was adopted in providing that any team shall
have the right to have a fourth official, who shall be known as a field
judge. His duty will be to assist the referee and umpire. The naming of
such an official is optional.

The committee also adopted a rule providing that any free kick striking
the goal posts and bounding back into play shall count as having scored.

W. S. Langford, W. N. Mauriss, and Nathan Tufts were named as a
"consultation committee" to act in cooperation with the central board.
This board now consists of Doctor J. H. Babbit, Walter Camp, C. W.
Savage, Parke H. Davis, E. K. Hall, Percy Haughton, H. S. Cope, and
Alonzo A. Stagg.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rabbit Sausage in Texas.

Since Texas quit paying bounty for the killing of "mule-ear" rabbits
they have become very numerous, to the detriment of growing crops. It
has recently been found that they made a good food product, and, it is
said, will greatly cheapen the cost of living.

A full-grown rabbit will dress about five pounds. The meat trimmed off
of the bones and a pound of fresh pork added to five to seven pounds of
rabbit ground together through a sausage mill, seasoned with salt, red
and black pepper, and sage, it is claimed, will make a sausage superior
to pure pork sausage.

A syndicate is planning to establish a plant at Llano, Texas, for the
manufacture of rabbit sausage and to grind the bones into chicken feed.
It is said the plant will be sufficient to consume all the rabbits in
Texas, and thus the rabbit question will be solved.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

One Big Miners' Union Next.

At the national convention of the United Mine Workers the proposal to
consolidate that organization with the Western Federation of Miners, as
advocated by President Moyer, of the latter organization, was approved
and the executive committee was authorized to appoint a committee to
meet a similar committee from the Western Federation to arrange the
terms of union, submit the same to a referendum and report to the
convention next year. Moyer charged that President Gompers, of the
Federation of Labor, had not given proper support to the striking miners
in Michigan, and Gompers appeared before the convention and denied the
charge.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Big Game Coming Back.

Elk have been found in the Uinta national forest, Utah, for the first
time in many years. Since they are not from shipments from the Jackson
Hole country to neighboring forests, the State and Federal officials are
gratified at this apparent increase in big game as the result of
protection.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Red Sox Have Four Southpaws.

Four left-handed pitchers are now on the roster of the Boston Red Sox of
the American League. John Radloff, of South Chicago, completes the
quartet. Radloff's release was bought from the Manistee club of the
Michigan State League on the recommendation of Patsy Donovan, a scout.
Collins, Leonard, and Coumbe, the latter from the Utica club of the New
York State League, are the other left-handers.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Man Buried by Avalanche.

Eli Marfhi, a miner, 35 years old, of Butte, Mont., was buried by an
avalanche so that he stood upright in five feet of snow and was held a
prisoner for forty-eight hours. When he was found by a party of miners,
who saw his head sticking above the snow, he was unconscious, and had a
double fracture in his right leg and two breaks in his left arm. He was
not frozen.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Won $10 With a $3 Bill.

A man walked into one of the leading cafes in Middletown, N. Y., and
asked the bartender to give him change for a three-dollar bill. The
latter started to count out the change, then stopped and thought a
moment.

"G'wan, there's no such thing as a three-dollar bill," he remarked. The
man who wanted the change insisted that there was, and the bartender bet
him $10 there was not. Thereupon the visitor produced a three-dollar
bill.

It was a bill issued January 5, 1852, by the Bank of North America, of
Seymour, Conn., which the man had found in the siding of a house to
which he was making repairs. The old bank note was signed by F. Atwater,
cashier, and G. F Dewitt, treasurer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Parcel-post Extension.

A ruling of the postmaster general, recently approved by the interstate
commission, increases the weight limits of parcel-post packages, in the
first and second zones, from 20 to 50 pounds; admits books to the parcel
post, and reduces rates in the other zones materially. The maximum
weight for parcels in all zones beyond the second was increased from 11
to 20 pounds. From the already published rates the reductions are as
follows: In the third and fourth zones, 1 cent on the first pound and 3
cents less on each additional pound; in the fifth and sixth zones, 1
cent less on each pound sent. Parcels containing books weighing 8 ounces
or less will be carried anywhere for 1 cent for each 2 ounces, and on
those weighing more than 8 ounces, the parcel-post rate for the zone
will apply.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Radium Fails to Ward Off Death.

Congressman Robert G. Bremner, of New Jersey, who had the entire supply
of radium possessed by Doctor Howard A. Kelly, valued at $100,000 placed
in a cancer last December, died. Only the indomitable will of the
Congressman kept him alive for such a long period. When told that he was
near death he said to his brother: "Get me my shoes. I am going to leave
this place with you. I want to get to work."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

House Agrees to Bar All Asiatics.

The Administration is seriously disturbed over the action of the House
of Representatives in incorporating an amendment, fathered by
Representative Lenroot, in the Burnett immigration bill, excluding all
Asiatics, including Japanese, from the United States, except in so far
as they have rights under existing treaties or agreements.

While the vote is subject to change when the bill comes up for final
passage, President Wilson and his subordinates are gravely concerned
over the prominence given to the exclusion question at this juncture in
the diplomatic negotiations now in progress between Japan and the United
States. Fear was expressed that if the House should stand firm on the
amendment the result might be a further irritation in Japan and new
outbreaks of the anti-American feeling in the island empire.

The report was adopted following the rejection of an amendment offered
by Representative Hayes, of California, excluding Japanese, Hindus, and
also all blacks without regard to treaty obligations with any country.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Auto Wheel Wrecks House; Causes Fire.

The wheel of a large automobile going about a mile a minute broke from
the car and went through the pantry window in Mrs. Isabella Seymour's
home, at South Norwalk, Conn., sending the dishes in all directions.
Then it entered the kitchen and knocked the stove to pieces and set the
house on fire.

The wheel weighed over 100 pounds. The automobile careened to the side
of the road, but the driver escaped serious injury.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dies After Living Twenty Years on Cheap Diet.

Mark M. Woods, a farmer philosopher, of Webster, Mass, who has existed
for the past twenty years on four cents a day, is dead at the age of 75
years. Death was caused by chronic bronchitis. Woods, in the face of
increased living cost, continued to show the public year after year,
that it was possible to survive on an amount of money that seemed
incredible.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hiccoughs for Two Months.

Since it became known that physicians are unable to relieve Hilda Caine,
11 years old, who had had spells of hiccoughing every day for two
months, scores of suggestions to help her have been mailed to Sea Cliff,
N. Y., the child's home, but so far none has proved effective. Some of
the seizures, which occur several times each day, last an hour or more.
It is said the girl cannot live long unless she gets relief soon.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Closing Gas Wells.

A gas well in Louisiana that had run wild for six years and had been
wasting from 10,000,000 to 20,000,000 cubic feet of gas a day during
that period was successfully closed recently by a method that is
probably unique in the history of the gas industry. A relief well was
first bored close to the old well, and to the same depth. Water and mud
were forced down the relief well under heavy-air pressure until the gas
stratum was choked and the flow of gas shut off. The old well, which had
made a crater 225 feet in diameter and 50 feet deep, was then
permanently closed with concrete.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

University Bars Boy Slayer.

Chancellor Samuel Avery, of the University of Nebraska, announced that
Kenneth Murphy, 21 years old, serving a life sentence for murder in
Nebraska penitentiary at Lincoln, Neb., who was paroled by Governor
Morehead to enter the State university, cannot register in the
institution because of his criminal record.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sells Rare Stamp for $390.

H. C. Watts, of Estill Springs, Tenn., recently sold a postage stamp for
$390. It was a Philippine stamp, which he obtained while in those
islands a few years ago, and is known as an "Inverted Surcharge." The
word "Philippine" is printed upside down. It is thought to be the only
Philippine stamp of its kind in existence.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Two Weddings Cause Mix-up.

Through two marriages, at St. Johns, Mich., a father becomes the
brother-in-law of his daughter; a sister becomes the mother-in-law of
her brother; one man's father-in-law becomes his brother-in-law, and a
woman's sister-in-law becomes her stepmother. Charles Jones married Miss
Emma E. Ellwanger, of De Witt. A few weeks ago her brother, William
Ellwanger, married Jones' daughter, Miss Cora Jones.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Trying to Photograph Bullets as They Whiz.

A bullet speeding at a rate of 3,000 feet a second, which is more than
2,000 miles an hour, makes a great disturbance in the atmosphere and
creates air waves which, of course, are invisible to the naked eye.
Attempts which have been made to take photographs of bullets going at
this speed have been unsuccessful, but scientists are still trying. If a
photograph could be taken, they say, the print would probably show a
space like a body of water marked by what looked like speeding water
bugs, each having a ripple in its wake.

Photographs of a bullet going at a rate of speed less than 1,200 feet a
second show no air waves at all. But anything cutting through the air at
a greater rate than this causes much disturbance. If you draw a stick
through the water it causes little eddies and waves to trail behind it.
The faster you draw the stick the more waves and wider the angle it will
leave. Just so with the bullet.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Saved" Slayer; Sue for Pay.

Two Boston surgeons, Doctor John L. Ames and Doctor Davis D. Brough,
want pay for their services in saving the life of Clarence V. T.
Richeson, that he might die in the electric chair for the murder of Avis
Linnell. The surgeons have filed suit against the estate of Fred H.
Seavey, who was sheriff at the time Richeson mutilated himself, and the
doctors were called in. This is the second attempt to collect the bill
which totals $710.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Saves Girl, Loses Own Life.

Louis Levine, a young salesman, of New York, died a hero from injuries
received in saving the life of his sweetheart, 19-year-old Jessie
Orlain.

Miss Orlain, Levine, and two companions were returning from the home of
a friend, when the girl suddenly ran ahead to cross a car track. Midway
of the street the sound of the gong, of an approaching car alarmed her
and she stopped, too terrorized to move. Levine rushed toward her and
pushed her out of danger with such force that she fell on her face,
breaking her nose. The car caught Levine.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Spineless Youth Able to Work in the Fields.

Living and even working, although his spine has been removed, is the
remarkable experience of William Banks, 18 years old, who lives in the
southern part of Chester County, Pa. The young man labors in the fields
every day, and despite his handicap he can do as much work as his fellow
workmen.

His spine was removed by Philadelphia surgeons, when tuberculosis
developed following an injury. It was declared he would never be able to
walk. For many months he lay incased in a plaster cast. He was taken to
the home of his foster mother, Mrs. Veranda Lee, and was nursed back to
good health. His body is wrapped in ten yards of bandages each day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Divining Rod.

Although the divining rod as a locator of underground water for springs
and wells has been denounced as a fake by Federal authorities, and is
not given the most implicit confidence even in remote rural communities
of the United States experiments in German South Africa have located
water at subterranean depth in 70 per cent of the tests.

The department of agriculture of the French republic is seriously
investigating the divining rod, and an association having five hundred
members in Stuttgart, Germany, has begun laborious tests to determine
its real value.

French publicists and scientists have taken up the personal-magnetism
phase of the question. It is held by some that considering the
surprising discoveries of late in regard to radiation of all sorts, it
may be that there is some radioactive influence of underground waters
which may act physiologically on the organism of the person in whose
hand the rod seems to turn toward the subterranean water.

An effort will be made to differentiate between any alleged diviner's
sincerity and real physical effect from charlatanism and autosuggestion.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wolf Shot in Kansas City.

A large, half-starved gray wolf after attacking three persons and
spreading consternation through a staid residence district, was shot and
killed on Linwood Boulevard, at Kansas City, recently.

The wolf sprang at Miss Anna Harrison as she waited for a street car.
Miss Harrison threw her fur muff at the animal, and while the garment
was being torn to pieces, escaped into a house. Her clothing, was torn,
but she was unhurt.

The wolf ran down the boulevard pursued by a milkman who hurled bottles
as he ran. Two blocks from the first attack the wolf bit a negro in the
arm.

The wolf had run fifteen blocks and attacked Samuel J. Harnden, a deputy
county collector, before T. W. Wright, a policeman, ended the chase by
sending a bullet into the animal's head.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

After Twenty-seven Years Boxers Make Up.

Jack McAuliffe, the old lightweight, has become reconciled to Jem
Carney, to whom he has not spoken since their famous five-hour battle at
Revere Beach, Mass., November 17, 1887. Carney always felt he should
have received the verdict.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Noise Silencer.

Our modern day, half-crazed by the uproar that its own activities have
brought about, will welcome the soft pedal that Sir Hiram Maxim,
inventor of the gun silencer, is preparing to put on the hubbub in which
every great urban community has condemned itself to live.

Everything has to be paid for, in one shape or another, and too many of
our present aids, appliances, and conveniences pay for themselves in
noise. Both the conscious and the subconscious organisms suffer,
knowingly or unknowingly, and no relief has been promised.

The Anglo-American inventor proposes to better such conditions by making
the individual immune, so far as auricular addresses are concerned. A
simple electrical appliance will turn any office or bedroom into a zone
of quiet. The noise will go on, but will not reach your ear, and sounds,
the waves of which fail to reach the eardrum, are nonexistent--for that
particular ear.

The new invention will soon be tried in the wards of a New York
hospital. As soon as possible let it be introduced into the noisy
regions of offices, stores, and factories. Thus may the number of
hospital patients become appreciably reduced.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Purse Shot from Thief's Hand.

Two men attacked Mrs. Peter Sensmeir, of Evansville, Ind., late at
night, grabbed her purse, and started to run. Patrolman Withers, who
happened by, shot the purse from the hand of one of the men as he ran up
an alley, and it was recovered.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Girl Ropes Coyote.

Miss Nancy Anderson, 19 years old, the pretty daughter of an old-time
ranchman living in the Alahab oil fields near Hazlehurst, Miss., knows
how to ride a pony and is an expert in twirling the rope. That is why
she has been paid a bounty for killing a coyote, the first one seen in
this part of the country for a long time.

Miss Anderson was out for a morning's ride when she encountered the
coyote. She put spurs to her pony, made a big loop of her lariat, and
gave chase. The first throw was successful and she dragged the coyote
until she found a large rock, with which she killed it. Besides the
bounty she received she was given $2 for the hide by a curio dealer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He Is Rat-killing Champion.

"Uncle" Jack Hart, of Ayden, N. C., claims he is the champion rat killer
of the State. With the aid of a wire trap, and a dog he killed an even
thousand of the rodents last year. He has killed in the neighborhood of
10,000 in the past fifteen years. He will kill rats in any house at the
rate of 5 cents each.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Man-trap Victim Recovers.

James C. Gunn, first lieutenant in the United States army, who became
paralyzed, following an injury he received in a man trap in the
Philippine Islands, has recovered and is on his way to the Orient again.
A spear, with which the trap was armed, severed Gunn's sciatic nerve,
paralyzing him. The nerve was spliced at a San Francisco hospital, and
the man was cured.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

10 DAYS FREE TRIAL

We ship on approval without a cent deposit, freight prepaid. DON'T PAY A
CENT if you are not satisfied after using the bicycle 10 days.

DO NOT BUY _a bicycle or a pair of tires_ at any price until you receive
our latest art catalogs illustrating every kind of bicycle, and have
learned our _unheard of prices and marvelous new offers._

ONE CENT is all it will cost to write a postal and everything will be
sent you free postpaid by return mail. You will get much valuable
information. Do not wait, write it now TIRES, Coaster - Brake, rear
wheels, lamps, sundries at _half usual price._

Mead Cycle Co. _Dept. F345_ Chicago

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

SOME OF BACK NUMBERS OF NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY THAT CAN BE SUPPLIED

707--Dick Merriwell's Gambol.
708--Dick Merriwell's Gun.
709--Dick Merriwell at His Best.
710--Dick Merriwell's Master Mind.
711--Dick Merriwell's Dander.
712--Dick Merriwell's Hope.
713--Dick's Merriwell's Standard.
714--Dick Merriwell's Sympathy.
715--Dick Merriwell in Lumber Land.
716--Frank Merriwell's Fairness.
717--Frank Merriwell's Pledge.
718--Frank Merriwell, the Man of Grit.
719--Frank Merriwell's Return Blow.
720--Frank Merriwell's Quest.
721--Frank Merriwell's Ingots.
722--Frank Merriwell's Assistance.
723--Frank Merriwell at the Throttle.
724--Frank Merriwell, the Always Ready.
725--Frank Merriwell in Diamond Land.
726--Frank Merriwell's Desperate Chance.
727--Frank Merriwell's Black Terror.
725--Frank Merriwell Again on the Slab.
729--Frank Merriwell's Hard Game.
730--Frank Merriwell's Six-in-hand.
731--Frank Merriwell's Duplicate.
732--Frank Merriwell on Rattlesnake Ranch.
733--Frank Merriwell's Sure Hand.
734--Frank Merriwell's Treasure Map.
735--Frank Merriwell, Prince of the Rope.
736--Dick Merriwell, Captain of the Varsity.
737--Dick Merriwell's Control.
738--Dick Merriwell's Back Stop.
739--Dick Merriwell's Masked Enemy.
740--Dick Merriwell's Motor Car.
711--Dick Merriwell's Hot Pursuit.
742--Dick Merriwell at Forest Lake.
743--Dick Merriwell in Court.
744--Dick Merriwell's Silence.
745--Dick Merriwell's Dog.
746--Dick Merriwell's Subterfuge.
747--Dick Merriwell's Enigma.
748--Dick Merriwell Defeated.
749--Dick Merriwell's "Wing."
759--Dick Merriwell's Sky Chase.
751--Dick Merriwell's Pick-ups.
752--Dick Merriwell on the Rocking R.
753--Dick Merriwell's Penetration.
754--Dick Merriwell's Intuition.
755--Dick Merriwell's Vantage.
756--Dick Merriwell's Advice.
757--Dick Merriwell's Rescue.
758--Dick Merriwell, American.
759--Dick Merriwell's Understanding.
760--Dick Merriwell, Tutor.
761--Dick Merriwell's Quandary.
762--Dick Merriwell on the Boards.
763--Dick Merriwell, Peacemaker.
764--Frank Merriwell's Sway.
765--Frank Merriwell's Comprehension.
766--Frank Merriwell's Young Acrobat.
767--Frank Merriwell's Tact.
768--Frank Merriwell's Unknown.
769--Frank Merrlwell's Acuteness.
770--Frank Merriwell's Young Canadian.
771--Frank Merriwell's Coward.
772--Frank Merriwell's Perplexity.
773--Frank Merriwell's Intervention.
774--Frank Merriwell's Daring Deed.
775--Frank Merriwell's Succor.
776--Frank Merriwell's Wit.
777--Frank Merriwell's Loyalty.
775--Frank Merriwell's Bold Play.
779--Frank Merriwell's Insight.
780--Frank Merriwell's Guile.
781--Frank Merriwell's Campaign.
782--Frank Merriwell in the National Forest.
783--Frank Merriwell's Tenacity.
784--Dick Merriwell's Self-sacrifice.
785--Dick Merriwell's Close Shave.
786--Dick Merriwell's Perception.
787--Dick Merriwell's Mysterious Disappearance.
788--Dick Merriwell's Detective Work.
789--Dick Merriwell's Proof.
790--Dick Merriwell's Brain Work.
791--Dick Merriwell's Queer Case.
792--Dick Merriwell, Navigator.
793--Dick Merriwell's Good Fellowship.
794--Dick Merriwell's Fun.
795--Dick Merriwell's Commencement.
796--Dick Merriwell at Montauk Point.
797--Dick Merriwell, Mediator.
798--Dick Merriwell's Decision.
799--Dick Merriwell on the Great Lakes.
800--Dick Merriwell Caught Napping.
801--Dick Merriwell in the Copper Country.
802--Dick Merriwell Strapped.
803--Dick Merriwell's Coolness.
804--Dick Merriwell's Reliance.
805--Dick Merriwell's College Mate.
806--Dick Merriwell's Young Pitcher.
807--Dick Merriwell's Prodding.
808--Frank Merriwell's Boy.
809--Frank Merriwell's Interference.
810--Frank Merriwell's Young Warriors.
811--Frank Merriwell's Appraisal.
812--Frank Merriwell's Forgiveness.
813--Frank Merriwell's Lads.
814--Frank Merriwell's Young Aviators.
815--Frank Merriwell's Hot-head.
816--Dick Merriwell, Diplomat.
817--Dick Merriwell in Panama.
818--Dick Merriwell's Perseverance.
819--Dick Merriwell Triumphant.
820--Dick Merriwell's Betrayal.
821--Dick Merriwell, Revolutionist.
822--Dick Merriwell's Fortitude.
823--Dick Merriwell's Undoing.
824--Dick Merriwell Universal Coach.
825--Dick Merriwell's Snare.
826--Dick Merriwell's Star Pupil.
827--Dick Merriwell's Astuteness.
828--Dick Merriwell's Responsibility.
829--Dick Merriwell's Plan.
830--Dick Merriwell's Warning.
831--Dick Merriwell's Counsel.
832--Dick Merriwell's Champions.
833--Dick Merriwell's Marksmen.
834--Dick Merriwell's Enthusiasm.
835--Dick Merriwell's Solution.
836--Dick Merriwell's Foreign Foe.
837--Dick Merriwell and the Carlisle Warriors.
838--Dick Merriwell's Battle for the Blue.
839--Dick Merriwell's Evidence.
840--Dick Merriwell's Device.
841--Dick Merriwell's Princeton Opponent.
842--Dick Merriwell's Sixth Sense.
843--Dick Merriwell's Strange Clew.
844--Dick Merriwell Comes Back.
845--Dick Merriwell's Heroic Crew.
846--Dick Merriwell Looks Ahead.
847--Dick Merriwell at the Olympics.
848--Dick Merriwell in Stockholm.
849--Dick Merriwell in the Swedish Stadium.
850--Dick Merriwell's Marathon.


NEW SERIES.
New Tip Top Weekly

1--Frank Merriwell, Jr.
2--Frank Merriwell, Jr., in the Box.
3--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Struggle.
4--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Skill.
5--Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Idaho.
6--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Close Shave.
7--Frank Merriwell, Jr., on Waiting Orders.
8--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Danger.
9--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Relay Marathon.
10--Frank Merriwell, Jr., at the Bar Z Ranch.
11--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Golden Trail.
12--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Competitor.
13--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Guidance.
14--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Scrimmage.
15--Frank Merriwell, Jr., Misjudged.
16--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Star Play.
17--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Blind Chase.
18--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Discretion.
19--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Substitute.
20--Frank Merriwell, Jr., Justified.
21--Frank Merriwell, Jr., Incog.
22--Frank Merriwell, Jr., Meets the Issue.
23--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Xmas Eve.
24--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Fearless Risk.
25--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, on Skis.
26--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Ice-boat Chase.
27--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Ambushed Foes.
28--Frank Merriwell, Jr., and the Totem.
29--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Hockey Game.
30--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Clew.
31--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Adversary.
32--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Timely Aid.
33--Frank Merriwell, Jr., in the Desert.
34--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Grueling Test.
35--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Special Mission.
36--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Red Bowman.
37--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Task.
38--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Cross-Country Race.
39--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Four Miles.
40--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Umpire.
41--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Sidetracked.
42--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Teamwork.
43--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Step-Over.
44--Frank Merriwell, Jr. in Monterey.
45--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Athletes.
46--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Outfielder.
47--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, "Hundred."
48--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Hobo Twirler.
49--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Canceled Game.
50--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Weird Adventure.
51--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Double Header.
52--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Peck of Trouble.
53--Frank Merriwell, Jr., and the Spook Doctor.
54--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Sportsmanship.
55--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Ten-Innings.
56--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Ordeal.
57--Frank Merriwell, Jr., on the Wing.
58--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Cross-Fire.
59--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Lost Team-mate.
60--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Daring Flight.
61--Frank Merriwell, Jr., at Fardale.
62--Frank Merriwell, Jr., Plebe.
63--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Quarter-Back.
64--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Touchdown.
65--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Night Off.
66--Frank Merriwell, Jr., and the Little Black Box.
67--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Classmates.
68--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Repentant Enemy.
69--Frank Merriwell, Jr., and the "Spell."
70--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Gridiron Honors.
71--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Winning Run.
72--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Jujutsu.
73--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Christmas Vacation.
74--Frank Merriwell, Jr., and the Nine Wolves.
75--Frank Merriwell, Jr., on the Border.
76--Frank Merriwell, Jr.'s, Desert Race.
77--Owen Clancy's Run of Luck.
78--Owen Clancy's Square Deal.
79--Owen Clancy's Hardest Fight.
80--Owen Clancy's Ride for Fortune.
81--Owen Clancy's Makeshift. Dated February 21st, 1914.
82--Owen Clancy and the Black Pearls. Dated February 25th, 1914.
83--Owen Clancy and the Sky Pilot. Dated March 7th, 1914.
84--Owen Clancy and the Air Pirates. Dated March 14th, 1914.
85--Owen Clancy's Peril.

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End of Project Gutenberg's Owen Clancy's Happy Trail, by Burt L. Standish