Fame And Fortune Weekly (no. 47) (1906 08 24)

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——— ST CAN FS FE Sy SS & ST A SIELF-MOUE ™ OTR . SE y ANY Fust when the ‘wobbling house seemed on the point of turning completely over into the rus waters help suddenly appeared at the open window. The crippled woman,perched — ~. .on the brave boy's shoulder, and the little girl, uttered a glad cry. ;

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STORIES OF BOYS WHO MAKE MONEY > — = ntere cording to Act oj ress, in year a °; rari “> Re eee ee owe Congress, Wuchinoton, p oF res wae Train pa Berti oF Unie Meanie Nie Lork add Ei an No. 47. NEW YORK, AUGUST 24, 1906. Price. 5 Cente, | : ; Bete : : D ih Ley el I B ie: eo: Pe BO ee | | Worlting His Way, Vike ai _ New and Secerrd Hand. NO AMDOVER,, OHIO! # fs ough, Sola ond Jexchangeh | SE ND Ef, YO ip ra , ‘ a eet arg SEND i d - 7 By A SELF-MADE [iAN OW.G mW. nsqs et. W.Y. TAYLOR yee es Bice rs Laer aye + ae alll ‘ 4 “{ 9 wes we bee VY aie. “No, ie? \ - . , (Raat 4 CHAPTER I. raed Yea FROM THE WEST. “Hello, sonny !” It was @ blustering, overcast day in the first week in _ April, and Will Melville, a strong-looking boy of fifteen, _ his frank, open countenance flushed from recent exercise, “was securing a dilapidated sailboat to a small wooden platform extending a few feet out into a narrow creek that branched off of Maple River, when he was hailed as above. The boy looked up and saw a stalwart, bearded man, with a deeply bronzed countenance, standing upon the top _ of the bank behind him. That he was a stranger in that locality Will guessed -. instinetively, for the lad knew about shin for miles he "around i in the valley. “Well, sir,” replied Will, judging the man was in n quest f some information. “You live around here, I “spose? 2” said the eset, cesses. ‘ jout in da Creek. aah on he came from th “What’s your name?” “Will Melville.” The stranger whistled softly and seemed to look upon : the boy with a new interest. me heres. “Haven’t any father or mother, I s’pose?”. ; “No, sir.” ae “Mr, Skinner supports you, doesn’t he?” RE “T work for Mr. Skinner. He boards me and as tt $7 a month wages.” % 4y nies “Ts Mr. Skinner a farmer?” (Ee aa.” t “Well off, I s’pose?” “People say he is.” ‘The stranger gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Where does he live?” “Tn that white house yonder.” “Got a wife, hasn’t he?” Feet “Yes, sir,” replied Will, wondering how ma questions the inquisitive’ stranger was going to ie “Any children?” “One son, Simon Skinner.” The stranger looked at Will reflectively.” ee “T once knew a man by the name of George M ville, arts.” 4

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2 : DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. “Maywood, at the head of Arlington Valley.” . “That’s right,” said Will. “Father was a carpenter in Maywood before he went out West. That was many years ago, and I was only a little boy at the time he left to make his fortune, as he said, in the Cripple Creek diggings, where gold had just been discovered in great quantities. Mr. Skinner, who was a friend of father’s—in those days he was not so well off as he is now, but worked a small farm on shares—went with him. After a few months father wrote that he and Mr. Skinner had got hold of a claim which had turned out to be very rich. He expected to make enough money in a few months to be able to re- turn home very well off. Snough, he said, to build a fine _ house in the village and live the rest of his life without the necessity of returning to his trade.” “Well,” said the stranger, “didn’t he?” “No, sir. That was the last word mother ever received from him.” “How was that?” ailkee the stranger, with a curious look in his eyes. “Because ” The boy choked up a little, and tears glistened in his eyes. “Because he died out in the dig- i, 8.7? : “Oh, he did!” exclaimed the stranger, in a peculiar tone. “You are sure that he died?” “¥es,-sir. A few weeks after mother received father’s : ca st, letter Mr. Skinner returned to Maywood. He called ' at our home and told mother that he was the bearer of sad tidings. He said. that he and father were partners in a claim which proved to, be a rich one. That they had sold ut the claim to a syndicate that was buying up all the property around in that section. Father and he had each received $20,000 in gold coin. They had arranged to re- _ turn together to Maywood. Two days before they were to start he said father suddenly disappeared, Mr. Skinner said that he and three other men had searched the district to fry and find out what became of him. For a week they failed to discover the slightest clue. Then they found the _ body of a man at the foot of a certain precipice. The body was much battered and the face wholly unrecognizable. _ But Mr. Skinner said he was certain that it was his friend George Melville, for he identified the clothes and. a jack- . knife found in one of the pockets. He felt quite sure that ‘father had been enticed to that spot by some of the des- peradoes f the district who had heard of his good fortune, and murdered for his money, which he had changed into _ pills and carried about his person in a money belt.” ; “That was the story Mr. Skinner told your mother, was it??? ; ca “Yes, sir. As Mr. Skinner had not positively identified the dead man, though he said he had little doubt on the 8 ject, mother refused to believe for a long time that father was actually dead. She wrote to persons in Cripple Creek who, had known father, but could only get a con- firm tion of Mr. Skinner’s story. Finally, after many| nth had assed any favo ble haings, cape ! Bort th a os epee ae: = - — i" : 4 “Coorge Melville told me that he had a wife and son in Jat last gave up all hope. — She had to take in sewing to support herself and me, as we had no money, until at last she took sick and died.” “But Mr. Skinner came home well off, ee he?” “T believe so.” “And didn’t he do anything to help your mother?” GINO site “Kind of mean, wasn’t ity when you say he had been your father’s friend?” “Well, he’s a close man.” “Oh, he is?” Will thought he detected a grin on the stranger’ $ face. “Yes, sir.” “And how did it happen you came to work for Mr. — Skinner ??? “After mother died he offered me a job on his new farm, and I have now béeen with him two years.” “Does he treat you well?” “Yd rather not say, sir, whether he does or not,” replied Will, evasively. “He gives you seven dollars a month and your keep, you say?” “Yes, sir; but he charges me with everything I break. And he doesn’t pay me anything in winter and early spring when I attend school, though I have to do all the chores and many other things before and after school time.” “At that rate you haven’t saved much money,” said ne: stranger, with a twinkle in his eye. : . # “No, sir. I haven’t any money at all.” _ “Why not?” . : “Mr, Skinner says a boy like me Sane need money, so he is saving what I have earned so that I will not squander it.” “Very kind of him to do so,” remarked ite stranger, sarcastically. “THe says he’s acting as my guardian till I come of age.” “But he isn’t really Sa geareian, is he?” ¥ “No, sir.” 5 “Very likely he is eee back your money so you won’t. run away.” Will was silent. “Did you ever feel like running away?” continued the inquisitive stranger. “You needn’t be afraid to tell me, for I shan’t give you away.” 4 Will wouldn’t admit whether he had ever felt that Hs or not. His manner, however, gave his’questioner the impres- : sion that he had. Suddenly the boy looked up and said: “You said you knew my father out at Cripple Creek. i Did you know Mr. Skinner there, too?” Din: “Why do you ask that question?” asked the congo, sharply. Bie “Because you have been inquiring for him.” “Yes,” replied ° the. tad Jae. 4 ) Se 5 ta he Coty a ae 4s Ae

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“Ane you thinking of calling on him?” “T had some such idea,” admitted the other, slowly. “You'll find him at ihe house now, I guess.” “All right. Tl go up and see,” - Will had not failed to notice that the stranger iooked rather shabby, and he wondered if the man’s object was to try and borrow some money of Mr. Skinner on the strength of old acquaintance out West. From what he knew ‘of Mr. Skinner he thought there wasn’t much chance of the stranger getting anything out of the ‘farmer. Although the Skinner farm was one of the best in the _ valley, and the proprietor reputed to be uncommonly well- to-do, he was extremely parsimonious. It was like drawing teeth to get him to put up even his church dues, and he neyer did that until the last moment. As for contributing to the foreign missions, or any local charity, he was not to be relied on, and it was very seldom _Andeed that he was asked to do so, for people didn’t relish the kind of rebuff they got from him. The stranger nodded civilly to Will, turned on his heel and started for the lane the boy painted out to him as the most direct way to reach Mr. Skinner’s house. / Will watched him with not a little interest. - This man had known his father out in the great West, and, although he had not intimated how well he had known him, still the boy yearned for another chance to talk with him and find out what his opinion was as to that father’ s fate. “T_s’pose I'll never see him again,” he thought, dis- “appointedly, He was wrong, however. .. He was destined to see the stranger very soon again, and under particularly thrilling circumstances. i i CHAPTER II. _A GHOST OF THE PAST APPEARS TO MR. AMOS SKINNER. “So that’s George Melville’s son,” muttered the stranger. to himself, as he walked up the lane which led to the pre- tentious looking farmhouse in which Skinner and his family dwelt. “Funny that I should meet that boy the first thing. He’s a fine-looking chap, too—just the kind of boy: ‘that will make his mark in the world in good time. 1 wonder what kind of youth Skinner’s son is like? “Maybe I shall see him. From what I know of his father I haven’ t any very great opinion of him. On the contrary, Will Melville is just like his father in a great many ways, will he more like him when he grows up. Skinner d himself a scoundrel out, West, and he has been it in, i! see, ever since he returned to the East. 1ess 7 be able, to take some of the conceit out. some of his ee rie money, ee vith DOING HIS LEVEL BEST: 7 a, jmuch agape his. inclina ion. he entere safe. The dark page in his past has doubtless long ceased to trouble him. It will be a shock to him when he learns that Jacob Luckstone is still alive and has him under his thumb. Squirm and wriggle as he may, he won’t be able to escape until he comes down handsomely, If it wasn’t. that I am precious hard up, and charity begins at home, it © would be in my heart to tell that boy the truth and help: him to recover hiy rights. But as it is I need the money, and I need it badly, so I am obliged to compound a felony. I hate. to do it, for I’ye taken a liking to that lad, but needs must when the father of lies holds the reins,” With a harsh laugh and a shrug of his shoulders J acob Luckstone kept on up the lane and finally came to a gate which admitted to the farmyard. Here he came face to face with a boy of sixteen years who was amusing himself tantalizing a small bull terrier. Luckstone did not need any one to tell him ‘who this boy was, for he read the Skinner family characteristics in every line of his homely, sallow and disagreeable counte- nance. “Who are you, and what do you want here?” demanded Simon Skinner, aggressively, pausing in his delightful employment and regarding the siranecr with padisguipaec: disgust. “You are Simon Skinner, I suppose,” said Luckstone, with a chuckle. “I. don’t know that that is any of your business,” fas torted the boy in a disagreeable tone, “I don’t know you, and from your general appearance I don’t want to know you either.” “All right, sonny; don’t get hot under the collar. = Tm | not going to introduce myself to you,” “T should hope not. Well, we don’t feed tramps at fas : place, so you’d better move on to the next farm.” “Took here, Master Simon, is your father in the house 2m, “My father! What.do you want with him?” “Business, sonny, business. Dye come a long way to see him—maybe that’s the reason I look so shabby. You — | mustn’t judge a book by its cover.” “My father is yery particular about iho he does busi- — ness with. I don’t believe he'll see you.” ‘ “That's where we differ, Master Simon. He'll see me ali right when he learns I’m here.” “Does my father know you?” asked Simon, doubttully. “Well, ~ather,” grinned Jacob Luckstone. “What’s your name?” t “Neyer mind my name, sonny, Just run into the aes and tell your father that a man who used to know him in Cripple Creek is waiting outside to see him,” : : “Tt’s a long time since my father was out Wola % be seven or eight years. I guess he won't want to see ‘you “All right. Ill take the chances of that, carry my message.” Simon didn’t like to be ordered around in this fashion, and was about to refuse, but there was something in 4 stranger’s manner which intimidated him, and s 0 vory

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- deal of satisfaction to deliver such a message to the hard- | Age DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. up his father, whom he found in the sitting-room reading that day’s issue of the weekly Maywood News, and told him there was a man outside in the yard who wanted to talk to him. “Who is he?” asked Mr, Skinner, looking up. the neighbors ?” “No. He’s a stranger.” “A stranger! What can he want with me? Did you «One of ask him what he wanted to see me about?” “Yes. He said he wanted to see you on business.” _ “What kind of business?” _ “He didn’t say.” “What does he look like?” “Like a tramp—that is, he’s awfully seedy, and his shoes are covered with dust as if he had walked some dis- tance. He says he’s come a long way to see you.” “A long way!” exclaimed Mr. Skinner, in some sur- prise. “He told me he knew you out in Cripple Creek.” “Knew me in Cripple Creek!” cried, Simon’s parent, uneasily. “What did he say his name was?” “T asked him, but he wouldn’t tell me. If I was you Td send him packing. I guess he wants to ask you for a “Joan. He looks as if he needed it.” “T haven’t any money to loan,” said Mr. Skinner, hast- ily. “T didn’t s’pose-you had. Shall I tell him to skiddo?” grinned Simon, feeling that it would give him a great looking and cheeky stranger in the yard. “He said he knew me in Cripple Creek, eh? You are positive he said that?” “Yes. He seemed very confident that you'd see him.” “He did?” replied’ Mr. Skinner, nervously. “Yes, he did. I think he has a lot of nerve. Why don’t - you send him about his business?” “T think maybe I’d better see what he wants,” said Mr. - Skinner, in a tone so different from what he usually used his father, getting up from the rocking chair with the with considerable surprise. Simon.” under similar circumstances. that his son regarded him “Show him into my library, “Why don’t you see him in the yard? He ain’t fit 46 come into the house,” objected the boy. . | “Td rather have him come into the library,” replied _ intention of crossing the hall to that room. The name library was rather a misnomer for the apart- : ment in question, as there were no books or bookshelves there, neither Mr. Skinner nor any member of the family having a bent for reading. me But the gentleman farmer, as he was derisively alluded, to by many of his neighbors, called the room his library ecauuse it sounded well, and Lae an air of importance to for he was a gentleman of more than ordinary intelligence and education, and was accorded a good deal of respect and deference by the inhabitants of Maywood and vicinity. “I wonder what’s come over father all at once?” mut- tered Simon, as he retraced his steps to the yard. “He is usually pretty sharp and sweet in his dealings with tramp- ish individuals like this man from Cripple Creek. He is) not only willing to see this person, but he actually tells me to bring him into the library—just as if he was Mr.) Hanford or somebody worth the attention. Looks mighty funny to me. Id give something to know what the fellow wants to say to my father. He acts as if he could make, the governor do something for him. I’ve a great mind to) tell mother. No, I won’t. One of the library windows is) open. I’ll show this man into the house and then I'll go’ quigide, stand in the bushes under the window and listen’ to what goes on inside of the room.” Simon grinned at what he considered his own cuteness, walked into the yard and told the waiting stranger that his father would see him in his library. “Tn his library, eh?” chuekled Jacob Luckstone. “Follow me,” said Simon, in a pompous way, strutting | into the house. The stranger followed him with alacrity. Simon threw open the door of the library. “Here’s the man, father,” he said, standing pg to allow the visitor to pass. Mr. Skinner, who was seated at his desk close to the open. window, turned in his chair to take a critical sur 8 of his caller. er, The stranger, without waiting to be invited, ‘ely seated himself in a leather-covered armchair, crossed his long legs nonchalantly, removed his weather-stained hat from his head to the floor beside the chair, squirted a stream of tobacco juice into a convenient cuspidor, and, looking the farmer sharply in the face, said: “You don’t seem to recognize me, Amos Skinner.” “T must confess you have the advantage of me, sir,” replied Mr. Skinner, with a touch of his customary aggres- _ siveness, his courage having risen when his visitor seemed to be a complete stranger to him. | “Then I’ll introduce myself to you,” grinned the man. | “My name is Jacob Luckstone.” | “Jacob Luckstone!” gasped Mr. Skinner, his face fume ing a sickly white. “Impossible! Jacob Luckstone is “Dead!” chuckled the stranger. “No, he isn’t. Ge by a long chalk. He’s very much alive, as I’m willing to. swear to, seeing as I’m the identical individual myself. But he’s not as prosperous as he ought to be, which is a great pity. However, I think that can be reetified. It’s 4 a long lane that hasn’t a turning. Are you quite sure that you don’t recognize me now, Mr. Skinner?” The speaker leaned forward, parted his beard from about his mouth, and exhibited to the: farmer a peculiar looking tusk which projected from under his upper Hoe | One look was enough for Amos Skinner. With a hoarse he ot eget Ne fell back in his ch

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@ annitint ene Oa eyes. | —— CHAPTER Iii. THE PRICE OF SILENCE, “T see you know me all right,” said Jacob Luckstone, box that Mr. Skinner kept for his private consumption. He bit off the end, picked a matchbox off the desk, lit the weed, and then settled back in the armchair to enjoy a good smoke, evidently a luxury to him. | “T heard that you was dead,” said Mr. Skinner at last, With ‘a little shiver. “T came mighty near turning up my toes soon after you left the diggings. cuss. He got the drop on me and I went to the hospital for repairs. When I pulled through I took the five thou. you kindly presented me with and went to Mexico, where I stayed until I was finally cleaned out three months ago. Being reduced to my uppers I thought of you.” “Why of me?” asked the farmer, in shaky tones. “TI thought you promised to cut me out of your mind when I “paid you $5,000 seven years ago for your silence as to a certain matter which I do not care’to recall.” _ Precisely!” replied his visitor. “I did promise; but “na fellow is on his last legs he kind of forgets such things as promises.” ; Mr. Skinner wiped the perspiration from his forehead. _ “Then I suppose your object in coming East is to extort blackmail from me?” he said, with a ghastly look. _. “You can call it by whatever name you chuse,” replied Luckstone, carelessly. “I want to get on my feet again. T can’t do that without money. There’s no one to give it to me but you; that’s why I called on you.” “But I haven’t——” began Mr. Skinner. “Yes, you have,” retorted Luckstone, calmly puffing at his cigar. “You’ve got money all right. You’re well off, and won’t miss a thousand or two.” Mr. Skinner uttered a dismal groan. He could, not bear the idea of parting with any of his darling dollars, i _ “What are you kicking about?” asked Luckstone, con- temptuously. “Besides the $20,000 you got for your share | of the Rainhow claim, os made a com thing oe of George——” _ “Hush!” cried the farmer, imploringly. tion, his name. I was mad when J——” “Don’t mene DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. ‘ 5 , and regarded his visitor with a look of terror, as though a | However, that was your lookout. Then you robbed him . ghose of the past had suddenly risen before. his startled |of his $20,000, and I was lucky enough to catch you doing — mt it. It was my duty to hand you over to the authorities. Had I done so your neck would have been stretched in short order. Fortunately for you I was open to reason in the shape of a bribe. We compromised on $5,000, and you promised on your part to do something for Melville’s wife and child when you got back home. Have you kept your word, Skinner ?” “Yes, yes; of course I did,” replied the farmer, hur- reaching forward and helping himself to a cigar out of a riedly. “Well, let’s hear what you did for them?” visitor sharply, “Why do you wish to know? It can’t interest you in the least.” “But it does interest me, Mr. Skinner.” “Well, I helped them along from time to time, and when Mrs. Melville died, two years ago, I took the boy to asked the I had a run-in with a chap—an onery |educate and bring up at my own expense.” _“T suppose you treat young Melville the same as you do your own son?” said Luckstone, sarcastically. “Ahem! Not quite. You could hardly expect phaé: He attends school in the late fall, winter.and early spring, — *}and the rest of the time——” “He works on your farm, same as any laborer, I s’pose.” “Well, yes; but I pay him for his time.” “You mean you have promised to pay him—when he , gets to be twenty-one?” “Why, why; what do you Sa +. “Look here, Skinner, you can’t fool me: I met young Will Melville down by the creek not an hour ago, and we © had quite a talk together.” “You met that boy!” exclaimed Mr. Skinner, growing pale again. “Why, how did you know him?” : “T didn’t know him till he told me his name.” “How came you to talk to him?” “T saw the boy coming up the creek in a sailboat. I wanted to learn where you lived, so I waited till he landed — and then I asked him if he knew you. He said he did, ¥ that he lived with you. Then he pointed this house out — to me. Something about the boy caused me to question him, and I learned a few things about you. He told me _ the story you brought from the West and repeated to his ny mother. He also told me that you never helped them to the extent of a single dollar, but that his mother had to — take in sewing to support herself and: him. When she — }died you took him to work on the farm at a small wage, ; which you are keeping back until he comes of age. Thetis |the way you put it, but your idea is to prevent him from leaving you until you can get everything out of him | Ri: MAS 8 can. Isn’t that it, Skinner?” af No, no; I mean to deal fairly by him,” said the fennel,

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— seven years ago. “You didn’t tell the boy anything about “His father?” grinned Luckstone, as he noted the anx-| He groaned at the very thought of such a thing. ious look on his companion’s face. ahve I did what was right I would.” . “No, you must not: Til- “Well, go on. Spit it out,” said the visitor as the farmer paused abruptly. “Tl give you a couple of hundred dollars if you'll prom- ise to go away and never bother me again,” said Mr. Skin- ner with manifest reluctance. “A couple of hundred dollars!” exclaimed Luckstone contemptuously. ‘What’s a couple of hundred dollars to me?” “It’s a lot of money,” replied the farmer, in a tone ‘that showed he regarded it as such. - “Took here, Skinner,” said Luckstone in a decided way as he chucked the butt of his cigar into the spittoon “Let’s get right down to business. I want to go hack to Mexico. I’ve got a good thing waiting for me there; but Tye got to have $2,000 to develop it. Cia me $2,500, and the chances are you'll never see me again.” “Twenty-five hundred dollars!” gasped Mr. Skinner.| “Do you want to ruin me?” His visitor laughed sardonically. “Vd venture to take my oath that $2,500 is a mere fleebite to you. Why, man alive, you brought $35,000 back with you from Cripple Creek, at least half of which rightfully belonged to George Melville’s heirs. That was You ought to be worth all of $50,000 “No, not a thing. to-day.” Mr. Skinner held up his hands puis, “T say you are!” almost roared his visitor, his eyes twinkling angrily. “However, I don’t care a picayune what you’re worth. All I, want of you is $2,500. That I ~ must and will have, or you can guess what'll happen. You see this document, don’t you?” and Luckstone pulled a ~ folded piece of paper out of his pocket and exhibited it to Mr. Skinner, who shrank from it as though it were a venomous snake. ‘Suppose I placed that in young Mel- ville’s hands, what would happen, do you think? It would be worth twice $2,500—aye, more, to him to learn the truth about his father’s fate. This paper in his hands would not only strip you of more than half your wealth, Wut land you behind the bars to boot, with something _ worse in prospect. I think I am letting you off easily. f ought to ask $5,000 at least,” ; _ Mr. Skinner’s face grew livid as he listened to Jacob Luckstone. _ He knew the Westerner had him in his power. Yet it was like pulling at his ASST Be to yield up a . Baller. He tried to ‘think of some way out of his Gentes The effort, 2a was a vain one. Me 4 felt, ee ‘Luckstone lived he would. always be SoA V5 Se Da i pe i RNS SS RPE ak ARS SA a RR RU AS SE SSE RE ES ROENG HIS “LEVEL BEST. 7 1 sa for SL Pe pe ACT TIRE Rn ae ein a Seen eT manasa echoes ee paeiey anya ASR ADEN gOS NNDTIL DE SEENIRCTORE 4 that the present ae aaa abe ae ie final one and t His money, which he loved better even than his own soul, would melt away under this rascal’s subsequent des. mands, for who could say if he would ever put a limit td them while he lived. h The perspiration oozed out in great drops on the sorel pressed farmer’s face and hands, so great was his menta disquietude. s While Mr. Skinner was communing with himself Jacob Luckstone helped himself to another cigar and lit it. 1 He felt that the game was in his own hands—that hel held all of the trumps; that the money he wanted was as good as in his pocket. I But he reckoned without his host. ‘yt It is a dangerous piece of business to drive even a rat into a corner—how much more so a man. i ] é CHAPTER IV. SIMON TAKES A MEAN ADVANTAGE OF HIS FATHER, “Well,” said Jacob Luckstone, at length, after eying) his man for several minutes in silence, “do I get the). money, or don’t IY” “IT haven’t got but two hundred dollars in the house,” replied Mr. Skinner, in a hollow voice. “You'll ha wait until I can get it.” - “All right,” replied his visitor in a tone of satisfaction. “Vil take the two hundred on account, and ae drop around to-morrow for the balance.” “Tll get it for you,” said the farmer, rising we his chair. “Wait here till I return.” “Oh, I'll wait, don’t you worry about that,” laughed the: man from the West, putting his dust-stained boots on the chair just vacated by the owner of the hoyse. “I’ye got him where the hair is short,” he chuckled, as he watched Mr. Skinner walk from the room like a man who had just been stricken a heayy blow. “I’m sorry that I didn’t make it $5,000. He’d have to ante up just the same, or take the consequences, Come to think of it, if he really did defy me to do my worst, while I could put him into a mighty tight box, I should in ail probability get myself in trouble along with him. I made myself an accessory to his crime when I accepted that. bribe of $5,000 to keep my mouth closed. It’s a wonder he didn’t think of that. and use it in an effort to hold me off, He isn’t smart even a little bit. In fact, he’s a real easy mark. Well, $2, 500 isn’t to be sneezed at when a fellow is as hard pushed as I am just now. I may make my fortune out CPi amas Not He leaned back in his chair and indulged in sundry delightful air castles which he expected to reaee as n g|as the $2,800 was in his ea eis we

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——— -— — amounting to $200 which he very reluctantly handed over to his visitor. Jacob Luckstone shoyed the money into a pocket of his ‘jyest and rose to go. “Why, it’s raining, isn’t it? How far is it to the vitae? hotel?” “About two miles,” replied Mr. Skinner. “T don’t mind a wetting much,” said his visitor, with a short laugh, “for I’m used to roughing it; but I’d rather not present myself at the hotel looking like a drowned tai. My clothes aren’t much to brag of at the best. If I look any worse they might-refuse to take me in.” “You can remain here awhile until the rain lets up. Tl] fetch you in some supper. I'd invite you to the table, but I don’t think my wife would like it.” + “I don’t look*highfaluting enough to suit her, eh?” grinned Luckstone. “Well, don’t worry yourself about me. Bring me a bite of any old thing you have to spare and we'll let it go at that.” It was now growing dark, and Mr. Skinner lighted the ‘lamp. Presently the supper bell rang and he excused himself. His visitor walked up and down the room thinking of the future after the farmer had withdrawn. Occasionally he stopped before one of the windows and gazed out upon the darkening landscape. The prospect was not particularly pleasant. The rain seemed to have come to stay, for it was pour- n in torrents, as if the Anad gates of heaven had py Everything looked dreary and soaked without. _ “Hf it doesn’t let wp I'll have to ask Skinner to let me slecp in his barn with the horses to-night,” soliloquized the Westerner, Half an hour passed away and then the farmer appeared with a tray, followed by Simon, carrying a jug of milk. He set the tray down on a table, motioned his. son to Withdraw, which he did with some reluctance, and then he told Didicione to help himself. _ The Westerner was pretty sharp set by this time, as he had eaten nothing since morning, so he accepted the invi- tation with alacrity and attacked the. eatables forthwith. There was nothing left but the dirty dishes and empty milk pitcher when, with a sigh of satisfaction, he pushed, his chair back from the desk, grabbed another cigar and began to puff away at it with evident relish. The rain continued to pour down unceasingly as if it ‘never meant to let up. Mr. Skinner walked nervously about the room, for he a as. anxious to get rid of his disreputable visitor. _ At last Jacob Luckstone spoke: At doesn’t look as if I could reach the village in this dow our. What's the matter with letting me bunk in barn to-night ?” ner cee ia in thls restless walk and vegarded | collar. DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. : 7 question because Will Melville slept in a little room in the loft of the building which had been built for his accommo- dation, and the farmer did not want these two persons to have any further communication with each other lest re- sults unpleasant to himself might come of it, for he placed no dependence whatever in the Westerner. It was equally impossible that the man should sleep in the house, for not only would Mrs. Skinner object strenu- ously to any such arrangement, but the farmer himself didnot at all relish having Luckstone on his premises throughout the night. Where, then, could he put him, for as the case stood the man could not very well get to the village before morning unless Mr. Skinner hitched up a covered rig and took him there, which he had no idea of doing?” While he was in this state of indecision he.suddenly saw his way out of the difficulty. There was a small’ disused two-story barn down near the river. There was a considerable quantity of hay in the loft, and this would make a comfortable bed for a rough-and- ready person like Jacob Luckstone, who more times than he could remember had slept in far worse quarters | Accordingly, Mr. Skinner told his visitor where he had decided to put him for the night. This arrangement was satisfactory to the Wisi: man, so the farmer got an umbrella and escorted Luckstone to the old barn and left him to turn in. When Mr. Skinner returned to the house he found Simon in the library with a cigarette in his mouth and his heels on one of the window sills smoking away to beat the band. . This was a liberty that Simon had never been known to take before, and his father was so amazed at the sight that for a'moment he was tongue-bound. “Simon,” he exclaimed, in an angry tone, “what does this mean? How dare you smoke cigarettes in my library? Take your feet from that window sill instantly.” ; “I’m very comfortable as I am, dad,” replied the boy, in a tone that showed little respect for his father. “And I think this is as good a place to smoke as anywhere else.” Mr. Skinner was dumfounded at the words and attitude of his only son. The boy had never acted towards nor spoken to him is way before. ’ “Simon Skinner, have you taken leave of your senses?” he demanded, more angry than ever. “TI shall certainly . chastise you severely for your disrespectful conduct.” “Oh, forget it. After this ’m going to be my own, boss,” said the boy flippantly. | m Mr. Skinner turned fairly white vies Tage at these a words. A “Tl teach you to know your place, you neni a ine he began, sere out his arm to seize his, son by hae “Hola 1a hard, dad,” i

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Naeaae DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. fect and backing out of the way. Tl teil mother something you won’t like her to know.” “What do you mean?” cried his father, regarding him with angry surprise. “T mean that I have found out what brought that man, whose name is Jacob Luckstone, here this afternoon. I now know why he was so easy to me and so cock-sure you'd see him as soon as you heard he was outside. 1 know why Will Melville’s father never “Simon!” almost screamed Mr. Skinner. “Oh, you can’t shut my mouth, dad,” saic his son, inde- ' pendently. “I heard you admit that you drugged George Melville and then robbed him of his money belt contain- ing $20,000.” Mr. Skinner regarded his son with a livid face, but Simon took no notice of his emotion, “Jacob Luckstone caught you at the trick and you had io give him $5,000 to buy him off. Now he’s back after more, and you’ve agreed to give him $2,500. to be in a nice pickle, blessed if you aren’t.” “How— did—you—learn—all—that?” gasped out Mr. Skinner. “How did I learn it?” Siaonen Simon. “Why, I was hidden under that window yonder, and I took in every ‘word that passed between you two.” The farmer covered his face with his hanida and sank _ into his chair at the desk with a heartbroken moan. His, cup of bitterness was indeed full, for he was dis- graced and humiliated before his own son. / CHAPTER V. THE TURNING POINT OF A LIFE, _ Simon Skinner seemed to enjoy the adyantage he had - obtained over his father. He had a mean, narrow nature that rejoiced in the dis- ‘comfiture of another—even though that other was his parent. ' His father’s distress did not seem to make much im- pression on him. his cigarette. Finally Mr. Skinner took his hands from his face en regarded the boy with a look of mute supplication, “Simon,” he said, in a broken tone, “promise me you'll never breathe a word of what you have heard this after- noon. Promise me that. You wouldn’t ruin your father, would you?” - “Oh, I won’t say a sand ” replied the boy, with a grin. “But you mustn’t boss me about any more. ae a fair deal, isn’t it? ‘ge bo ‘oe to ae village.’ 2 “Don’t touch me, or You seem | He leaned carelessly against the window sill and finished “For my sake!” exclaimed the youth, mean by that, dad?” “I committed that crime in order that one day you) might be rich, Simon. I did not intend to cause George Melville’s death. But I hated to think that Melville should return to Maywood as well off as myself. .That his _ son would be on a par with you. When I saw that he had’ changed his gold into bills and carried them on his person’ instead of placing them in the bank, as I did with mine, | the temptation. to get hold of that money by some means, no matter how, impelled me to put up a job on him. He was an easy victim because he trusted me. If it hadn’t) been that I was caught in the act of taking the belt off his unconscious body by Jacob Luckstone, all would have been well.” “It’s a wonder you didn’t try to do him up, too, when | you found ke had you in his power,” said Simon, in a crafty tone. “I’d have done it if I'd been in your shoes.” “No, no, my son; you wouldn’t have added a real mur- der to an accidental one,” said his father, feverishly. “How do you know I wouldn’t?” replied the boy, with a sneer. “I don’t believe in letting anybody hold the bulge on me, Five thousand dellars was a lot of money to give up toastranger. I think you was pretty easy for coughing up so readily. I don’t wonder he came back after more. It’s $2,500 this time. How much will it = next time? ig tell you, dad, you’re a regular easy mark.” | “I can’t help.myself. If he exposed me I should be arrested, the crime would be investigated, and in ‘be.omre I might be hanged, for that man would swear I cominitted | a deliberate murder to obtain Melville’s money.” “How do you know anything could be proved against you after seven years?” “Tuckstone could do it. He took charge of Melville’s body and disposed of it. He also compelled me to give him a written acknowledgment that I had administered a dose of chloral to my friend for the pa of robbing him.” 4 “That was foolish,” said Sikes bluntly. . pose he has that paper yet?” “T know he has. He showed it to me in this room,” “Look here, dad,” said Simon, suddenly, his little eyes — twinkling with a strange light. “Why don’t you rid your- _ self entirely of this man now that you have the chance to~ gS oe “What do you mean, Simon?” asked Mr. Skinner, in a tone of some surprise. “What should I mean? You’ve got this fellow in your power, haven’t you?” “Tn what way?” ; } “You're very dense,” replied his liek, cdivtenipeious tt “Tidn’t you take him down to the old a by the niver little while ago?” ~ at did.” 1 “What did you take him there for?” ' “He wanted a place to sleep, as it’s too stormy | for “What do you “Do you sup- } WEE

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DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. ““He’s probably tired out with a day’s tramp and asleep by this time, don’t you think?” “Very likely,” replied the farmer, wondering what his son was driving at. “Well, do you know what I would do if I was in your fix?” said the boy, significantly. “What would you do?” “T’d run him into a lunatic asylum and then I’d have that barn catch fire accidentally before morning. The | Wood inside is as dry as tinder, and -there’s a lot of straw | on the lower floor, as well as a ton or two of hay in the loft. It would make a fine blaze.” | “Do you mean to say that you would deliberately | burn——” “The barn up? I would as sure as I’m standing here. People would imagine he died in the fire. If he was as dangerous to me as he is to you; I’d put him where he could do me no harm.” “But that would be criminal,” said Mr. Skinner, in a hushed tone. “Self-preservation is the first law of nature, dad,” grinned Simon. “I wrote those words so often in my writing book that I ain’t forgotten. them, nor what they stand for. Jacob Luckstone will never let up on you till one of you is out of the fight. He believes he’s got an easy thing in you. It’s up to you to show him that he’s | made a mistake. Quick work will rid you of Luckstone ‘and save that $2,300 balance you’ve promised to give him to-morrow. There now, dad, I shan’t charge you anything #0=- at pointer. You can do as you chose about it. I’ve ‘told you what I would do if I was in your shoes. No man | will ever drive me into a corner and hold me there.e Not much. I’m going to bed. This is a splendid night for a ‘man to sneak down to that old barn and carry the man off. It’s dark as pitch and raining like fun. Nobody | would ever see him.” Thus speaking, Simon walked out of the library, fe his father alone with his thoughts. ee ie, eas AAO CK aia RC: “This is certainly a fierce night,” said Will. Melville, dred feet back of the farmhouse. _ Usually he slept like a top from the moment he laid his head upon his pillow until the small alarm clock stand- ane on a nearby shelf woke him up at five in the morning. _ On this occasion the roar of the storm, which rocked the ne to its brick foundations, invaded his dreams, and ‘finally the banging of a loosened shutter near the head of j the bed startled him into wakefulness. The furious wind drove the rain in sheets against the idow panes, and whistled around the eaves of the barn. “Outside it was as dark as the caves of Brebus, and the bs ‘oar of the elements was something terrific. “The river and the creek must be awful high to-night,” i Tauttered, as he hopped out of bed, went to the window : tried to tee meee ne panes. “I wonder if my | sitting up in his bed in the loft of the n new barn, a hun- The dilapidated sailboat which he had tied up as usual in the creek late that afternoon, at the time he was ad- dressed by Jacob Luckstone, and in which he had just then returned from Maywood with certain supplies he had obtained at the general store where the Skinner fam- ily traded, was Will’s only possession on earth, and he ~ thought a heap of it in consequence. After watching the splashing of the rain against the glass for a few minutes, Will struck a match and looked at the clock. , It was just on the stroke of midnight. The boy took another anxious glance out into the night and then returned to bed. But he could not get to sleep again, strive as he would. A spring storm like the one now in progress was always dreaded by the inhabitants of the Arlington Valley, és- pecially when it followed a week of almost steady rain, as this one did. ‘Many a time in the past the people in that valley, had to make a hurried escape from their homes when the swollen mountain streams had poured their waters against the dam above with such resistless force that it was car-. ried away, and the rushing current swept down into the valley, converting the Maple River into a great inland sea for miles and miles around. Buildings had been torn from their foundations, farm stock drowned, and an incalculable amount of damage — inflicted on the dwellers along the middle of the valley. Each time the dam had been repaired it had been great- - ly strengthened, but notwithstanding that fact the waters always managed to find a weak spot in it somewhere, and no matter how strong the dam was as @ whole its real strength could only be measured by its weakest spot. “The water has been flowing over the top of the dam for two days now,” said Will to himself, as he listened to the rain beating down upon the sloping roof of the barn. “T noticed this afternoon that the river was, unusually high — and turbulent. The late reports from the mountains show that the streams there are swollen above their ordinary . size even at this time of the year. I hope to-night’s storm won’t be the last straw. It would be a terrible thing if | the dam was to give away again. We’ve escaped that peril for three years running now, and people have begun’ to feel safe once more. One thing is certain, however, even jwith the dam holding fast, that unless this rain stops soon the Maple River will overflow its banks’ and do consid- erable damage. I am sure the creek where my boat is’ must be unusually swollen at this moment. If she should — break loose from her moorings the chances are I’d never see her again. I wish I had tied her higher up the aso ag As the moments flew away the storm seemed rather to — increase than diminish, and in like proportion Will’s anx- | iety for the safety of his little sailboat increased. “No use talking, I simply can’t go to sleep with thig thing on my mind,” he said at last, sitting bolt upright i? again. “I’ve a great mind to dress and go down to 1 eo i ‘ereck That old rubber horse bla ou a keep mn a

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-and secured her to a stout tree standing’ near the edge of | 10 enough. that I wouldn’t be able to get its mate in a hurry, and about all the pleasure I have in life I get out of it.” So. Will jumped out of bed again, hurriedly dressed himself, and, taking the rubber horse cloth from its peg _ on the wall; ran lightly downstairs. Wrapping the waterproof as snugly about his person as he could, he sallied forth into the night and storm through a small rear door of the barn. He expected to be back in a very short time, just’ as soon as he had hauled his boat up to the head of the ereek, the bank. Fate, however, decreed that it would be many a day before Will Melville saw the Skinner barn again. In fact, as the boy stepped out of the building he had, all unknown to himself, reached a turning point in his young life, and from that hour a new. career awaited him pian would set its mark on all his after existence. CHAPTER VI. SAVED BY A HAIR. The short cut Will took to reach’ the creek carried him past the old disused barn where Jacob Luckstone had for some hours been sleeping as peacefully as a child. “There was no thought of any danger threatening him that night on the Westerner’s mind. “If the idea had oceurred to him he would"have laughed it down contemptuously. Tt would have seemed too ridiculous that after carrying ‘his life in his hands for a score of years in the woolly West, and later in the fastnesses of the Mexican frontier among the most reckless class of Greaser desperadoes, death should flap its sable wings above him. here in this peaceful valley of the civilized East. And yet this was a fact. Death had never been nearer Jacob Luckstone than it was at the moment Will Melville approached the old barn > in which the man was now sleeping. - And death, too, was brooding ominously over the Ar- lington Valley that night. i It was about to appear in different ge almost at the same moment. To Luckstone in the guise of the fire fied, defying the drenching rain from above, but egged on by the howling blast; to the sleeping ‘tinhitarte of the valley in the re- “sistless sweep of the hitherto imprisoned waters of the dam beyond the village of Maywood, for all unsuspected - it had insidiously undermined one particular point of the _ stout masonry erected to shackle its strength, and the dam was slowly. but surely bana to its might. “As Will was a DOING HIS LEVEL BEsx. I must make sure of my boat. If I should lose |caught the gleam of a shaft of light through a crack in th door. He stopped short and gazed in wonder at the puitdial What could it mean? F Had a tramp or two taken shelter from the storm id side? ‘ Tt must be so, for no one had any business in there 4 that hour. : “T’ll take a squint and see who is in there anyway. it is a tramp, and he is smoking, [’ll have ‘to warn hit against the danger of setting fire to the old tinder-box. Will therefore marched up to the door and peere through a knothole which furnished an uninterrupted viet of the ground floor. In the middle of the floor stood a lighted lantern, whil some person, whom the boy did not immediately recognize was piling up the dry straw thickly about the foot of thi rough ladder which led to the loft. Great wads of straw had also been heaped upon eacl step of the stairs. 4 “What in thunder is the man doing?” exclaimed Wil to himself. “Surely he can’t mean to set, the barn on firé and yet that is what he seems to be bent upon doing, Jf this person an escaped lunatic, or what is he?” eas As the man inside turned to gather another huge arm) ful of the straw from a pile in one end of the place, tht light of the lantern flashed full upon his ghastly counte nance. ee Will started back in consternation, The face he saw was the face of Amos Skinner. 3% “Great Scott!” cried Will, “Why is he about to destrof this,pld barn on such a night and at such an hour? Ther are a couple of tons of good hay in the loft, too, It isn at all like Mr. Skinner to sacrifice even a small bit of property. Why, I’ve known him to go wild when a shor afternoon rain slightly damaged the top of a single hay mow. I can’t understand this at all. It can’t be tha he’s walking in his sleep and doesn’t realize wilh “he i doing.” In some excitement Will kept his eye glued to the nod hole and watched the incendiary preparations of the ownel of the barn, Mr. Skinner seemed - walk about on his tiptoes, as fearful of making any sound on the board flooring. fe He continued to heap the straw about the ladder until he had a thick pile as high as his head. ; “He seems davateaseed to make a sure thing of it a an} rate,” breathed Will. ‘Well, it’s his funeral, not mine If he wants to burn the barn down he has a perfect right to do so if he sees fit, for nobody will suffer but himself! How different would the boy’s thoughts have been if bh ii could have looked into the loft above at that moment! _

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DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. Skinner by the arm, and called his attention to the pres- thee of that man whom he would have recognized as the Person who had spoken to him down by the creek that p ternoon. Will, however, forgot all about the object which’ had bs alled him from his bed at that late hour in the interest at Mr. Skinner’s ominous preparations chad excited in his mind. _ If there was going to be a bonfire he wanted to see it, too, now that he was on the scene. _ He didn’t care, though, that the farmer should find him Watching him. Mr. Skinner wasn’t in the habit of treating him any $60 Well, and it was more than likely that if he caught him out of the big barn he would handle him without gloves, and e boy wasn’t anxious for a run-in with his employer. His curiosity held him to the spot, but he was well on the hoor and then Sooke up his fetch: _ He opened the slide and took out the candle. Will wondered at the ghastly look which rested on the farmer’ s features, pte wondered still more when he saw Mr. Skinner look Up at the opening in the loft and shake his clenched fist in a threatening way at it. ic was hardly the act of a sane man; and a suspicion hat the farmer had suddenly gone mad, and his intention dial property seemed some evidence of that sup- juny flashed across Will’s mind. Then Mr. Skinner applied the candle flame to the straw different places. It took fire instantly, and the flames spread with great ipidity, curling up the ladder in red tongues which ed the batches of straw further up. is last act was to thrust the lighted candle under the aw at the base of the ladder and leave it there. Then tarted for the door. thought it was time for him to get out of range, ‘he hurriedly jumped behind a big oak tree which threw one of its great branches above the old doomed barn. Mr. Skinner came rushing out as though the fire-fiend self was at his heels, and he threw the door wide open order to create a huge draft. ‘e stood for a moment in the broadening glow of the lurmace his hand had called into being, and again shook 8 clenched fist at the loft. “Now, Jacob Luckstone, we'll see who is the winner— or I? In a few minutes the earth and myself will he screamed. “It is a thousand pities you have $200 of good money in your clothes at this moment. It has D 80, but at least I have ‘the satisfaction of knowing “third tinte Mn. Skinner shook his anda the he melted away in the direction of his house. il . Will had heard every word he uttered, and they seemed incomprehensible to him, “One would think there was some enemy in that build- ing he was trying to destroy,” breathed the boy. “What could he mean by saying, ‘Now, Jacob Luckstone, we'll see who is the winner?” thought Will, watching the sea of fire which now had full swing in the lower floor. “Who: is Jacob Luckstone ? seas oky s no such person in this neigh- borhood, Til swear.” Hardly were the words out of his mouth before he heard a terrible ery for help—and the cry surely came from the loft of the doomed barn. es “Great heaven!” cried Will. “That was a human cry. — It sounded from in there, too. What can it mean?” The cry was repeated’ with greater intensity than before. Will rushed to the door and looked in. The whole interior was now on fire from end to end. Great tongues of flame were reaching up through the open trap into the loft. “Help, help, for the love of heaven!” came in tones of strong anguish through the opening. “My goodness! There is some one up there. His only chance to escape is to burst open that closed wooden shut- ter above. Why doesn’t he do it?” The screams of the imprisoned man now grew agoniz- ing. He pounded frantically on the belt and on the closed window shutter, but he did not seem to know how to open the latter from within. “Help! Help! I am burning to death! heaven’s name !” “T must help him somehow,” cried Will, casting the rubber covering from him. “It must be some tramp who went up there to sleep; but I cannot see even a tramp perish without lending him a helping hand. How shall I reach him? Ah, the tree!” ; In a moment Will was shinning up the thick trunk of tlie great oak. Never before had he climbed a tree with greater speed and energy. But, now he had reason oe speed, for a human life was in dire peril. He swung himself out on the limb which extended above i the roof of the barn. Pky Dropping down on the wet and slippery roof, he crawled _ up until he was above the closed shutter of the loft. Letting himself down till his feet were in a suitable position, he began to kick away vigorously at the shutter. The man inside heard him and rushing up to it cried: “Save me! For heaven’s sake, save me! The fire has - reached the loft. I am nearly suffocated.” “Open the window,” cried Will. “How can 1?” “Turn the bar that holds it, and push it ‘oat Luckstone fumbled about through the smoke which: was choking him, grasped the wooden bar and tried to turn it. a was stiff, re from disuse and eet sag a Help in

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DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. ' He tugged frantically at it, his breast heaving, and the perspiration standing out on his forehead in great drops. The flooring under his boots was growing terribly hot, and the smoke- -charged atmosphere was becoming more and more stifling. Behind him the hay was blazing up furiously, and the flames were creeping toward him with relentless certainty. “T can’t get it open,” he groaned. “You, must get it open,” cried Will. “Your life de- pends on it. It is your only way of escape.” He thumped again, harder than before, with his shoes on the shutter, in an effort to loosen the bar inside. Inside Luckstone continued his desperate fight for life. His efforts, however, were each moment becoming weaker. “I’m dying!” he groaned, as he gave a last wrench to the bar just as Will administered a heavy kick from the outside. © The bar came loose, revolved and Tnekstone with a gasp fell against it, forcing it partly open. Will kicked it entirely open. “Now jump out,” he cried, preparing to follow himself, Luckstone: was beyond the effort. He lay gasping in the opening, his dazed eyes turned up at the brave boy, clinging to the roof above, while the fire, now at his feet, was catching the edges of his trousers. Will, looking down, saw how it was with him. He saw he would have to help the man out or he would * be lost. So he let himself down into the window with the help of the shutters. _ Straddling the sill, he exerted all his strength and pulled and pushed the man out of the window. Luckstone fell all in a heap into the water-soaked grass below. Then, as Will sprang after him, the flames followed him through the window and shot up through the roof, light- e ing up the vicinity for a hundred feet around. CHAPTER VII. WHAT JACOB LUCKSTONE TOLD WILL MELVILLE. As soon as Will alighted o on the ground he'seized Luck- stone by the arms and drew the half unconscious man away from the burning barn into a cowshed near at hand. He had been nearly strangled by the smoke in the loft, _ and it was some minutes before he could articulate well _ enough to thank his young preserver. By that ‘time the barn was ablaze from foundation to reof, the flames rising fifty feet into the air, accompanied by great volumes of thick black smoke. By the glare of the fire Will recognized, greatly to his | urprise, the. man who had accosted him at the creek ee “y iy e pose. on the matter. abruptly. Luckstone also realized that he was indebted for hi life to Will Melville, the son of the man Mr. Skinner ha so basely treated out in Cripple Creek, and to which crim he himself was to all intents and purposes an accomplice “You have saved my life, Melville,” he said, in a we voice, catching the boy’s wet hand in his and pressing it warmly. “I don’t deserve this favor of you, my lad, though I’m mighty glad you came to my assistance. An other minute and it would have been all over with me. 1 can’t understand how the place caught afire. Skinner wil be sure to blame it all on me in the morning. He’ll say - was smoking, and that 1 dropped a lighted match in the hay.” “How can he blame you, sir. He couldn’t have known you were in the building.” “Couldn’t have known it! Why, of course he knew it. Didn’t he bring me here himself, so I could pass the nigh in the loft, as it was impossible for.me to walk to the vil- lage in this storm ?” “Mr, Skinner brought you here to sleep in x the ‘lott of that barn?” cried Will, in the utmost astonishment. “Te certainly did.” . The man evidently spoke the troth-Wey his very truth- fulness raised an appalling question in Will’s mind. _ If Mr. Skinner had brought this man, who had so nar- rowly escaped a terrible death in the flames, to the barn to pass the night there, then he must have known he was in the building, when he deliberately set it on fire. What then was the inference? | That for some reason his object had been t> snandoe this stranger. 4 Will could not bring himself to believe aide like that of his employer. He knew that Mr. Skinner had his shortcomings, but that such a terrible thing as murder should enter into his thoughts did not seem reasonable. Suddenly Will, recalled the strange, threatening words uttered by the farmer when he stood for a moment in’ front of the.barn he had just fired. Those words—at least the few the boy could reoolleat were to this effect: 4 “Now, Jacob Luckstone, we'll see. who is the winner— you or 1?” In a few minutes the earth and myself will both be rid of you forever.” Those words were certainly significant of a deadly pure Was this man’s name Jacob Luckstone ? if If he was, then the picture looked very black against Mr. Skinner. — Will determined to see what light Pas man could insu “Is your name Jacob Luckstone ?” he said, “rath “Tt is,” admitted the Westerner. . “You are acquainted id Mr. Seay tenet Be “T am.” é Se kits youd to that beky to sleep, you.

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DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. Yes, % i | “Do you regard Mr. Skinner as a friend ?” 4 “Well, hardly that,” chuckled Luckstone. | “Have you any reason to suspect that he would want to Mnjure you?” “Why do you ask that question, Melville?” the West- ener asked, clearly startled. “For the best of reasons, Mr. Luckstone,” replied Will, ‘gravely. | “What are your reasons?” | “If you will answer my question I will tell you.” | “Well, I haven’t the least fear that Skinner would try injure me—he’s too much of a coward for that; but ll tell you frankly that I believe he would hail the news f my death with a great deal of satisfaction.” I “Ym afraid, Mr. Luckstone, that you underestimate Mr. Skinner’s courage, for it was he who set that barn on fi re to-night, and I saw him do it.” “You saw Skinner set fire to that barn? You aetually Baw him do that?” asked Luckstone, hardly believing the evidence of his ears. ' “T did. Listen and I will tell you the whole story.” _ Will then told Luckstone what he had seen of Mr. Skin- ner’ s actions in the old barn which culminated in his set- ‘ing fire to the building. _ The man from the West uttered an angry oath when the boy had finished his story. “The sneaky scoundrel !” he apabitated, “So he meant to do me up for good! I won’t do a thing to him for this! fudkiekeo’d save that $2,300 balance, did he? Well, I'll have no mercy on him now. I’ll ruin the villain and send jim to'prison if there’s law and justice in this land. Hven £ it costs me my own freedom to do it, Will Melville, ‘you saved me from becoming a victim to that rascal’s per- q idy. I mean to show my gratitude by seeing that you get Your rights.” _ “Get my rights! What do you mean?” asked the sur- brised boy. ty You shall know to-morrow. You shall hear the nse, tr ith.” bY “The whole truth sats what ?” “About the wrong that man did your father out in Cripple Creek.” Will uttered a gasp of surprise. _ “Explain what you mean, Mr. Luckstone,” cried the poy) grasping the man eagerly by the arm. “What do you Know about my father?” “J won’t tell you now. All I -will say at present is that our father’s death lies directly at Amos Skinner’s door, Hind that much of that man’s prosperity was built, upon ‘money that rightfully belonged to your mother and rself. ‘Skinner has deeply wronged you, boy, and T am nny to. say that I abetted in the transaction for the sake the money I gained by so doing. “But that wrong must ag ae Sener shall be made * red ee sor the latter, I will be your witness for the former. Between us, my lad, we will put the villain through.” “Do you really mean that Mr. Scotewta was responsible for my father’s death?” “T doit? “And yet I always understood he was my father’s — friend.” “He was a false, treacherous friend. Your father trust- ed him and was betrayed.” “T can hardly: realize that what you accuse Mr. Skinner of is the truth,” said Will, in a troubled voice. - “Haven’t your own eyes shown you to-night what Amos Skinner is capable of? Did you not see him go to work with the utmost deliberation to murder me?” “Yes,” admitted the boy. | “T am the only witness who ean bring him to book for the crime against your father. I am a dangerous man to his interests. I have him hard and fast under my thumb. For these reasons he naturally wanted to sweep me from his path. He has failed, thanks to you. It was a lucky thing for both of us that you happened to. be on hand to defeat his purpose. From this hour I will sink my own interests in yours, I will no longer use my power over that rascal for my own gain, but I will exert all my efforts to see that your father is avenged, and that you shall re- ceive what is justly yours.” “To you mean to assert that Mr. Skinner defrauded my father of his money, too?” “T mean to say in the plainest of words that he delib- erately robbed your father of his share of the money re- 18 ceived from the sale of the Rainbow Claim, the sum of: $20,000.” “Twenty thousand dollars !” “Ah, $20,000!” “How do you know this?” “Because I caught him in the act of doing it.” “You did. And you never e “Brought him to account for it? No, I now regret to say that I did not. $5,000 of that money as the price of my silence.” “You did?” “T did. ” Will regarded Jacob Luckstone with a look of aversion. fi “Tf all you say is true, you are almost as guilty as pia Skinner. % “T do not deny it; but your father was ‘aliées a stranger to me, and I did not have any part in the plot agai him.” “Have I your word for this?” 7) “You have.” | Instead of doing that I accepted — “Do you know how my ‘father met his death? Was he pushed over a precipice ?” “No. Skinner drugged him with a dose of chloral. ifs asserted that he did not actually mean to kill him—merely intended to stupefy his victim so he could rob him of ats peney 2 with seeds But T have Aly his ee for. this.”

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14 the foot of a precipice. Mr. Skinner told her that in his opinion some desperadoes must have learned that. my father carried his money arourid his person in a belt; that ke believed they lured him to that lonesome spot, attacked and robbed him, and then threw his body down the moun- tain to get rid of it. He identified my father’s corpse by his clothes.” “A man resembling your father in build and dress was found as you have described and buried in his name after Skinner’s evidence was taken; but it may not have been your father just the same.” “May not! Then you have no idea what became of my father after he was——~” “Drugged by Skinner !” Luckstone regarded the boy with a curious expression for a moment. “Boy, you shall know the truth. Listen! I took your _ father in his unconscious condition to my cabin. He was apparently all but dead, and I agreed to bury him secretly ~ as soon as the breath had left his body: Your father, however, did not die,” “Did not die!” exclaimed Will, in a tense tone. “No. He came to himself on the following day, but _ his mind was gone from the effects of the overdose of poison he had received. How ia he would remain in that condition I could not tell, bi t he would not die seemed certain. This place q landary. His ulti- mate recovery would iy _ Skinner, whom I meant=o | money. Yet I could not"bi sits my $5, 000. t went? t for he was as docile as a ‘hilt yl " €You took my father to Mexica “7, did. He recovered his health mained a complete blank as to the p . “And where is my father. to-day ?” eried Will, with feverish eagerness. “Is he still+—” “Alive? Yes, and in excellent health. But Skinner must nevér know the truth. He must be made to-——” At that moment a terrible roar sounded up the vallpy- The dam had ane away, at last! ough his mind re- CHAPTER VILL. THE FLOOD, ts i _ “What's that?” exclaimed Jacob Luckstone, pausing i a his last speech and gripping Will by the arm. The storm was still at its height, while the fire had) so py fart subsided that the rain was beating the last of it into a “mass of blackening embers. The boy held his breath and listened. He was afraid to say i he fag Hae DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. He could hear a mile or more away what seemed to his excited fancy the onward rush of a great body of water. If this was the truth then the big dam had given away and Arlington Valley would soon be flooded from end to end. “he dam,” he said in a hoarse whisper at taut. “What dam? What are you talking about?” asked the Westerner impatiently. “The dam above the village I fear has given away.” “Well, s’pose it has? We're not in any danger, are we?” “We should’ be swept off our feet by the flood and probably drowned.” “Then let’s get somewhere else.” q “We'll go to my boat i in the ereek. I want to attend to it; anyway.” 4 “Tm with you,” said Luckstone. They set out at once for the creek, only a short distance away. Will found his sailboat all right, though the: creek had risen more than a foot since he was there that afternoon.| “Get: into the cuddy,” he said.to his companion. “PI follow you as soon as I hitch the boat higher up.” Will released the boat’s painter and pulled the little} eraft up to the head of the creck, where he fastened the} line toa stout tree close to the edge of the bank, fap scarcely a foot above the water line. | Then he jumped on board and hastened under cover.” It wags but the work of a few moments to feel a matches, which he always kept in a certain place <iwgme the lantern at the forward end of the cuddy. re: This gave a bright illumination to the interior. From under one of the lockers he produced a red papiermache bucket and placed it in the center of the floor. ar Taking off his jacket he began to squeeze the super- nate moisture into it, and advised his Sag: et to uy the same. “This isn’t a bad place to spend the palbiace of the night,” remarked Luckstone, lookringsabout the cosy sae “Whose boats it, Skinner’s ?” me “No, it’s mine,” replied Will, as he “a his ficieol ap | to dry. “Not much to brag of, I’ll admit, but still it’s ae * a AY , “ + |. a0, mine—the only thing I ever owned.” As the boy spoke the sailboat, which had been riding uneasily at her moorings, rose up suddenly, as if ony y pelled into the air from underneath. Then she shot backward, as far as her painter would le her go, and fetched wp with a jetk that sent both Will and Luckstone sprawling " a heap on the floor. 4 9) © The shock caused the line to snap short off close abo and when the boy and his companion picked themselves both realized that the boat was adrift. io _ Will rushed, to the ys or sp door, iii

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> Clearly the little ante was moving Ane so the sur- face of a body of water at a smart pace. Will unshipped the lantern and raised it at arm’s length outside the cuddy. By its glow the boy could see an agitated mass of water on both sides. _ He was now sure that the dam had given away, for nothing but a heavy onrush of water from above the vil- lage could have overflowed the creek and torn the sailboat trom her anchorage, sending her drifting down the valley : % the mercy of the stream, The rain was still coming down in torrents, driven father and thither by ike blast, and the night was so dark th at Will had no idea of the extent of the flood. _ It was useless for him to think of taking measures to Guide the craft, as he could not see a yard one way or the other. _ “We'll have to take our chances of fetching up against ny obstruction thet happens to get in our way,” he said to Luckstone, as he returned the lantern to its hook. “It is simply a matter of blind luck with us now. I can’t tell whether we’re on the river at this moment or are moving ‘over the body of the valley. If the former, we’re com- paratively safe; if the latter, we’re liable at any moment ‘to butt wp against a building or some kind or a tree, or in. fact any old thing in our road.” “From the way you put it the prospect isn’t over cheer- al,” said Luckstone, “No; it isn’t,” replied Will. “'itféri that dam you spoke about has reall gone to neces 2?” “There isn’t much echt about it.” _ “fiver happen before ” “Many times.” ' “Why don’t they make the dam pan enough to hold ack the water?” “They've been strengthening it for years, but somehow e water manages to get the better of the situation. This, owever, is the first break in three years. It has been the eneral opinion this spring that there wouldn't be any nore floods—that the valley was safe at last; but just the ame we’re up against it again. Lots of damage will he e before the waters subside.” “That is generally the case with floods, with any 4 7 Tf we don’t ee ent to the shady door again and looked out. . DOING HIS LEVEL BEST, t he could see nothing but the opaque: aanbones companied. the former floods were repeated. he sees out ae shee Paani, of a “We're anchored in a “tree,” he said %o his Pe over his shoulder. : “Will it hold the boat against the tide?” asked Luck- stone... “That is rather doubtful.” “Have you a rope aboard to make fast to the trunk?” Zs “Yes, Pye a spare line,” replied Will. “I'll make the boat secure if I can.” ; “Tl help you,” said the Westerner. Between them they succeeded in securing the saituaut tc the trunk of the tree, so that if the flood swung her loose from the branches, as it was very likely to do in time, they would still swing at anchor. “This is safer than being swept along at the mercy of | the water,” said the boy after the job had been completed. “We shan’t run into anything now and be upset.” “But something may run into us, just as we ran. into the tree, and send us to the bottom.” “That’s true,” answered Will; “but in that case we can climb into the tree, which is pretty solid, I guess.” Removing their soaked garments and wrapping them- selves in a blanket apiece, which Will had in a locker, they reclined upon the floor neer each other. The rain still beat down on the top of the little cabin with unabated vigor, the driving blast whistled through the limbs of the tree, and the light boat bobbed up and down on the uneasy surface of the water. As the excitement of their situation somewhat subsided, Will was eager to talk about his father in far-away Mex- ico, but Luckstone said he was tired and wanted to, get a little more rest if he could. The boy was greatly disappointed, but, as the man wouldn’t talk he had to submit for the present. It wasn’t long before Luckstone dropped off to sleep, and though Will, conscious of the danger of their position, tried to keep his eyes open, he, oe yielded to the influ- ence of the drowsy god. Fortunately nothing happened to imperil the aioe during the remaining hours of darkness, and the sleepers jwere not disturbed, CHAPTER IX. A TESCUE- AND A WRECK. Morning broke at last over the Arlington Valley. What a change had taken place there since the mec i jing day. a The narrow: Maple River, which wound down from he northern to the southern end of the valley, had ne Tey as : before, then with a slight shock she came to 8 |into an inland sea, covering every bit of the low: ae in- sight. The same old scenes of ruin and = which had ac- ‘The ground floors ofa score or more a fa i ho were me or r less submerged, , Whi

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16 ings, not so securely fixed, to the earth, had become dis- lodged and floated away with the current. - Barns rose out of the water here and there, like Noahs Arks aground, and small orchards showed only their bare branches above the surface. The village of Maywood, being largely built on higher ground, escaped the worst features of the flood, the cellars only being flooded and the streets awash. The storm had partially subsided when Will woke up and went to the door of the cuddy to look out. It was still raining hard, and the wind was swaying the branches of the tree to which the sailboat was tied. Dark and sullen clouds hung low in the heavens, and the prospect of the weather changing for the better was Dot encouraging. AY i anh the light of day had banished the greater terror of ~ darkness and uncertainty which had tortured the inhabi- tants of the valley since the flood first came upon them like a thief in the night. , Will got into his half-dried clothes as quickly as he could, and by that time Jacob Luckstone woke ed and ~ proceeded to do likewise. “How’s things this morning ?” “Pretty fierce,” replied Will. “The valley is almost wholly flooded. I don’t think it was ever worse.” “Whew! What a change in a night!” exclaimed the _ Westerner ,when he looked out on the landscape himself. “The ila as near as I can make out, seems to be all ’ right.” “Yes. It is on high ground.” “A lucky thing for the inhabitants. to their doors, however. from here?” “No. It’s around yonder line of trees.” “T s’pose he’s flooded out with the rest.” “The fields are under water to some extent, and his _ cellar is full up, I guess; but he will suffer less than the majority, owing to the lay of his land.” “What are we going to do?” - “Get up sail and make for Maywood.” “All right. Tl help you all I can. We seem to be in _ for another ducking, for it’s still raining good and hard.” “Will led , the way outside,,and Luckstone helped him _ take the stops off the sail. After that they cut loose from the tree and raised the _ sail with a couple of reefs in it. Hardly had they got underway before Will caught sight - of a woman waving a handkerchief at them from one of _ the lower windows of a partially submerged house. , He could also see a child’s face peeping out above the - window sill. The building was s about a quarter of a mile away, and. . pene! in imminent danger of collapsing, for it rocked The river has risen Can you see Skinner’s place panion’ 8 comes to the house and its to. Aoeupanta. ; 0 to their nape, ef? DOING HIS LEVEL BEST, R Ne ee He headed the boat across the stretch of mip water. “That building looks as if it was just about to go afloat,” » said Luckstone. “That’s what it does. very soon,” answered Will. are close at hand.” The boy ran the sailboat as close a3 he could to the win- dow, which was not more than a foot above the water, and, handing the helm over to Luckstone, he grabbed the win- dow sill with both hands and drew the craft close against the house. “Now step in, madam,” he said to the woman. “T can’t,” she replied. “I am crippled. You will have to assist me,” ; “All right,” replied Will. first.” He put out one leg to straddle the sill when a wader gust of wind tore down on the house, wrenched the boat from under him and left him up to his waist in the flood, 5 clinging to the window. “Look out,” he cried te the’ woman, scramble in.” He performed this maneuver with the agility of 8: monkey and straddled the window sill. Then he looked around for the boat and perceived it a y dozen yards off, sweeping away on the tide. of He shouted to Luckstone to starboard the helm, but the »~ man from the West was all at sea in a sailboat. Ee a He didn’t know the first thing about managing wcm< seemed to be as helpless in the craft as an infant. ‘ ie : “Your boat is leaving us,” exclaimed the woman, in anxious tones. iy ae “Tm afraid my companion doesn’t understand how te is handle her,” he said. “My gracious! She’s over!” he cried, in some excitement. | _ Another blast had pounced upon the sailboat and cap Ma sized her, throwing Luckstone into the water. He caught hold of the boom, however, and the last seen of him and the boat, as they were swept far down the — eG stream, showed him to be in the same position, rien on “a for dear life. | ee “Oh, what shall we do?” cried the woman, ina paroxisrn of of fear. “This house may tumble over any moment, and we shall all be drowned.” “T hope not, ma ’am,” Will tried to reassure. eee “t rocks some, but I think the storm is blowing over.” oh fe /The room was a complete wreck, a - i The lighter portions of the furniture were overture | and almost entirely covered by the water. The plaster on the walls was cracked in a dozen sp and in one place a couple of square feet of it had en out altogether. . The pictures still hung from pete nails, but Bes all askew. i creates S tre e boy tried to make the And that’s just what it will do si “Tt’s lucky for them that we “T'll take the little, rane : “T’ve got to bees Le ied *

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DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. Bie cheerful as he could, yet in his own heart he feared the building was going to collapse very soon. How long he could have managed to do this, impeded las he was by his clothes, is a question, but fortunately he He went to one of the other windows and looked out| was not put to the test, for a log came within his reach to see if there was the ghost of a chance of escape in that direction, but he couldn’t see any, , From certain well-defined indications the water seemed to be over his head. Suddenly he saw two men in a rowboat a short distance "away. | They were pulling down toward a big house half a mile distant. Will threw up the window and shouted to them until at ‘length he\attracted their attention. They immediately altered their course and stood for the house. ™ “There’s a boat coming for us,” said the boy, dashing across the room to the spot where the woman and the child sat on the top of a table. _ They did not hear him, however, for at that moment a sweeping blast struck the building so violently that Will felt the house lift up and shift its position. It settled down again at an angle, as if a portion of the _\ foundation had given away, and there it rocked to and fro. ~The woman and child both screamed with affright. _ They seemed to think the building was about to sink site wash the water. Will grabbed the woman’s crutch and placing his arm ander her told her to cling to his neck. De ‘Then he caught the little girl by the hand, bade her =aacieee into the water, and thus encumbered started for the opposite window as the building reeled once more under another blast. * ~The crippled woman clung to Will in a state of abject suterror. ”° . Just when the wobbling house seemed on the point of _ turning completely over into the rushing waters help sud- denly appeared at the open window. _ The crippled woman, perched on the brave boy’s shoul- der, and the little girl uttered a glad cry. One of the men in the boat stood up, seized the window x - jambs and steadied the craft, while the other endeavored to overcome the sweep of the tide with the oars. fa Will ‘soon reached the window with the helpless woman and little girl. ‘ ie passed each i in turn carefully through the aidlin. to Be Then Will leaped on the sill to follow, when the roaring i wind. once more came sweeping down on the house. ‘| As he grabbed the window to steady himself the house ; | went over on its side, throwing him into the water, and y ea ee was swept away like a cork. | iy ( 5 (CHAPTER X. BOUND WEST. ; was a good swimmer and thus managed to Hye, afloat as soon | as he came to the surface, pretty soon and he seized hold of it. This buoyed him up and he allowed things to take their course, as he could not very well do otherwise. He was swept down the valley with the other debris on the stream. ; He saw several boats rowing to different houses, but he was too far off to attract their attention. The rain beat down on his face and the wind buffeted the log, but through it all the boy clung to it desperately as his only salvation. Mile after mile he was carried along in this fashion, until he became sensible of a growing feeling of exhaus, tion, Once he tried to get astride of the log, but it rolled over and dumped him off on the opposite side, neeely auras him from his hold. — When he reached that stage that he dial he could hold on no longer he made out the top of a small shed swimming just ahead of him, Here was a chance not to be neglected. Summoning all his remaining energy, he abandoned the ~ log, swam to the shed and pulled himself on top of it. Quite exhausted, he stretched himself upon it, and, heedless of rain and wind, he lay there for fifteen minutes without stirring. At last he sat up and looked around. He was now miles down the valley from the neighbor- hood of Maywood. On every side there were evidences of.the severity of — the flood. He saw a raft at a distance with a whole family and a — part of their household belongings heaped upon it. One rowboat he saw also loaded with women and mak- ing for the nearest shore. ( The storm .seemed to be breaking up, for the wind wasn’t quite so strong as before, and it had ceased raining. _ The sky, however, looked as threatening as ever. re For an hour longer the shed held on its course in the _ middle of the stream, then as it approached the end of — the valley it drew close in to the shore, at a point where the Maple River itself turned a spur in the hills, ex: “J might as well stick to this craft as long as it floats, for I wouldn’t know where to walk to if I landed down Me here,” said Will to himself. “Besides if I keep on T may - eventually come up with Mr. Luckstone, if he was not drowned. The whole object of my life now is to reach — Mexico and meet my father. I am-afraid I never will ne able to accomplish my purpose unless I can come across that Westerner again, He seems to be friendly toward — me and disposed to work in my interest. It is probable. ‘ah we miss eagh other he will return to that country. In-that — case I must go there, too, and hunt around until i eC find some trace of him.” eae had ria ey very clear idea cea tae would be au

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18 DOING HIS LEVEL BEST’ 5 reach Mexico, which was thousands of miles away ; but he had confidence in the old adage that where there is a will there is a way. After passing the bend i in the stream the shed was car- ried out from shore again, and for hours kept on its course till it reached the main part of the Maple River. A few miles below Will was carried by a big manufac- _ turing and railroad town. Here he was discovered by a sloop bound down the river and rescued from his precarious situation. He was half-famished by this time, and glad to accept the rough hospitality offered by the skipper of this craft, He told the story of the flood in the Arlington Valley so far as he was acquainted with, its details, and the cap- tain promised to land him in the morning at Reedsburg, a good-sized city, whither the sloop was bound. He was advised to turn into a spare hunk in a dark hole forward, which was called the forecastle, and was glad to avail himself of the suggestion. Next morning at ten o’clock he stepped ashore at Reeds- burg, a stranger in a strange place, and without a penny in his pocket. He had now given up all tinge of an immediate meeting with Luckstone. “The only thing I can do is to work my way to Mexico. It may take me some time to do that, but Pll get there all |” right,” he muttered pluckily. “The first thing I must do is to Shia a job of some kind. I’ve got to eat or starve, and I s pose it’s up to me to work for my victuals.” Tt wasn’t easy for a strange, ill-attired boy to pick up - employment in a place where he was a total stranger. Will tried hard that afternoon to get something to do, but was unsuccessful. - Hungry and tired he stopped before a small dria house just as the shades of night Were falling and looked _ wistfully in at the door af the people at the tables. Finally he mustered up the courage to strike the pro- prietor for a sandwich. “You want something to eat, do you?” asked the man, who was taking money behind a small counter. “Yes, sir.” “Are you willing to work for it?” ne “T am.” \ - “Well, I am short-handed and can give you a job wash- | ing dishes.” , “Tl take it,” said Will, eagerly. The proprietor called up a waiter and told eee to take the boy into the kitchen and turn him over to ey cook as a helper at the dish trough. | _ Will worked pretty steeadily and satisfactorily for { two hours and a half and was then given his supper and twenty-five cents, One of the waiters took him to a cheap lodging-house |g é where he put up himself, and Will ee fifteen cents for a ges |way to go by rail is to beat your way,” erinned the Rae seven Bits a cup “of coffee and a plate of rolls Will started out se hustle for work again, He was not successful, and late in the afternoon found himself near the freight. yards of a trunk railroad line. © He struck up an acquaintance with a boy who was also hanging around the yard, and, they had quite a tals tes gether, “So you want to get to Mexico, do you?” grinned the boy. “T do,” replied Will. “That’s a long way off. It’s a tough country, Tve henrd: Nobody lives shang but Greasers.” “Who are Greasers?” asked Will, innocently. “That's a kind of nickname for the Mexicans,” replied his companion.. “Some, of them are a low-down set. ge wouldn’t go there if I was you.” “But I have a reason for wanting to go there,” Will. “How are you going to get there without money?” “Pye been looking for work to make some ever since I ~ landed here yesterday, but I haven’t caught on to anys, thing yet.” p “Had anything to eat to-day?” “Nothing but coffee and rolls this morning.” i “Well, come over to the house with:me. My mother will A give you something to eat. Then maybe I eas put you on Oe to something that'll help you on your way.” \. Will, glad of a chance to get anything in the shape oth food, accompanied his. new acquaintance to his home;: — ; which was a small cottage hard by the yards. The boy, whose father was employed in the freight a introduced Will to his mother and stated why he: had, brought him there. . She was a thoroughly hospitable Irish woman, ae soon spread a substantial repast before the hungry boy, After Will had eatén all he could, she put up a io ‘of food for him at her son’s request. “Now we will go back to the yard, ” said Will's new * companion. ' They did so. Bay “The quickest way you can get out Weet, for you have to go West to reach Mexico, is by rail, and the cheapest Be syd : ot . “Beat my way? What do you mean?” _ “Don’t you know, what beating your way is?” “No,” replied Will, shaking ie head. nae “There are various ways of doing it. It’s a fete way of travel for tramps. It is rather unpleasant, and often rather dangerous; but I think I can fix you all right as far as Cincinnati, at any rate, You see that freig AY car yonder?” Bits 6: up this afternoon. The ae pail out of the - That car door isn’t jokes, All “you’y ;

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er tannn a “4 - ab ee 1 io eae 7 DOING HIS :LEVEL BEST.

Four months later another yacaney occurring he received his second promotion, and a raise to $10. During the first six months he had not been able oe save very much, as he had clothes and many other things to buy, which made a hole in his small surplus; but with his first raise he began to do very-much better, and now, when he was advanced to $10 his savings commenced to assume a very satisfactory appearance in his bankbook, He was getting on very nicely, with the prospects of 'a _ further promotion in the house, when, through a heavy embezzlement on the part of the cashier, Will’s employer failed, and he waythrown out of work. a With $230 in his pocket Will decided hé would no longer a delay his long-contemplated trip to Mexico. a It is true he realized that he was bound on something of — a wild-goose chase, as he had only a vague notion of the | mountainous district where he hoped to find Jacob tack." ie stone; but he had plenty of energy and courage, backed by - an inward conviction that he would surely succeed in the - io end. ie Therefore, it was without the slightest slat nd hates he purchased a ticket to El Paso, and boarded a Santa Fe train for the southwest. . When Will arrived at the beige border tai he found

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you to go. ~ you. I’m well acquainted in that town, and I’ll bet I'll be 20 that it was a long, rambling sort of settlement, extending along a fertile and narrow valley upon the Rio Grande River. The population was of a nondescript character, princi- pally Mexicans of the ordinary type, and Americans of the rough-and-ready variety. » Will put up at a two-story wooden edifice called the Rio Grande Hotel. He began making inquiries about Jacob Luckstone, whom he described according to his recollections of a year or so previous. ‘Nobody seemed to have known such a man, though the boy made a pretty thorough canvass of the settlement dur- ing the week he remained there. This was rather a discouraging beginning of his Mexican anticipations. But worse was to come. A tough specimen of a Texan accosted him one day as he was coming out of the hotel. “T heard you were asking for a man named Luckstone,” he said, in a friendly way. “Yes,” said Will eagerly. “Jacob Luckstone. He must have passed through this town a year or more ago, and probably hung around a day or so waiting for a train bound east.” “What sort of looking man was he?” asked the Texan. Will described Luckstone. “T was talking to just such a man three months ago. His name was Luckstone, too. Came here for supplies from a place called-——” The Texan paused, and appeared to be trying to recall the name of the place. “Was it in the mountains?” The man noticed the eagerness with which the boy asked the question. “Sure it was,” he grinned, Madre range.” “low far from here?” ‘ecaitee Will. “Well, now you’ve got me. I remember he took the Mexican Central to Carmen, that’s about 150 miles south of this place, and is the nearest town on the railroad to “Up in a spur of the Sierra the range.” “flow far are the mountains from, Carmen?” - “A hundred miles, I guess. . Carmen is the place for Tf you'll stand the expense I’ll go there with able to ‘locate your man.” wa “AQ right,” agreed Will, with alacrity. A train was scheduled to leave for the City of Mexico at three that afternoon, and when it pulled out’ of the _ depot Will Melville and his new acquaintance, who said x his name was Bart Bradley, were aboard. “A. run of something over four hours landed them at - Carmen, It was dark when they got there, and Will ipevsitntad Bradley to sie him to a one- see sw, oe on the DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. suburbs where he said he was acquainted, and where they could put up for the night. Although Will was not particularly tired when’ they sat down by themselves to a dirty table, in an, ill-kept and ill-lighted room, to partake of a meal served by a villainous- looking peon, yet the boy had hardly finished his coffee before he began to experience a drowsy feeling that he found impossible to shake off. ! His next recollection was waking up on a bed, in a small, filthy, whitewashed room, the smell of which suggested anything but the odor of roses, with the morning sun shin- ing through a windowless hole on his face. He immediately became conscious of two things—that he had a splitting headache, and. that he was fully dressed. “How came I here in this shape?” he muttered, in a perplexed way. “One would think I was drunk last night, — and that Bradley brought me to this room and left me, - just as I was, to sleep it off.” As Will had never touched a glass of intoxicating drink in his life he knew there must be some other cause for his present condition. What could that cause be? “The last thing I remember is sitting at the supper- table with Bart Bradley. I must hunt him up and sce what was the matter with me.” Getting up, he soused his head in a bowl of water, which © kind of brightened him up a bit: Then he made his way around to the front of the puild- a ing, where he saw a man in a sombrero and a soiled suit of clothes sitting in the sun lazily smoking a cigarette —~—. Judging that he belonged to the house, Will asked him as to the present whereabouts of Bart Bradley. i The man regarded him with a curious stare, and then At shook his head. ; Hither he couldn’t speak English, or was unable to give the desired information. Will then entered the house and passed through events rooms before he came to another person, who happened to : be the hard-looking peon who had waited on them the night before. Will obtained no better results from him. 1 He now recollected that Bradley had spoken to the people of the house in Spanish, so he began to have grave doubts if he would be able to make himself understood, After helping himself to a drink of water, Will motioned — to the peon an intimation that he would like something be eat. The man nodded, and uttered the aacet word! anes ey” plain enough. Will thrust his hand into his pocket, where he supposed he had a handful of the current coin. of the country, and e was surprised to discover that his pocket was empty. He tried his other pockets in succession, while the Me: can watched his futile efforts to produce the needful. “Good gracious!” the boy exclaimed at last, with a bl a0 look on his face, “what has become of my ee Why haven’t a cent about me.” Ne } Ee j =. ‘ ding al i rs eas

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DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. al A sardonic grin came over the peon’s features. come to Carmen on the previous evening’s train, and what Will noticed it, and like a flash the truth dawned across} had happened to him since he arrived in the town. kis mind. - ‘He had been robbed the night before. CHAPTER XII. WILL GOES TO WORK FOR THE MEXICAN CENTRAL RAILWAY. “This is the toughest deal I’ve been up against yet,” breathed Will, feeling as discouraged as a boy could feel. “TY must find Bart Bradley and tell him what has happened _ to me.” But he didn’t find Bart Bradley anywhere about, ~ He hung arouiid the neighborhood for a couple of hours, but his new acquaintance didn’t turn up. Then at last he began to suspect that he had been the victim of a put-up job from the first. _ “What a fool I was to trust such a man as Bradley, any- way!” he ejaculated disconsolately. “The savings of six- teen months gone ina moment. What amItodonow? In a strange country, where I don’t even understand the lan- » @uage, and not a single penny in my clothes. This is certainly the limit. Little chance now of finding Jacob ‘Luckstone, and unless I can locate him I abel never be able to meet my missing father.” ° Will started for the main part of the town, hoping to “rin, ia oe ‘somebody who understood English, to whom he could explain his plight, and ask for temporary help. ’ The railroad track seemed to offer the shortest cut, so he started along the ties. familiar sight to American eyes—a bunch of section-hands working on the roadbed. ‘They, were all natives of the country, however, except e man who appeared to be the foreman. _ To Will’s great delight this individual looked like an rishman, though he addressed the gang in Spanish. It was not’ very good Spanish, it is true, but the men derstood him, and Will certainly didn’t know the differ- As the boy came up the foreman looked at him curi- ly. “You speak English, don’t you?” asked Will, halting in ith, I do whin it’s not Spanish I’m m wrestling wid. antag yet are, I kin see wid half an eye. What Hi,” said the ee, arlene by the cash atti- the man, “Tm i ina bad hole.” - “How's thot! pe ave him an outline of his Agents in coming to Mow: i) lained how he had run across Bart Brad-| _ He had only proceeded a short distance before he saw a and will be glad of the chance to get it. . is on his uppers he has either to hustle or go to the wall. nie _ “Thot’s right, especially whin he’s in a country where ~ w that, gare had ‘induced ‘him, to} be ae spake the language. _ The Irishman listened to him with a great deal of at- tention, and when the boy had finished his story said: “Sure, it’s as plain as the nose on yer face thot thot ras- cal worked yez for yer money.” “Pm afraid he did,” acknowledged Will, ruefully. “Of course he did. He took yez to one of the worst places in the neighborhood, dosed yer coffee, an’ thin wint through yer clothes at his leisure. An’ are yez dead broke now?” in a sympathetic tone. “T haven’t a cent, and don’t know where I’ll get one. I am in a fair way to starve unless something turns up.” “Don’t worry about starvin’, me boy. ‘It’s mesilfll see thot yez’ll get somethin’ to ate, so I will. Here, take this. I#ll provide yez wid a breakfast,” and he handed Will a small Mexican silver coin. Yez’ll foind an atin’ house be-— yant the station. Go an’ fill up, then come back this way an’ we'll talk it over, an’ maybe I'll be able to help yez a bit.” “Thank you,” replied Will, gratefully. name?” “Me name, is it? Mike Doyle. ‘An’ what’s yours?” /“Will Melville.” “Where do yez hail from?” “Maywood, West Virginia.” “Well, run along now, an’ don’t forget to come back. Yez’ll find us not a great. way from here up the line.” Will hurried down the road till he came to the sta- tion. He had no difficulty in finding the eating-house, which “What is your was run by the railroad company, nor in making his wants © understood, for the waiters spoke English. Within an hour he was back again at the new spot where the section hands were at work. The men had their crowbars under the ties some distance ahead, and Mike Doyle was bending down taking a sight along the rail to make sure that the track was quite level. He motioned to the gang, whose heads were turned to- ward him, and they began to heave again at their bars, growing red in the face under the strain. Presently he made another motion with one of his arms. Some of the men braced themselves and held on to their bars, while others hastened to tamp some gravel solidly under the ties to keep them in place. heen Doyle, at leisure for a moment, turned atpang and noticed Will standing a few*feet away. “Tt’s back yez are, I see,” he said, pleasantly. considerin’ yer case, Melville. Are yez able to do a little hard worruk?”’ “I’m as strong as any boy my size, and perhaps stronger ‘ than most, for I worked two years on a farm before I came West. I’m ready to tackle any kind of labor in sight, Well,” continued the fore- redeh es rae Diane: eR AER PRR eS CLE te “Pye been When a fellow

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QR: DOING HIS LEVEL BHST, man, inspecting Will's muscular and well-built form with much satisfaction, “I’m a man short, and if yez are willin’ to tackle the job, which ain’t no sinecure, I can tell yez, and the pay is low, but thin it don’t cost much to live in Greaser-land, why, I'll put yez to work, If yez don’t fancy the job yez kin throw it up to-night.” . “Tl aecept your offer, Mr. Doyle,” said Will, eagerly. “Good; but don’t Mr. Doyle me, if yez plase. Me name is Mike, an’ shor s whot yeu want to call me, do yez mind?” YES, BIN" “Yes, Mike, yez mane. Now, put yer jacket on the hand- car pes there, get a pick an’ shovel, and Ill tache yez the ropes.” Will was back in a moment with the tools. Mike Doyle took the boy over to the group of Mexicans, “Now watch me, and it’s a good section-harid PI soon be afther makin’ of yez.” ' The work of straightening the track began again, and soén the lad was hard at it with the others. He soon discovered what tough work it was. To raise: the rigid track the fraction of an inch required the straining of every muscle in his body to the cracking point. To replace a tie was a task that tried every nerve and sinew. me; “The almost tropical sun beat down, relentlessly on the boy’ 8 head, bringing out the perspiration in streams. But Will kept at it bravely, determined that no Mexi- ean should outdo him. - Doyle nodded approvingly as he noted the boy’s efforts, and occasionally spoke a word of encouragement to him. “Don’t thry to do too much, me lad,” he said, with a grin. “Let these Greasers do their share. Theyre lazy enough at the best, Heaven knows. It’s a hard job to get the worruk out of thim, anyway.” , After awhile Doyle took out his watch, held it for a few minutes in his hand, and then gave the word to knock off for dinner. In spite of his zeal Will was glad enough to take a rest. All hands went in a body to the hand-car where their dinner-pails were, and then the Mexicans sat down in the shady side of it, and commenced to eat. Doyle took Will with him over to a nearby tree, and under its protecting branches they squatted down to- gether. “Y’ve enough for two here an’ to spare,” said the fore- man, removing the top from his American-made dinner- pail. “First of all, take that tin pail ye see on the car and go down the road a bit till yez come toa crik. Fetch it back full, for it’s nothin’ stronger. than that we'll get to drink hereabouts.” Mike Doyle spoke. truly when he said he had plenty of 5 provisions in his pail. The railroad cating-house where he ee supplied ae wants in that. aireation -bountifully. - Will ate all he wanted, drank half of the water in the \ division superintendent Woes to see Lg te in vis ohh e followi ing. . : * ee eee ee pail, and then lay back against the tree perfectly satisfied. Doyle lit his pipe and began to smoke. Between puffs he told Will something about the Mexican — Southern Railway, and how he happened to come down into _ Mexico to work. Will also told him about his hopes of meeting his father some day, provided he was so fortunate as to run across Jacob Luckstone, who held the key to the situation. “Ye think this Luckstone is somewhere in the moun- — tains, do yez?” said Doyle. “Yes.” ‘ . “The Sierra Madre is the nearest range to this spot— about 100 miles or so due west—but it’s a mighty long range, do yez moind. Unless yez knew just where to hunt for yer man it'd be like lookin’ for a needle in a hay-stack, ss so it would.” = “TLuckstone said that he,and my father were at some a place in the mountains within about 100 miles of the Texas border.” ; oie “Well, thot’s better; but still bad enough. It’s no aisy’ — thing worrukin’ yer way through thim ravines an’ gorges, _ an’ sich loike. I’m afeard yer worruk is cut out’ for yea.” = “T’m afraid it is, too,” acknowledged Will, rather Bon fe rowfully. : At one o’clock work was resumed on the rae anti é two. i . Then it was discontinued until four, when it was taken up again until dark. Several trains passed in either direction that a. opp and Will viewed them with considerable interest.” ” thas ag When the order came to knock off for the day the haha 2 ear was put on the rails, the tools piled upon it, and all hands getting aboard two of the Mexicans seized the levers, and ina moment the car was spinning down the track ‘ ward Carmen. ne CHAPTER XIII. AT LAST, Mike Doyle decided to take Will to room with him, and he made arrangements at the Se ee for the bo board there, Will was very grateful to Doyle for the interest he to im him and told him so. “Don’t say a worrud, me lad. Sure, I couldn’t do for a fine American boy like ye are, stranded in a haythe ‘ country loike this. pe! hould yer whist, an’ take we ever comes yer way.” i In a week Will had mastered the fine points of 5 work so well that Doyle made him his chief assist In this manner three months passed away. bis

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DOING HIS LEVEL ie ae a aes “Why, what does he want to sce me for?” the boy asked,| celebration at a big hacienda a few miles out of town. in surprise. There were six or seven hundred people connected with _ _, “Faith, it isn’t for me to say, but it’s my opinion he’s} the hacienda im one capacity or another, and consequently "got a betther job for yez than whot yez are doin’,” replied | what with the visitors who had been invited to take part _ the foreman. in the festivities there were all of a thousand persons on _ 4 “I don’t see how he came to know anything about me,” }the spacious grounds after nightfall said Will. “Besides, what else can I do?” The long, rambling two-story building, said to be three | a _ “Well, yez moight make a good foreman, loike mesilf,| hundred years old, was gayly decorated and lighted up, i: for instance, over a gang of these Greasers.” while fancy lanterns strung from the trees made the a _ “Then it must be that you’ve recommended me for such | grounds nearly as light as day. , ne aa ” said Will. \ There wag music and dancing and fun galore, especially ~ es Praps I have—who knows? But don’t oy anythin’ till) for the young people, who enjoyed themselves as only Sh acai the super.” young persons can do. ‘Will reported at the superintendent’s office next morn-| A pretty senorita had managed to capture Will, and he om ay was airing his imperfect Spanish on her, greatly to her _ “Youw’re younger than I thought you were,” remarked | amusement. = — ee spon i“ erga the boy up. “How long She on her part was flirting most. desper ately with him, ; a ae Saye lied W. and trying her best to make him understand her language. Bi cae, ee ts A au oy oad nespecbiully. They were sitting in a shady nook not far from the co?” PO FOG Be eee cine came to Mex: house, with a wide open space directly before them filled ie = \ ked ‘road with promenaders, when suddenly the boy’s attention was eBags ae can : ona is in before cies attracted to a well-dressed. man who was making his way pe Be Spee nis a erential Har Petite yan oeyie Hah through the crowd, as if he was taking his departs from and you’ve only been three months in our employ, yet} 44, place. Doyle has recommended you as a thoroughly competent Thers-dha noulething eiringdy tariliar aboitt this as of, 2 eee are son’s figure and side face that set Will’s heart to beating ™ The superintendent knitted his brows and looked hard qitickly, and he tried to get a better look at him, nmin | the senorita’s vexation, for she imagined Will was inter- ested in some rival beauty. ‘ Do you Penk you’ re able to: fill the bill?” he added, — afte; a. se. se peut As the stranger reached the edge of the trees is face, “Yes, sir,” replied the boy tl ‘The offel se te oe. ae romp had been a sec- which at that moment he turned in Will’s direction, came into the full glow of a cluster of lanterns. tion foreman feces on the Chicago & Alton road in Tlli- nois, began to ask Will a number of questions about the The bop started mp euddenlyas though. be:lsé ea diities of the position, all of which he answered to the su- an unexpected electric shock, for the face he saw was surely the countenance of Jacob Luckstone. rtendent’s satisfaction. . The result was that, the boy was aiperted on trial. oa sain ie hepoue Hepte signi ; He was sent to the section below Carmen, and ae no ns . as 7 a ae as at = : ae = of dashing forward for the purpose of intercepting him, p Brent Pregl _ nord eee when the Mexican maiden by his side grand him by the Jarny and detained him, Will was too much of a young gentleman to shake her oft . rudely, and he turned to try and explain matters to her. “But between his excitement and his bad Spent ha made a mess of it. When he finally got the girl to cea that. be would return in a moment or two, Luckstone, if it was in- deed he, had disappeared. “ Will, however, darted off in. the direction the man had taken, believing he could easily come wp with him. He did not ised in doing 80, or even getting aeytes Rs sight of him. i The man had taken one of the 1 numer ous sel a of the grounds, and so to the boy's Ss intense chagrin he los him altogether. Will finally returned to the init, hii he fo wets: for him but the sy was. “much provoked to: d ‘ syed him, he sion forgot for a moment the object ; i had Kei ots him into the country. ‘bes them elsewhere during the iadult of hdarly years which had now elapsed since the flood at May- | met Doyle ae night after the days work was r, and Mike proved to be a stanch cone josh a one: ‘months more passed away, and aa yas: Sd ghteenth year. Wi and Mike ‘Doyle attended a “Mexican

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_ foothills, sixty-five miles west of San Jose. 24 DOING HIS LEVEL BEST, r that a change had come over his spirits, and that his subse- quent gaiety was largely forced. Later on Will met Mike Doyle, and told him about the incident. “Are yez sure it was the man yez have Lae wantin’ to see so bad 2” “I’m ag sure as I can be considering that it’s two years since I met him at Maywood, and then lost him in the storm and flood.” “Tt’s too bad yez didn’t succeed in catchin’ him, so it is.” “I’m awfully disappointed. I may never get such a chance again. What do you think I’d better do?” “Well, me b’y, the fact that’ he was here on these grounds shows thot he ought to be known to Senor Mar- tinez, or some member of his family. The best thing yez could do is to make inquiries about him, Ask the Don if he knows Luckstone, and if he does the rest ought to be aisy, for he can probably be able to put yez on his track.” “Tl do it,” cried Will, in eager excitement, and he started off at once to hunt up the proprietor of the haci- enda, He found Senor Martinez surrounded by a group. of friends, and he took the first chance to ask for a few minutes’ private conversation with him. The Don could converse very fluently in English, and this was of great advantage to Will, who would have had some difficulty in expressing in Spanish all he wanted to say. “Will you tell me, Senor Martinez, if you are acquainted with a man named Jacob Luckstone?” _ “Yes, Senor Luckstone and myself are very well ac- quainted. He was here all the afternoon; in fact, up to a short time ago, when he left to return to his mines in the Sierra Madre.” — “You can tell me where thioss mines are situated, Senor Martinez, can you not?” cried Will, his eyes blazing with suppressed excitement. “Why, yes. I have visited them. They are not as yet very productive, but still the prospects are quite bright, especially of late, as Senor Luckstone told me this after- noon. Are you thinking of going there?” “Yes, yes.” “Then you must go by way of San Jose. That is sixty miles from here to the northwest. There is a good road all the way to Los Saucillos, an ancient village in the The region all about there was full of silver in the days of the Spanish possession. At Los Saucillos they will point out the road you are to take up into the range. It leads direct through _a wild section of ravines and gorges to a dark hole in the mountain. This is the entrance to one of the principal i _silyer deposits in the time of Cortez, known as La Veta sath Negra, or the Black Vein. It was exhausted more than a century ago; neither gold nor silver is found there now. A mile avon La Veta Negra are the mines of Senors Luck- ; stone and ee depen rae by the arm. “Melville?” “Yes,” replied the Mexican, surprised at the boy’s emo- tion. “Do you know him?” “Know him? I should think I did! He is my father.” — A “Who did you say?” cried Will, seizing Signor Martine : | CHAPTER XIV. THE BLACK VEIN. Will Melville was a happy boy that night when, in com- — pany with Mike Doyle, he returned to their lodgings at Carmen. He knew that his dear father was alive and well, and that only a trifle over a hundred miles separated them. ~ He possessed full directions for reaching the Sierra Madre mines, owned and being worked by Jacob Luckstone | and his father in partnership. ve A stout Mexican horse, which Senor Martinez had prém- ised to lend him, would take him there in about two days, — and then—he could hardly bear to think of the great joy and satisfaction that would be his to see and speak to er father once more—the father he had for so many years thought to be dead. “But do you think your father will know yez?” asked . Doyle, regarding the boy curiously. MPa “Know me! Why should he not?” i “Well, ye see, in the first place yes was a moighty saat b’y whin he went away to Cripple Creek. Thin ye rexiims® x ber yez tould me thot this Jacob Luckstone said thot yer father had lost all thrack of the past.” | “That's true,” replied Will, his countenance droppin ayy “Tf he doesn’t know me what shall I do?” and the tear came into the lad’s eyes. “There now, don’t yez be downhearted. Paps | 4 soight of ye will bring back his ould remimbrance. At al rate, yez say Luckstone is friendly toward ye, and promised to do the square thing by ye. Bechune the pair of he a way may be found to bring things roight,” “T hope so. I do hope so,” said Will, fervently. — it for yez all roight whin he understands thé. case.” ” “T will,” replied Will. Misa! roight, an’ may bee luck attind yen, me : sence for a week, and next morning dedi he ee Martinez hacienda. Senor Martinez was expecting him, and had he: ) horse ready. — ae -“T have a message to send to Senor Tinokstii ty “Therefore I will let one of my people accompa bye et save igs the e trouble ay inquiring your ;

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ee o | DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. y ~ he will take you direct to the Sierra Madre mines, as he is 1 aaa with every foot of the way.” will said that would suit him immensely. _ Senor Martinez sent for the man, whose name was Pedro, _ayd introduced him to Will. “You shall breakfast with us before you start on your journey,” said the senor with true Mexican hospitality. _ Although the boy had eaten before he left’ Carmen, he was easily persuaded to sit down with the family to a second breakfast, which was not over until eleven o’clock. Fifteen minutes later he and Pedro set. off on horseback for the distant Sierra Madre range. - That evening they stopped at another hacienda, where te were hospitably received, as coming from Senor Mar- sa inez. ‘ear At ten o'clock next morning they rode nl San Jose. _ They stopped only long enough to partake of some re- freshments, and.then resumed their journey in the direc- - tion of the village of Los Saucillos. ee Re Pedro spoke English well enough for Will to understand all he said, and as he was a talkative old fellow, he kept the boy’s ears well employed listening to his stories, many of em weird tales. of the mountains they were approaching. ‘They put up for the night at a roadside house, with the Aj eople of which Pedro was well acquainted. After a light breakfast they started on again, reaching The om, early in the forenoon. . Pedro said it inight mean; a storm or it might not; at any e before any such thing happened. | 1¢ horses were allowed to take their own time, as they 8 cession of ravines and gorges now confronted them, e bridle path, worn smooth centuries before by the a mules of the ee was their only guide sible Heights of a. aur fake cut out of the side ages before by the Indians, with only small -looking sky above them, Will was over- i grandeur of the scene, so ae, and ate, he guessed they would reach their destination some | , the roar of us “a which had not yet esis them. foe gan to notice the darkening of the sky, and heard strange sounds in the air from afar. “We must hasten,” said Pedro, to whom.such. tokens of a mountain storm were quite familiar, “We will have no more than time m reach the Sierra Madre mines before it will be upon. us.’ “Tt would be rather dangerous to be caught here in a storm, wouldn’t it, Pedro?” “Dangerous!” replied the Mexican. be as much as our lives were worth.” For a long time they had been proceeding in single file, Pedro in advance, the path being only wide enough to ac- cofamodate one animal at a time. In this manner they approached the neighborhood of the old disused La Veta Negra silver mine. The entrance was nothing but a great hole in the side of one of the mountains of the range, whose peak rose to a great height. Pedro pointed it out to Will on the other side of a small canyon they were circling. The sky grew darker and more threatening as hey pro- ceeded. The air at present was almost preternaturally still; but it was only the calm which preceded the war of the ele- ments soon to burst over their heads. Far away brilliant flashes of light lit up the opaque clouds, and the grumbling of the thunder sounded moré menacing than Will ever remembered to have heard it be- fore. In spite of Pedro’s anxiety to drive ahead, the growing darkness and precarious nature of their path around the canyon, yawning hundreds of feet below, prevented tha animals from proceeding at a greater speed than a sharp jog trot. They could see the storm rushing down upon them at a terrific pace. “We'll never be able to reach the mines before it’s upon us,” said Will, glancing fearfully over his shoulder, as they drew near to the wide shelf in front of the opening to the La Veta Negra. He hurled these words at Pedro, who was crouching low over his horse’s head. The Mexican did not seem to have heard him, though the air in the canyon was yet quiet, at any rate he ae no sign that he did. The animals seemed as sensitive as their riders of the ap- proaching convulsion of nature, for they shivered per-— eeptibly, and otherwise acted in a frightened way. The scene was terribly weird to Will, who had never . met with anything at all like it before. The stillness of the canyon, the semi-twilight in the air, at two in the afternoon; the black masses of electrically charged clouds, massed in most unearthly-looking ‘shapes; ; the heavy rumbling thunder, and, most disquieting of all, — “Ah, yes; it would ©

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86 DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. a eyes and suppressed rage frou his mouth, wie he lashed the air with his gigantic wings. The suspense was nerye- racking, but it was soon over. Hardly had they reached the plateau and Pedro, with a hoarse, unintelligible shout to Will, headed his animal for the hole in the mountain side, than the storm swooped upon them with a fierceness that left no doubt in the boy’s mind that had they been caught anywhere along the face of the canyon wall their fate could easily have been foreseen. “Ave Maria!” ejaculated Bee, as they dismounted just inside of the entrance to the La Veta Negra, “what an escape!” The rain. descended in torrents, and was blown so far into the cavernous opening that Pedro and the boy had to retire some distance into the black depths of the mountain. Pedro, like the majority of his ace was extremely superstitious. : _ He had heard in his infancy that ai famous La Veta Negra was peopled with gnomes and wicked spirits of all _kinds, ruled over by a demon ealled “Mina-padre,” and consequently he had always given it a wide berth whenever he came into that part of the range. ' Now that he and Will had been forced to enter it to save their lives, his fears of the place came uporm him with a fresh and overpowering force, and he crouched down aie the wall of rock, looking fearfully about him as the ‘red glow of the lightning without lit up the interior - of the mine in a wierd and startling manner. Will was bothered by no such feeling, The mine was like any other opening into the ground to him, except that his curiosity to explore the depths of this famous one-time silver lode, untouched and _pre- -, sumed to have petered out ages ago, was considérable. As the moments went by and the storm without con-|. tinued as terrible as ever, the-boy found their enforced idleness very monotonous. - Rolling a bunch of paper he had with him into the shape of a torch, he started to examine the mine as far as he could go. He proceeded further and further into the depths: of ' the mine, which slanted downward at an angle of forty- five degrees, but nothing save the bare rock greeted his eye—not a trace could he see of the course of the won- derful black vein which two centuries or more ago had made this mine one of the most famous of Mexico. “T must go back,” he said to himself, as his torch show- ed that it could last only a little while longer, “The black vein is evidently a thing of the past.” Hardly were the words out of his mouth before a terrible _ erash sounded above, and tons of splintered ‘rock rained atound him and fell away from one side of the mine. “At the same fime the whole interior was lighted up with have made a wonderful discovery in this old deserte a “most unearthly glow, while the mountain shook as if in lay, silent and motionless, long after the storm had passed — away, and while Pedro, stricken with a terrible fear, was urging hig own horse and the riderless one toward the Sierra Madre mines, a mile and a quarter away. ae CHAPTER XY. i TO THE RESCUR, : 2 will Melville lay for many hours insensible in the im- penetrable darkness of the La Veta Negra mine, surrounds ed by the shattered fragments of tons of rock. At last his consciousness returned. Naturally the first question that presented itself to his mind was where was he? pe. In a moment or two recollection reasserted itself, and his experiences up to the moment he had been struck down passed across his mental vision as clear as sunlight. “T suppose it was a thunderbolt which penetrated t mountain. Nothing else could have raised such a glare an rumpus down here. I wonder how long I have been un conscious? Not long, I guess, or Pedro surely would have come down here looking for me. The worst of the storm seems to be over, for I don’t hear a sound of it down her any more. Now the question is which direction shall | take to get out of here. I mustn’t by mistake go deeper into the mine. I remember now the mine slopes down- ward, so all I have to do is to walk upward.” ; Will struck a match to get an idea of his surronndings. Its momentary glare gave him a brief glimpse of ruin which had been wrought by the thur~e7'r 38 He saw the blackened edges of his paper torcli from under a mass of debris. That eee him that he had the other poe of ‘ ceticsini) © chanadbae of eitatn portions of the rock whi had ob masteripe is the side of the mine, «Cam this be ativey ore? Is it possible that the that opened up a new lode in the black vein? If so, If it is silver isn’t it mine by right of finding? I a few specimens of this stuff with me. Mr. Luckstone isa expert and will be able to tell at a glance if this is the rea thing or not. It will be a great thing for me if ver.” . Will filled both of his pockets with the best ce specimens he could see, and then turned his a the task of getting out into the air again.

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‘ As he approached the front of thes mine he was surprised oo no sign of Pedro or the horses either. _ \: They are probably outside on the plateau, for the storm svems to be quite over,” he said to himself. “Now I re- member Pedro was greatly disturbed by his fancies of pirits, and such nonsense being in the mine, so I s’pose he got out into the open at the first chance.” hen Will reached the mouth of the entrance, whence e could see the whole of the plateau, he was much sur- prised because there was no sign of Pedro or the horses. “Why, where cauld he have gone? Surely he would not esert me in the midst of the mountains.” But though the boy looked sharply on every side, he nd. not the slightest evidence that his late companion as nywhere in the vicinity. ell, this iw tough. I really don’t know what I -had From the looks of the sky I should say it was is. . iia have been longer down in the sine than posed, Pedro, of course, heard the erash of the thun- e concussion, and not having the courage to venture me to eae he has Poa! carried ae story \ 1 had made a pretty close guess at the truth. At that very moment Pedro was telling his story to ekstone and half a dozen other interested auditors, the 6 which was that the American boy who had accom- d him on his trip up into the range, and taken shelter from the storm in the old La Veta Negra mine, ecklessly ventured-to explore the mine, and had been i off i the sate who guarded the place. DOING HIS LEVEL BEST. idin’t you go down into the mine and hunt him 1e failed to return? Why did you desert him?” into La Veta Stiga: senor!” +h Peidro, in f to] attr you for two a7 whereabouts | have tried in vain for the past two years to get some trace of, may have been caught by a cave-in down in the Black Vein. It dees mot folléw that he was killed or even seriously injured, yet at the same time he may be held a prisoner behind a mass of dislodged rocks in the dark. We must go at once to the old mine and make a thorough search for him, We owe it as a duty to Mr. . - Melville, who has not. seen his son in ten years.” “Aye, aye, Mr. Luckstone. We're with you,” cried the others enthusiastically. In fifteen minutes a rescue party was all nents to ie for the Black Vein mine. “Not a word of this to Mr. Melville, mind, until we return,” said Luckstone, warningly, to Pedro and the others who were not of the party. “If luck is against us I will break the news to him myselfi—d’ye understand?” They nodded assent, then Luckstone gave the order to start, and with himself in the lead they filed off down the mountain path toward La Veta Negra. ‘CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION. Will Melville, satisfied that Pedro had gone on to the Sierra Madre mines after the storm had blown itself over, decided to follow the trail or path on foot. “He had proceeded perhaps three-quarters of a mile when he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs approaching. — Will seated himself on a rock and waited for the paras es come up. In five minutes the horsemen came into view, stig quite smartly down the ravine. _ As they came close upon him the boy recognized the man who rode in advance. It was Jacob Luckstone. Will rushed up and grasped the bridle of his horse. “Mr. Luckstane,” he exclaimed eager ly, “don’t you know me?” “Will Melville, by all that’s lucky!” eried Luckstone, slipping out of his saddle and grasping the lad by the hand. “Yes, sit; Pm Will Melville all right. I’ve eome to moet my faihien.” “You shall sé¢e him right away. Why, we were on ier way to the Black Vein mine to look for you. Pedro, under whose guidance you came into the mountains, turned up at had been lost in the depths of the Black Vein during this. afternoon’s storm, ‘The superstitious old chap insisted that — the Mina-padre had got hold of you:” “Tt doesn’t look as if he had, does it?” nantes wit, “Well, hardly,” chuckled Luckstone. “I never was so glad to see anyone iz my ae as I am to meet you, co lad, }and right here, too.” ~ “Same here,” replied Will, “Dve been. on a still hunt the Sierra Madre half an hour ago with the story that you. —

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_-@ paragraph in the local paper which stated that a boy, * «made my first call. With this in my pocket I came back here and purchased _crookedness, his wife’s death, and your disappearance. him out of. That left the old rascal pretty flat. - offered them a reward of $5,000 to find you, which they are 28 DOING HIS LEVEL BEST, “And we—your father and I—have been searching the States for a trace of you, too. The Pinkertons have had the case in hand for nearly a year—in fact, ever since your father recovered his right senses.” “What!” cried the boy joyfully, “is father all right again?” “He is—as good as he ever was.” “Hurrah!” exclaimed Will, feeling like standing on his head through sheer delight. “Start back, boys,” said Luckstone, waving the men to their horses. “The boy and I will follow on foot. Where the dickens did you disappear to after the boat carried me away that morning?” continued the man, turning again to Will. “I was going to ask you the same question,” replied the boy. “Oh, I was driven ashore about five miles down the val- ley. From there I made my way along the foothills above the flood line to Maywood. I put up at the hotel and wait- ed till the storm blew over, which it did about noon. Then I started out to hunt you up, but not a trace could I find of you. I waited around Maywood for a week, by which time the flood had greatly subsided. <A fierce lot of damage had been done by the water, I can tell you. I had almost come to the conclusion that you had been drowned when I saw who gave his name as Will Melville, and said he lived near Maywood; had been picked off a floating shed by a sloop, way down| the Maple river near Carrolton, and landed at Reedsburg. I hustled to that town, but could find no trace of you. Then I came back to Maywood and called on Amos Skinner. I accused him of trying to burn me up in the old barn. He denied it. I said I had a witness, however, and would produce him unless he came up with double the amount I had assessed him for that evening when I The bluff worked, in connection with the hold I already had on him, and he gave me $5,000. the Sierra Madre mines for the joint account of your father and myself. It wasn’t long after that when your father recoyered his memory. He was astonished to find himself in Mexico. I let him have the whole story of Skinner’s It broke him all up, I can tell you. After a time he insisted he must return to the States, and see if he could get any trace of you. He went to Maywood and presented himself before the panic-stricken Skinner. What occurred co tween them I’ll leave for him to tell you by and by. any tate, he made Skinner stump up his $20,000 with wal interest, without any deductions for what I had squeezed Then your father consulted the Pinkerton Detective Agency, and still trying to earn. Having nothing more to do he came nt that he would get ine — oy at fiers 10m 7 ST SSAC REF PRS RS SRE RA OR aoRSRERT ES ASRS RR ESE FS Bess FF As back here, and has been here ever since, hopefull: expect- That’s about all I can tell aon in a rough way. Now, 1 lad, let me have your story.” Will was glad to tell Luckstone of his adventures #1 Fi endeavors to get ahead since that fateful morning when the flood parted them in the Arlington Valley, and had barely concluded his narrative when the party reached the Sierra Madre mines. The reunion of father and son was very touching, ae G the reader may well believe they had lots to say to each other. . It was not til] Will retired that nigint that his ee recurred to the silver-streaked stones he had in his pocket, The first thing he did next morning was to show them to his father, “Why, where did you pick up these specimens?” ‘Gane Mr. Melville, in some excitement. “It is purer silver than anything we have taken from the Sierra Madre far.” : . Will told him. : Luckstone was summoned to a consultation at once. When he heard the boy’s story he became pias’ & cited, too. Horses were brought out, and the party of three visite the La Veta Negra. | They had provided themselves with lanterns and s dry small tools for inspecting the vein of silver they @ pected to: find. } Will’s accidental discovery of silver ore in the: Vein proved to be of the greatest value. =, 2» Before it was made publicly known George obtained possession in his own name from the ee ernment of the La Veta Negra. * x force of peons were put to work in “the mine, aid t that soon came to light astonished the country. — All the profit, of course, went to Will, and a hua, being worth several millions, with twice as. mu in. prospect. He lives with his father in a splendid modern ha on the suburbs of the village of Los Saucillos, wher said that the prettiest of Senor Martinez’s daugh ere long rule as mistress. my: WED} tich though he is, is still eee His 1 THE END.. Read “ALWAYS ON DECK; OR, THE, BOY ,| MADE HIS MARK,” which will be the next m ar of “Fame and Fortune Weekly.” in i SPECIAL NOTICE: All back sinbert of eee send the us un a or pos :

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IS en peer aes titta ae A eet SECRET SERVIOE, Nos.........:eseeee reece eee eens e ence eneeeen nese tenet teneeneaees Te ‘Cent Hand Lae Ron escent tineinngtcictinn ge nennenetenne ‘ - Town. . “are Wid

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These Books Tell You Everything! 4 COMPLETE SET IS A REGULAR ENCYCLOPEDIA! = © Most of the books are also profusely illustrated, and all of the subjects treated upon are explained in such a simple manner mentioned. ; Each book consists of sixty-four pages, printed on good paper,in clear type and neatly bound in an attractive, illustrated cor ., : t aby child can thoroughly understand them. Look over the list as classified and see if you want to know anything abeut the pi ty Ba _ THESE BOOKS ARB FOR SALE BY ALL NEWSDEALERS OR WILL PE SENT BY MAIL TO ANY ADDRESS — FROM THIS OFFICE ON RECHIPT OF PRICH, TEN CENTS BACH, OR ANY THRE BOOKS FOR TWENTY-FIVE _ CENTS. POSTAGH STAMPS TAKEN THH SAME AS MONEY, Address FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, N.Y. i MESMERISM. No, 81. HOW TO MHSMBHRIZH.—Containing the most ap- proved methods of mesmerism; also how to eure all kinds of diseases by animal magnetism, or, magnetic healing. By Prof. Leo Hugo Koch, A, ©. §., author of “How to Hypnotize,” etc, PALMISTRY. No. 82. HOW TO DO PALMISTRY.—Containing the most ap- proved methods of reading. the lines on the hand, together with a full explanation of their meaning. Also explaining phrenology, and the key for telling character by the bumps on the head. By Leo Hugo Koch, A, C. 8, Fully illustrated. HYPNOTISM. No. 88. HOW: TO HYPNOTIZE.—Containing valuable and in- | structive information regarding the science of hypnotism. Also explaining the most approved methods which are employed by the leading hypnotista of the world. By Leo Hugo Koch, A.C.S. SPORTING, fereca, No. 21. HOW TO HUNT AND FISH—The most’ complete hunting and fishing guide ever published., It contains full in- structions about guns, hunting dogs, traps, trapping and fishing, together with descriptions of game and fish. No. 26. HOW TO ROW, SAIL AND BUILD A BOAT,—Fully illustrated. Every boy should know how to row and sail a boat, Full instructions are given in this little book, together with in- structions on swimming and riding, companion sports to boating. - No. 47. HOW TO BRBAK, RIDE AND DRIVE A HORSH.— A complete treatise on the horse. Describing the most useful horses for business, the best horses for the road; also valuable recipes for diseases peculiar to the horse. __ No. 48. HOW TO BUILD AND SAIL CANOES.—A handy ‘book for boys, containing full directions for constructing canoes end the most popular manner of sailing them. Fully illustrated, By G. Stansfield Hicks. FORTUNE TELLING. | No. 1. NAPOLHON’S ORACULUM AND DREAM BOOK.— Containing the great oracle of human destiny; also the true mean- ing of almost any kind of dreams, together with charms, ceremonies, and curious games of cards. A complete book. No. 23. HOW TO EXPLAIN DRHAMS.—Hyerybody dreams, from the little child to the aged man and woman. ‘This little book gives the explanation to all kinds of dreams, together with lucky and unlucky days, and “Napoleon’s Oraculum,” the book of fate. No. 28. HOW TO TELL FORTUNES.—Hveryone is desirous of knowing what his future life will bring forth, whether happiness or |’ misery, wealth or poverty. You can tell by a glance at this little book. Buy one and be convinced. Tell your own fortune. Tell the fortune of your friends. No. 76. HOW TO TELL FORTUNES BY THE HAND.— Containing rules for telling fortunes by the aid of lines of the hand, or the secret/of palmistry. Also the secret of telling future events by aid of moies, marks, scars, etc. Illustrated. By A. Anderson, : ATHLETIC. - No. 6. HOW TO BECOME AN ATHLETH.—Giving full in- struction for the use of dumb bells, Indian clubs, parallel bars, horizental bars and various other. methods of developing a good, ealthy muscle; containing oyer sixty illustrations. Hyery boy can ecome Strong and healthy by following the instructions contained in this little book. . No. 10. HOW TO BOX.—The art of self-defense made easy. Containing over thirty illustrations of guards, blows, and the diifer- ent positions of a good boxer. Wvery boy should obtain one of these useful and instructive books, as it will teach you how to box without an instructor. No. 25. HOW TO BHCOME A GYMNAST.—Containing full instructions for all kinds of gymnastic sports and athletic exercises, Hmbracing thirty-five illustrations. By Professor W. Macdonald. A handy and useful bock. ssa / y ; No. 34. HOW, TO FENCH.—Containing full instruction for feneing and the use of the broadsword; also instruction in archery. Deseribed with twenty-one practical illustrations, giving the best positions in fencing. A complete book. : Beers ; Ai TRICKS WITH CARDS. ; eo Ad, HOW TO DO TRICKS WITH CARDS.—Containing explanztions of the general principles of sleight-of-hand applicable to.card tricks; of eard tricks with ordinary eards, and not requiring sleight-of-hand; of tricks involving sleight-of-hand, or the use of | taining full instruetions for writing letters on alm st specially prepared cards. a By Professor Haffner. | ‘Tilustrated. | + complete instructions for 1 f “9 fem No. 72. HOW TO DO SIXTY TRICKS WITH CARDS.—Hm- bracing, all of the latest and most deceptiye card tricks, with il- usirations. By A, Anderson. a No. 77. HOW TO DO FORTY TRICKS WITH CARDS— Containing deceptive Card Tricks as performed by leading conjurors— and magicians. Arranged for home amusement. Fully illustrated. MAGIC. D acthtens No, 2, HOW TO DO TRIOKS,—The great book of magic and card tricks, containing full instruction on all the leading card tricks | of the day, also the most popular magical illusions as performed by our leading magicians; every boy should obtain a copy of this book as it will both amuse and instruct. Bie No. 22. HOW TO DO SECOND SIGHT.—Beller's second s explained by his former assis t, Fred Hunt, Jr. iy nlntaiie the secret dialogues were carried on between the magician and } boy on the stage; also giving all the codes and signals, The only authentic explanation of second sight. : No. 43. HOW TO BECOME A MAGICIAN.—Containing #1 grandest assortment of magical illusions ever placed before the public. Also tricks with cards, incantations, ete. — fe Sener No. 68. HOW TO DO CHEMICAL TRICK'S.—Containing over one hundred highly amusing and instructive tricks with chemica! By A. Anderson. Handsomely illustrated. -. Pas No. 69, HOW TO DO SLEIGHT OF HAND.—Containing fifty of the latest and best tricks used by magicians. Also cont: ing the secret of second sight. Fully illustrated, y A. An _No. 70. HOW TO MAKE MAGIC TOYS.—Containin; directions for making Magic Toys and deyices of many kinds, A. Anderson. Fully illustrated. hea oee No. 73. HOW TO DO TRICKS WITH NUMBBERS.—Showi many curious tricks with figures and the magi¢e of numbers. B. Anderson, Fully illustrated. ae ety ; No. 75. HOW TO BECOME. A CONJUROR’ *.6 tricks with Dominos, Dice, Cups and Balls, Hats, Oye a thirty-six illustrations. By A, Anderson. “0 te Seaike No, 78. HOW TO DO THR BLACK ART.—Containin plete description of the mysteries of Magie and Sleight. together with many wonderful experiments. By A, Illustrated. . MECHANICAL, <a No. 29. HOW TO BECOME AN IN VENTOR.—Bvery should know how inventions originated. This book explains th all, giving examples in electricity, hydraulics, magne opt pneumatics, mechanics, etc. The most instructive No. 56. HOW TO BHCOME AN ENGINEER ee il No. 59. HOW TO MAKE A MAGIO LANTERN.—Containing — a description of the lantern, together with its history and inyention, — Also full directions for its use and for painting slides. Handsome illustrated. By John Allen, ; arias. No. 71. HOW TO DO MECHANICAL TRICKS.— performing over sixty Mechani Fully illustrated. Bie LETTER WRITING. Bae 6 No. 11. HOW TO WRITH. LOVE-LETTHRS.—A ‘mo plete little book, containing full directions for writing lo and when to use them, giving specimen letters for young a No. 12. HOW TO WRITH LETTERS TO LADIES — complete instructions for writing letters to ladies on a also letters of introduction, notes and requests. : o, 24, HOW TO WRITE LETTEPRS TO GENTLEMEN Containing full directions for writing to gentlemen on all sub J also giving seme letters for instruction. ar Sa iS No. 58. HOW TO WRITH LHTTERS.—A wonder book, telling you’ how to write to your sweetheart, your mother, sister, brother, employer; and, in fact, everybody ai body you wish to write to. Hyery young man and : lady in the Jand should haye this book. a2 ‘No. 74. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS CORRECTLY 15 By A. Anderson, also rules for punctuation and composition, with

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“Be Fame and Fortune Weel. STORIES OF BOYS WHO MAKE MONEY By A SELF-MADE MAN COLORED COVERS | PRICE 5 Cts. ISSUED EVERY FRIDAY 32 PAGE This Weekly contains interesting stories of smart boys, who win fame and fortune by their ability to take advantage of passing opportunities. Some of these stories are founded on true incidents in the lives of our most successful self-made men, and show how a boy of pluck, perseverance and brains can become fam- ous and wealthy. ALREADY PUBLISHED. Winning the Dollars; or, The Young Wonder of Wall Street. Making His Mark; or, The Boy Who Became President. Heir to a Million; or, The Boy Who Was Born Lucky. 56 Lost_in the Andes: or, The Treasure of the Buried City. On His Mettle; or, A Plucky Boy in Wall Street. A Lucky Chance; or, Taking Fortune on the Wing. The Road to Success; or, The Career of a Fortunate Boy. Chasing Pointers; or, The Luckiest Boy in Wall Street. Rising in the World; or, From Factory Boy to Manager. From Dark to Dawn; or, A Poor Boy’s Chance. Out for Himself; or, Paving His Way to Fortune. Diamond Cut Diamond; or, The Boy Brokers of Wall Street. | 5 A Start in Life; or, A Bright Boy's Ambition. Out for a Million; or, The Young Midas of Wall Street, 7 Every Inch a Boy; or, Doing His Level Best. 3 Money to Burn; or, The Shrewdest Boy in Wall Street. An Eye to Business; or, The Boy Who Was Not Asleep. 8 The Wheel of Fortune; or, The Record of a Self-Made Boy. 9 Nip and Tuck; or, The Young Brokers of Wall Street. . A Copper Harvest; or, The Boys Who Worked a Deserted Mine. A Lucky Penny; or, The Fortunes of a Boston Boy. _ 3 A Diamond in the Rough; or, A Brave Boy's Start in Life. Baiting the Bears; or, The Nerviest Boy in Wall Street. A Gold Brick; or, The Boy Who Could Not be Downed. 15 A Streak of Luck; or, The Boy Who Feathered His Nest. 16 A Good Thing; or, The Boy Who Made a Fortune. 17 King of the Market; or, The Young Trader in Wall Street. 18 ‘Pure Grit; or, One Boy in a Thousand. 19 A mane in Life; or, The Career of a Factory Boy. A Barrel of Money; or, A Bright Boy in Wall Street. 21 All to the Good; or, From Call Boy to Manager. 22 How He Got There; or, The Pluckiest Boy of Them All. 23 Bound to Win; or, The Boy Who Got Rich. Beet ek RODHO 24 Pushing It Through; or, The Fate of a Lucky Boy. 69 Al 1 a 2 % € 25 Born Speculator; or, The Young Sphinx of Wall Street. 70 Tipped by the Ticker; or, An Ambitious Boy in Wall Street. 26 The Way to Success; or, The Boy Who Got There. i1 On to Success; or, The Boy Who Got Ahead. _ 27 Struck Oil; or. The Boy Who Made a Million. 72 A Bid for a Fortune; or, A Country Boy in Wall Street. 28 A Golden Risk; or, The Young Miners of Della Cruz. 73 Bound to Rise; or, Fighting His Way to Success. 29 A Sure Winner; or, The Boy Who Went Out With a Circus. t4 Out for the Dollars; or, A Smart Boy in Wall Street. 30 Golden Fleece; or, The Boy Brokers of Wall Street. 75 For Fame and Fortune; or, The Boy Who Won Both. £ 31 A Mad Cap Scheme: or, The Boy Treasure Hunters of Cocos Island | 76 A Wall Street Winner; or, Making a Mint of Money. } 82 Adrift on the World; or, Working His Way to Fortune. 77 The Road to Wealth; or, The Boy Who Found It Out. 33 Playing to Win; or, The Foxiest Boy in Wall Street. 78 On the Wing; or, The Young Mercury of Wall Street. 34 Tatters; or, A Boy from the Slums. 79 A Chase for a Fortune; or, The Boy Who Hustled. 35 A Young Monte Cristo; or, The Richest Boy in the World. 80 Juggling With the Market; or, The oy Who Made it Pay. | 36 Won by Pluck; or, The Boys Who Ran a Railroad. 81 Cast Adrift; or, The Luck of a Homeless Boy. 37 Beating the Brokers; or, The Boy Who “Couldn’t be Done.” F Se ” a. 3X A Rolling Stone; or, The Brightest Boy on Record. 82 Playing the Market; or, A Keen Boy in Wall Street. 39 Never Say Die; or, The Young Surveyor of Happy Valley. 83 A Pot of Money; or, The Legacy of a Lucky Boy. 40 Almost a Man; or, Winning His Way to the Top. 84 0 rom Rags to Riches; or, A Lucky Wall Street Messenger. 41 Boss of the Market; or, The Greatest Boy in Wall Street. 85 On His Merits; or, The Smartest Boy Alive. 42 The Chance of His Life; or, The Young Pilot of Crystal Lake. 86 Trapping the Brokers; or, A Game Wall Street Boy. 43 Striving for Fortune; or, From Bell-Boy to Millionaire. 87 A Million in Gold; or, The Treasure of Santa Cruz. 44 Out for Business; or, The Smartest Boy in Town. 88 Bound to Make Money; or, From the West to Wall Street. 45 A Favorite of Fortune; or, Striking it Rich in Wall Street. 89 The Boy Magnate; or, Making Baseball Pay. 46 Through Thick and Thin; or, The Adventures of a Smart Boy. 90 Making Money. or, A Wall Street Messenger'’s Luck, 47 Doing His Level Best; or, Working His Way Up. 91 A Harvest of Gold; or, The Buried Treasure of Coral Is!and. 48 Always on Deck; or, The Boy Who Made His Mark. 92 On the Curb; or, Beating the Wali Street Brokers, 49 A Mint of Money; or, The Young Wall Street Broker, 93 A Freak of Fortune; or, The Boy Who Struck Luck. 50 The Ladder of Fame; or, From Office Boy to Senator. 94 The Prince of Wall Street: or, A Big Deal for Big Money. 51 On the Square; or, The Success of an Honest Boy. 52 After a Fortune; or, The Pluckiest Boy in the West. For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York. IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS of our Libraries and cannot procure them from newsdealers, they can be obtained from this office direct. Cut out and fill in the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the books you want and we will send them to you by return mail. POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY. SNS OFS O18) Peek BEG org be 0 BEA e 16> 8 OLE 6084S Ae ele (60, 66> Wea Gade Gi wlie let aileo aera. Ses oo OLS Ss «8. 0.0 010) 0) 60) bom) wi gy-@) eile, 6 014) 10 6 6 41a) 6).6 (6 Be 1 Sie) seb d o6 4) a) See FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York. bead ie 4 cares weet eee Dear Str—Enclosed find. .....cents for which please send me: a4. sO paeR On ay Creu te AN TY WEDT, NGS a wine geek vAa dvs ihe » ead place sek get e ee ene ene .... “ “ PAME AND FORTUNE WEEKLY, NOS eee ee eevee cence ene t eta be oe sa adieu st aldley elegy Pads) oC Hes MR ANOAGEID WHRBERLY, Nige.cibl Weel? «Cel eatnaie wan's Va.ae tevase eects 1 RR ea Tee ede eae MISE MEN Ne. flail Sec ches ea Ve ath dics ba oA CANN « «cee eed a a San! 9 PR, AND HU Riay Wea 8 a eo oc Sahil, SL ReRe LY Aim sy aed rn Uh Gig = ig SEROMA IO EER NORM, POR 1,3). whic digs eulse nak Seles dae oleae Wee en Pe ehh os ly «ale Mee Or ae Me oh Mol BG SULEtS Qe Toes ead gl) Pl em |, aaa Oe |) Sh Gee NEMA Yrs) « .... “* © Ten-Cent Hand Books, OMEN 1 SOWA 2 kines tgha MIER en cies SAD oie oad eeu son ee . state. . 10S eee EMAIL Giniiisrscaets i <tvas sacle eee ERED SAAMING WE ills fe eee ay! BECO. ino