"Bound for Chicago?" asked the man, after passing the time of day.

"Yes, sir," answered Tom.  "Are you bound there?"

"I am going through that city.  You belong there, I suppose?"

"No, sir, I've never been there before."

"Is that so.  Going on a pleasure trip, or to try your luck?  Or
perhaps you are on business?"

"Yes, I am on business."

"You are rather young to be out on business, it strikes me," went
on the burly stranger, after a pause.

"Oh, I've been around a little before," said Tom coolly.

"Yes, you look like a lad who has seen some thing of the world.
Well, I've seen something of the world myself."

"Are you a Western man?" asked Tom, who thought it would not hurt
to do a little questioning on his own account.

"Yes, I was born and brought up in Colorado."

The reply interested Tom.

"But you have traveled, you say?"

"Yes, I've been to San Francisco and to New York, and also up in
the mining districts of the Northwest Territory, and in the mines
of Mexico.  I've been what they call a rolling stone."  And the
burly man laughed lightly, but the laugh was not a pleasant one.

"Then you ought to know a good deal about mining," Tom ventured.
"I am interested in the mines of Colorado.  In what part of the
State were you located?"

"Well, I lived in Ouray some time, and also in Silverton, but I
went here, there, and everywhere, prospecting and buying up old
claims cheap."

"I hope you struck it rich."

"Oh, I'm fairly well fixed," was the careless answer.  "So you are
interested in our mines, eh?  Got a claim?"

"No, sir, but I am going out there to look up a claim--if I can."

"Take my advice and leave mining alone unless you have had
experience.  The chance for a tenderfoot, as we call 'em, getting
along has gone by."

"I shan't waste much time in looking around."

"And don't waste your money either.  Nine mines out of ten that are
offered for sale are not worth buying at any price.  I've been all
through the miff and I know."

"I suppose you know a great many of the old time miners?" said Tom,
after another pause.

"Oh, yes, loads of them, Quray Frank, Bill Peters, Denver Phil, and
all the rest."

"Did you ever meet a man by the name of Jack Wumble?"

The burly man started and spilled a little of the coffee he was
holding to drink.

"Why--er--confound the rocking of the train," he answered.  "Why,
yes, I met Wumble once or twice, but never had any business with
him.  Are you going to buy a mine from him?"

"No, I am going to try to get him to help locate one that is
missing," answered Tom, before he had thought twice.

"Indeed!  Well, I've heard Jack is a good man at locating paying
claims.  Do you know him personally?"

"I do not."

A gleam of satisfaction lit up the burly man's face,  but Tom did
not notice it.

"Wumble used to hang out in Denver.  Going to meet him there, I
suppose."

"No, I'm going to meet him in Chicago, if I can."

"I see."

So the talk ran on until the meal was finished.  Then the burly man
bowed pleasantly and the two separated.

When Tom rejoined his brothers Sam asked him about the man.

"I'm sure I've seen him before," he said.  "But where is more than
I can say."

"I think I've seen him, too," said Dick.  "And I must say I don't
much like his looks."

When Tom told of the conversation that had been held, Dick shook
his head seriously.

"I wouldn't talk so much, Tom," he remarked.  "It won't do any
good, and it may do harm, you know."

"I'll be more careful hereafter, Dick.  I am sorry myself that I
had so much to say," returned Tom.





CHAPTER XVIII

THE ROVER BOYS IN CHICAGO


"Chicago!  Change cars for St. Louis and the West!"

The long express had rolled into the great depot and the porters
were busy brushing up the passengers in the parlor cars and
gathering together their baggage--and incidentally, the tips which
were forthcoming.

The Rover boys were soon out on the platform and making for the
street.

"Cab, sir; coupe?"

"Mornin' papers!  All de news!  Have a paper, boss?"

The crowd of newsboys and hackmen made Dick smile.  "It's a good
deal like New York, isn't it?" he observed.

"Yes, indeed," replied Sam.  "Where shall we go--to the Western
Palace?"

"We might as well.  The sooner we find this Jack Wumble the
better."

At that moment the burly man who had talked to Tom in the dining
car brushed up to them.

"Good-morning, my young friend," he said to Tom.  "Can I be of any
assistance to you?"

"It I don't know as you can," replied Tom coldly.  "I guess we can
find our way around."

"Glad to help you if I can," went on the man.

"We want to get to the Western Palace," put in Sam, before his
brothers could stop him.

"That is quite a distance from here."  The man hesitated a moment.
"I was going there myself.  If you don't mind riding on a street
car I'll show you the way."

"A street car is good enough for us," returned Sam.  He was anxious
to see more of the stranger, for he wished if possible to recollect
where he had seen the fellow before.

A passing car was hailed and they all got on board, each carrying a
valise, for the Rover boys had decided that trunks would be too
cumbersome for the trip.  They sat close together, and during the
ride the stranger endeavored to make himself as agreeable as
possible.

"My name is Henry Bradner," he said, introducing himself.  "Out in
the mines they used to call me Lucky Harry, and a good many of my
friends call me that still.  May I ask your names?"

"My name is Sam Rover," said the boy.  "This is my brother Dick,
and this my brother Tom."

There were handshakings all around.  "Glad to know you," said
Bradner.  "I hope you find Jack Wumble and that he locates your
mine for you."

"I've been thinking that I've seen you before," said Sam bluntly.
"But for the life of me I can't place you."

"Perhaps we've met somewhere in the East--New York, for instance.
Have any of you been in Chicago before?"

"No."

"It's a great city and there are many sights worth seeing.  If you
wished I wouldn't mind showing you around a bit this afternoon or
tomorrow."

"Thanks, but we won't have time," said Dick shortly.  This
off-handed invitation made him more suspicious than ever.

The talking continued until at last Henry Bradner stopped the car.

"Here we are," he said.  "The Palace of the West is one block down
yonder side street."

"The Palace of the West?" repeated Tom.  "I thought it was called
the Western Palace."

"Well, it's all the same," laughed the man.  But it was not the
same by any means.  While the Western Palace was a first-class
hotel in every respect, the Palace of the West was a weak
imitation, run by a man who had once been a notorious San Francisco
blackleg.

The hotel was soon reached and Bradner led the way into the office,
which was filled with rather rough-looking sports, all smoking and
talking loudly.

"I know the clerk," said Bradner.  "I'll ask him about your
friend."  And before Dick could stop him he had pushed his way to
the desk and was talking in a low tone to the clerk.  Dick tried to
catch what was said, but was unable to do so.

"You are in luck," said Bradner, on coming back.  "The clerk says
Jack Wumble has gone off for the day, but said he would be back by
to-night sure."

"I'm glad of that," said Tom, and he and his brothers felt much
relieved.

"The clerk cautioned me to keep quiet about Wumble," went on
Bradner confidentially.  "It seems Wumble and another man had a row
over a game of cards, and Wumble wants the other man to clear out
before he shows up again.  The other man is booked for Denver on
the afternoon train."

As this statement about cards fitted in with what Mr. Rover had
said concerning Jack Wumble, the boys swallowed it without
hesitation, and they were inclined to believe that Henry Bradner
was all right, after all.

"Will you register here?" went on the man.

"No, I don't like the looks of the place," answered Dick promptly.
"We are not of the drinking kind," he added.

The burly man looked dark and disappointed.

"It's a good hotel, when once you get used to it," he said.

But Dick shook his head and said he would go elsewhere, and
motioning to Tom and Sam he led the way to the sidewalk once more.
Henry Bradner followed them.

"If I see Wumble shall I get him to wait for you?" he said.

"If you wish.  We will be around to-night and also to-morrow
morning to see him."

"All right."

The boys walked off and around the corner into the street where the
cars were running.

"I don't like him at all," exclaimed Dick.  "I believe he is tip to
some game."

"Oh, you may be too suspicious," declared Sam.  "What game can he
be up to?  He was kind enough to help us hunt up this Jack Wumble."

"I don't care--his manner doesn't suit me at all.  He's a sneak, if
ever there was one."

The boys walked on for a distance of several blocks, and then
coming to a nice-looking restaurant went in for dinner.

While they were eating Dick happened to glance out of the show
window of the place and gave a low cry.

"What is it, Dick?" asked Tom.

"I thought as much.  That man is watching us."

Sam and Tom gave a look, but by this time Henry Bradner had
disappeared from view.

"You are sure that you saw him, Dick?" asked Sam.

"I am positive.  Boys, do you know what I think?  I  think he is a
sharper, and imagines he has three green country boys with money to
deal with."

"Well, if he thinks that he is much mistaken," was Tom's comment.
"In the first place we are not so very green, and in the second our
cash account is rather limited."

"We spoke about a mine, and he may imagine that we carry several
thousands of dollars with us."

"If he's a sharper why did he try to find Wumble for us?" asked
Sam.

This was a poser and Dick did not pretend to answer it.

The dinner finished, they walked forth once more and down into the
heart of the city.

They soon found what looked to be a fairly good hotel, and engaged
a large room with two beds for the night.

"Now we can take a look around," said Tom.

The best part of the afternoon was spent in sight-seeing, and the
boys visited Lincoln Park, Jackson Park, the museum, menagerie,
Masonic Temple, and numerous other points of interest.

They were returning to the hotel at which they had registered for
the night when suddenly Tom caught his brothers by the arm.

"Well, I never!" he gasped.  "What do you think of that?"

They saw he was gazing across the way, and looking in the direction
saw an elegant hotel, over the broad doorway of which was stretched
the sign:

WESTERN PALACE
GEORGE LAVELLE, Proprietor.
Established 1871.

"By jinks!  That Bradner deceived us!" gasped Dick.  "This must be
the hotel father mentioned."

"But what about Jack Wumble?" began Sam.  "He was registered at the
other place."

"Did you see the register?" demanded Dick.

"No, but--"

"We'll soon learn the truth," went on the elder Rover.  "Come on."
And he made his way through the mass of moving wagons and trucks to
the opposite side of the thoroughfare.

All entered the broad hallway together.  The floor was of marble,
and big mirrors lined every wall.  Certainly the place was in sharp
contrast to that known as the "Palace of the West."

Walking up to the office counter Dick inspected the register.  On
the third page from the last written upon he found the entry:

"Jack Wumble, Denver; Room 144."

"There, what do you think of that?" he demanded, as he showed his
brothers the entry.

Both were dumfounded, and for the moment knew not what to say.
Dick turned to one of the clerks.

"Is Mr. Jack Wumble in?" he asked.

The clerk looked at the row of keys behind him.

"No, sir; he's out."

"Have you any idea when he will be back?"

"I have not.  Perhaps he is back already and over in the smoking
room."

"I don't know him personally, but I am very anxious to see him."

"I'll have a boy look for him," returned the clerk, and called up a
bell-boy, who took Dick's card and went off with it to the smoking
room and the dining hall, calling softly as he passed one man and
another, "Number 144!  Number 144!"

Presently the bell-boy came back, followed by a tall, thin, and
pleasant-faced man of sixty, wearing a light-checked suit and a
broad-brimmed slouch hat.

"This is the gentleman, sir," he said to Dick.

"Are you Mr. Jack Wumble?" asked Dick curiously.

"That's my handle, lad," was the answer, in a broad, musical voice.
"And I see your card reads Richard Rover.  Any relation to Andy
Rover, as used to be a mining expert?"

"I am his son."

"Well, well!  His son, eh?  Glad to know you, downright glad!"  And
Jack Wumble nearly wrung Dick's hand off.  Then Tom and Dick were
introduced, and more handshaking followed, and the boys felt that
they had found a true friend beyond a doubt.





CHAPTER XIX

THE BURLY STRANGER'S LITTLE GAME


"I'm more than glad to have met you as we did," said Dick, a little
later, after Jack Wumble had asked the boys about their father.  "I
think it has saved us from getting into a lot of trouble."

And he related the particulars of the meeting with Henry Bradner,
and what the stranger had said and done concerning Wumble.

"The snake!" ejaculated the old miner passionately.  "He's a sharp,
true as you are born!  Why, I never put up at the Palace of the
West in my life."

"I wish I knew what his game was," went on Dick.

"You will know Dick--if I can get my hands on him.  Do you reckon
as how he is over to that other hotel now?"

"More than likely."

"Unless he shadowed us to here," burst out Tom.  "If he did that he
must know his game is up, and you can be sure he will keep out of
sight."

The matter was talked over, and it was decided that Jack Wumble and
the boys should go to the other hotel without delay.

On the way Dick told the old miner what had brought them to the
West.  Jack Wumble took a deep interest in all mining schemes, and
listened closely to all the youth had to say.

"Yes, I remember about the Eclipse Mine," he said.  "And I remember
this Arnold Baxter, too.  He was a bad one, and if I and some
others had our say he would have dangled from a tree for his
stealings, for, you see, we didn't have no jails in those days, and
stealing was a capital crime."

"It will you help us to locate the mine before Arnold Baxter or his
confederates can get on the ground?  We will pay you for your
trouble."

"Certainly, I'll do what I can.  But I--don't want any of Anderson
Rover's pile--not me.  Why, your father nursed me through the worst
case o' fever a miner ever had--an' I ain't forgittin' it, lads.
I'll stick to ye to the end."  And the old miner put out his hand
and gave another squeeze that made Dick wince.

The Palace of the West reached, Wumble pushed his way into the
smoke-laden office and to the desk.

"Say, is there a man named Jack Wumble stopping here?" he demanded.

"Jack Wumble," repeated the clerk slowly.

"That's what I said."

"There is a Jack Wimple stopping here--but he is out--gone to St.
Louis."

"Jack Wimple?  He's not the man," and the old miner fell back and
repeated what had been said to the three boys.

"Perhaps Bradner made a mistake," suggested Tom.  "But I don't
believe it."

"He tried to make us believe this hotel and the Western Palace were
one and the same," put in Sam.

"He's sharp, I tell you," declared Jack Wumble.  "Just wait till I
get on his trail, I'll make him tell us the truth.  More than
likely he wanted to clean you boys out."

They waited around for the best part of an hour, but Henry Bradner
failed to return, and at last they gave up looking for him, and the
boys went back to where they had hired a room for the night,
promising to rejoin Jack Wumble early in the morning, when the
whole party would take a train for Denver, where Wumble wished to
transact a little business before starting out for Larkspur Creek.

The boys had not slept very well on the train, so they were
thoroughly tired out.  They were on the point of retiring when a
bell-boy came up stating that their friend wished to see Dick for a
few minutes.

"Wumble must have forgotten something," said Dick.  "I'll see what
it is," and he took the elevator to the ground floor.

To his surprise it was not Wumble who wished to see him, but Henry
Bradner.

"What, you!" cried the youth.  "I thought you had skipped out."

"Skipped out?" queried the burly man in pretended surprise.  "Why
should I skip out?"

"Don't you know that we have found you out?"

"Found me out?  You are talking in riddles, young man."  And the
stranger drew himself up proudly.

"We have found Mr. Jack Wumble, and he tells us that he never
stopped at the Palace of the West in his life."

"Mr. Jack Wimple, you mean.  Why, he is certainly at the hotel--or
was."

"We were looking for Mr. Wumble--and you know it.  I care nothing
for your Mr. Wimple.  And besides, you told us that the Western
Palace and the Palace of the West were one and the same.  That was
a deliberate falsehood."

Bradner turned pale, and looked as if he wished to catch Dick by
the throat.  "Have a care, young man!" he hissed.  "I am not a man
to be trifled with.  I tried to do you a good turn, but I see I
have put my foot into it.  Henceforth you can take care of
yourself."

So speaking, Henry Bradner turned on his heel and strode off, a
look of baffled rage in his eyes.  Instantly Dick turned to a
bell-boy.

"Run up to room 233 and tell Tom Rover to come down at once and
follow his brother," he said hurriedly.  "I can't go up--I want to
watch that man, for he's a crook."

The boy seemed to understand, and flew for the stairs, the elevator
being out of sight.  Dick ran to the door, to behold Bradner
standing on the sidewalk as if undecided which way to pursue his
course.  But presently he walked slowly up the street.  Dick
followed him, and had gone less than half a block when Tom joined
him, all out of breath with running.

"What is it, Dick?"

"It was Bradner, who came to smooth matters over.  I am following
him to see if I can't get on to his game."

"Oh, what nerve!  I should think he would have been afraid to come
near us."

"He's a bold one, Tom, and we must look out that we don't get bit
by him."

Henry Bradner covered half a dozen blocks of the street upon which
the hotel was located, and then turned into a narrow thoroughfare
running toward the Chicago river.

Here were a number of low drinking places, and in front of one of
these he stopped.  Instead of entering the resort by the main door
he went in through a side hallway, which led to a rear room.

"Perhaps he is stopping here," suggested Tom, as the two lads came
to a halt.

"Well, if that is so we had better remember the place," answered
Dick.

There was an alleyway alongside of the house, and looking into this
the boys saw a light shining out of several windows near the rear
of the resort.

"Let us take a peep into the windows," suggested Dick, and led the
way.

To let out some of the tobacco smoke the windows were pulled down
partly from the top.  The bottom sashes were covered with
half-curtains of imitation lace, but so flimsy that the boys saw
through them without difficulty.

Bradner had just entered this rear room, and was gazing around
inquiringly.  Now he stalked over to a table near one of the
windows, and dropped heavily into a chair.

"I'm afraid the jig is up," he said, addressing somebody on the
opposite side of the table.

"What has happened," asked the other person, and now the two Rover
boys were amazed to learn that the party was Dan Baxter.  The bully
had changed his dress and also the style of wearing his hair, and
was sporting a pair of nose glasses.

"They have met the real Jack Wumble, and found out that I was
fooling them about the hotel."

"That's too bad," cried Dan Baxter.  "You must have made a bad
break of it, Bradner."

"I did my best, but I couldn't keep them from looking around,
although I offered to conduct them.  You can bet if I had had them
under my care they wouldn't have got near the Western Palace, nor
Jack Wumble either."

"Did you have a man ready to play the part of Wumble?" questioned
Dan Baxter, after the burly one had ordered drinks for the two.

"Yes, I had Bill Noxton all cocked and primed.  But now our cake is
dough--and after all the trouble I've taken for your father, too!"
And Henry Bradner uttered a snort of disgust.

"Did you warn this Noxton?"

"Oh, yes, and I put a flea into the ear of the hotel clerk, too.
But the thing is, what do you suppose your father will want done
next?"

"Don't ask me," answered Dan Baxter recklessly.   "He don't half
trust me any more.  He says I'm only good to sponge on him," and
the former bully of Putnam Hall gave a bitter laugh.

"Well, I haven't followed these Rovers all the way from Valley
Brook farm to here for nothing," went on Henry Bradner.  "Your
father wanted 'em watched, and I've watched 'em ever since they
came home from that boarding academy.  It was a big job, too."

"Didn't they suspect you?"

"One of 'em said he thought he had seen me before."  And Bradner
laughed.  "It was at the Valley Brook Church.  I followed them to
the church just to keep my word to your father."

"And you are certain Mr. Rover isn't coming West?"

"No, he's laid up with a game leg, and won't move for a month.  I
got that straight from the hired man."  There was a pause.  "What
do you reckon I had best do next?"

"Telegraph to my father at Denver--you know his assumed name, and
let him advise you.  I suppose the boys and that Wumble will go
straight through to the mining district now."

"More than likely."

"Then father and Roebuck will have to stop them out there, although
how it's to be done I don't know."

At this juncture a waiter came forward, and closed down the window,
and the balance of the conversation was lost to the two Rover boys.






CHAPTER XX

JUST A LITTLE TOO LATE


"What do you think of that?" whispered Dick, as he led the way back
to the sidewalk.

"It's all as plain as day," replied his brother.  "This Bradner was
set to watch the house immediately after the robbery occurred.
More than likely he was around at the time of the robbery."

"Do you suppose he is the man who helped Arnold Baxter to escape
from prison on that forged pardon?"

"Creation!  It may be so!" ejaculated Tom.  "I'll tell you one
thing: we ought to have them both arrested at once."

"I don't know about that," mused the elder Rover.  "If we do that
then how are we to find out where Arnold Baxter is, or this fellow
they called Roebuck?"

"But they may slip through our fingers if we don't have them locked
up."

The two brothers talked the matter ever, and then decided, late as
it was, to call upon Jack Wumble for advice.

"You can go for him," said Dick.  "I'll continue to watch this
place.  If they leave I'll throw bits of paper on the sidewalk and
you can follow the trail just as if we were playing a game of hare
and hounds."

Tom made off at top speed, carefully noting the street and number,
so that he would not miss his way when returning.

Left to himself Dick went into the alleyway again and looked
through the window as before.

Dan Baxter and Bradner were still conversing, but the youth could
not hear what was said.

Presently the pair at the table arose, settled for their drinks and
came out of the place.

They walked up the street and around a corner, and Dick followed,
scattering bits of an old letter as he went along.  When the letter
was used up, he tore to bits some handbills which he found in the
street.

Eight squares were covered before Dan Baxter and Bradner reached a
dingy looking hotel which went by the name of Lakeman's Rest.

It was set in the middle of the block, with brick houses on either
side of it.

They entered a narrow hallway, and by the light above the door Dick
saw them ascend the stairs to the second floor.

There now seemed nothing to do but to await Tom's return, and the
youth retired to the opposite side of the street.

It was late--after midnight, in fact--and the street was
practically deserted.

A half hour went by and Dick felt as if his brother would never
return, when he heard swift footsteps behind him.

"So this is your game, eh?" cried the voice of Bradner, and of a
sudden a club descended upon Dick's head and he went down as if
shot.

The man had looked out of the hotel window and spotted Dick, and
had gone out by a back way add around the square to make certain of
his victim.

"That was a good crack," came from Dan Baxter.  "It serves him
right for following you."

Bradner was about to bend over his victim to ascertain how badly
Dick was hurt when the footsteps of two men approaching made him
draw back.

"Come, we don't want to be caught," whispered Dan Baxter nervously.
And then, as the footsteps came closer, he darted away, with Henry
Bradner at his heels.  They did not stop until a long distance away
from the scene of the dastardly attack.

The men who were approaching were a couple of bakers who were
employed in a neighboring bakery.

"Vas ist dis!" cried one of them, as he stumbled over Dick's body.
"A young mans!"

"He is drunk, Carl," said the other.  "Let him be or you may get
into trouble."

"Maype he vos hurt, or sick," said the German baker, bending down.
"I vos know der cop on dis beat and he knows I vos no footpad."

Just then Dick gave a shiver and a groan, and both bakers realized
that he was suffering in some way.  While the German remained by
the boy's side the other ran to the bakery for a lantern and
assistance.

Soon a small crowd had collected, and Dick was carried into the
bakery and made as comfortable as the means permitted.  One of the
bakers went on a hunt for a policeman, and presently the officer of
the law hove into sight.  Dick was just coming to his senses, but
was too dazed for several minutes to give an account of what had
happened.  At last he said a man had struck him down with a club.

"Were you robbed?" asked the policeman.

Dick felt in his various pockets.

"No, sir."

"You were lucky."

"I dink ve scare der rascal avay," said the German baker.

"More than likely.  It's a pity you didn't collar him."  The
policeman turned to Dick.

"Shall I call up an ambulance?"

"I don't think it's necessary, sir.  My brother will be along this
way soon.  I was waiting for him to come when I was struck."

"You were out rather late," remarked the officer of the law,
suspiciously.

"I was watching a rascal who tried to make trouble for me."

"Then there must be more to this case than what you just told me."

"There is."

"In that case you had better go to police headquarters with me."

"I am willing.  But won't you wait until my brother gets here?"

There was no need to wait, for at that moment Tom appeared on the
scene, accompanied by Jack Wumble.  They both stared at Dick in
horror.

"Oh, Dick, you are hurt?" cried Tom.

"Not very much.  Bradner hit me on the head.  I am glad I am
alive."

"And where is the rascal now?" questioned the old miner.

"Ran away."

"And Dan Baxter?" queried Tom.

"Gone, too, I suppose.  They must have been together."  And then
Dick related what had occurred--so far as he knew--since Tom had
left him.

The officer of the law accompanied all three to the police station,
and here the boys told their story, and a watch was set for Bradner
and Dan Baxter.  But nothing came of this, for the pair left
Chicago early the next day.

"We had better keep close together after this," said Jack Wumble,
as he was seeing the boys back to their hotel.  "I reckon you've
got a mighty bad crowd to deal with."  And he remained with them
for the balance of the night.

The express for Denver left at eleven o'clock in the morning, and
all of the party of four were on hand to catch it.  Soon they were
whirling over the fields and through the forests toward the mighty
Mississippi River.

"Never been West afore-eh?" remarked Jack Wumble.  "Well, you will
see some grand sights, I can tell ye that."

"No, we have never been West," answered Sam.  "But we have been to
Africa," he added proudly.

"Gee shoo! is that so!  Well, that's long traveling certainly.  But
I reckon I'd rather see my own country first."

"We went to Africa for a purpose," said Tom, and told of the rescue
of his father.  The old miner listened with keen appreciation and
at the conclusion clapped Tom on the back.

"You're true blue, Tom!" he cried.  "You and your brothers will
pull through, I feel sure of it."  And then he fell to telling
about his own life, and how he had become acquainted with Anderson
Rover and his partner Kennedy, and of the various bad things Arnold
Baxter had done in those days.  "This man seems to be a chip of the
old block," he concluded.

The trip to Denver was full of interest, and Dick was sorry he did
not have a camera along, that he might take snapshots of the
scenery.  Yet he was impatient to get to his destination and stake
out the missing Eclipse Mine before Arnold Baxter and his
confederates should have the chance to do so.

It was the afternoon of the next day when Denver was reached, and a
light rain was falling.  Jack Wumble wished to put up at a hotel
called the Miner's Rest, a favorite resort with men from the mining
districts.  He had been negotiating for the sale of one of his
mines, and thought he could close the deal the next morning.

"And then we'll be off for Larkspur Creek without further delay,"
was what he told Dick.






CHAPTER XXI

OFF FOR THE MINING DISTRICT


While Jack Wumble was off attending to his private business the
three Rover boys took a stroll through Denver.

The city was different from any they had visited, and their walk
was full of interest.

Coming to a store in the window of which were exhibited a number of
Indian curiosities, the boys halted to examine the objects, when
Tom uttered a sudden cry.

"Look, Dick!  There is Bradner inside!"

"Yes, and Dan Baxter is with him!" returned the elder brother
quickly.  "Here's luck, surely!"

"Will you have them locked up?" asked Sam.

"To be sure--if we can."

The boys looked around for a policeman, but none happened to be in
sight.

"Run and see if you can find one," said Dick to Sam.  "Tom and I
can watch the pair."

At once Sam made off.  But policemen were not numerous, and it took
quite some time to locate one and explain what was wanted.

 In the meantime Dan Baxter had caught sight of Tom and told
Bradner of his discovery.

Boy and man came out of the store in a great hurry.  They were
about to run off when Dick caught Bradner by the arm, while his
brother halted the former bully of Putnam Hall.

"Let go of me!" hissed Bradner, and as Dick paid no attention he
aimed a blow for the youth's head.  But Dick "had been there
before," and dodged, and the force of his effort nearly took the
rascal off his feet.  Before he could recover Dick had him down on
his back and was sitting on his chest.

Tom was having a lively time with Dan Baxter.  The bully hit the
boy in the shoulder, and Tom retaliated with a sharp crack that
landed straight on Baxter's nose and drew blood.

"A fight! a fight!" yelled a passing newsboy, and as if by magic a
crowd began to collect.

Again Baxter struck out, but his blow fell short, and now Tom gave
him one in the ear that spun him half around.  By this time the
bully felt that he had had enough of the encounter, and breaking
through the crowd he set off on a mad run down the street and
around the nearest comer.

Feeling it would be useless to try to catch Dan Baxter just then,
Tom turned his attention to Dick and Henry Bradner.  Bradner was
struggling hard to get up, but Dick was master of the situation, so
Tom had little to do.

"What's the meaning of this?" demanded the policeman, as soon as he
came upon the scene.

"I want this man arrested," answered Dick, as he got up, but still
kept close to Bradner.

"What has he done?"

"He is a sharper of the worst kind."

"You are sure of this?"

"I am--"

"You will have to go to the station house with us if I take the man
in," continued the policeman.

"I am willing," answered Dick quietly.

Muttering angrily to himself, Henry Bradner arose.  He wanted to
run away, but got no chance to do so.  Soon the station house was
reached, and here Dick and his brothers told their story.

"The assault happened in another State," said the officer at the
desk.  "The most we can do is to hold him until the Illinois
authorities send for him."

"Why, that's Harry the Crook, from Gunnison!" put in an officer who
had just come in.  "He is wanted here on half a dozen charges."

At these words Bradner turned deadly pale.

"This is a--a mistake," he faltered.  "I know nothing of the man
you mention."

"Too thin, Harry; I know you well," replied the officer.  "Captain,
he is a bad one," he continued to his superior.

An investigation into the records was made, and a picture in the
Rogues' Gallery proved that Bradner and Harry the Crook were one
and the same beyond a doubt.

"In that case we'll hold him right here," said the police captain.

The matter was talked over with Dick, and the youth decided to let
his own charge against the crook drop, as he did not wish to waste
time in Denver on the case.  An hour later the three Rovers
departed, leaving Henry Bradner to a fate he richly deserved.

"That is one of our enemies disposed of," observed Dick, as they
walked back to the hotel.  "I wish we could do up the Baxters just
as easily."

The following day found them on the way to Gunnison.  Nothing more
had been seen or heard of Dan Baxter, nor had anything turned up
concerning Arnold Baxter and Roebuck, the man who was with him and
who hid helped him to escape from prison.

The country was now mountainous in the extreme, with here and there
a wild, weird canyon thousands of feet deep. Some of the awful
pitfalls made Sam fairly hold his breath.

"Gosh!" he murmured.  "This beats Africa, doesn't it?  Who ever saw
such lofty peaks before--and such rivers cut out of the solid
rock!"

The boys found Gunnison a small mining city containing perhaps six
thousand souls.  A few of the buildings were quite up to date, but
the majority were little better than shanties.  But Gunnison was a
center for the trade of many miles around, and business was brisk.

At Gunnison the entire party procured horses from a dealer Jack
Wumble knew, beasts that were strong and used to mountain
traveling.

"We might go on for twenty miles or so by rail, but this is the
best place for fitting out," said the old miner.  "We can strike a
putty fair trail from here, leading directly, to Larkspur Creek."

"And how far is that mining district from here?" asked Tom.

"As the birds fly about sixty-five miles.  But the trail makes it a
good hundred miles, and some putty stiff climbin' at that.  I'm
glad ye are used to roughin' it, for this traveling don't go well
with a tenderfoot."

The day was clear and the air bracing, and the boys started off
with their friend in the best of spirits.  Soon the city was left
behind, and then began a journey along the foothills which seemed
to have no end.

"If Arnold Baxter is watching us he is taking precious good care to
keep out of sight," said Tom, as they rode along in single file,
with Jack Wumble in the lead.

"No doubt Dan has joined his father and told him of Bradner's
fate," returned Dick.  "But we have got to keep our eyes wide open.
We all know what a wretch Arnold Baxter is, and out in this wild
country almost anything is liable to happen."

On and on they went, first over a stubble of thin grass and then
through a forest of tall pine trees.  Rocks were everywhere, and
the trail wound in and out, with an occasional watercourse to be
forded.

"These watercourses are all right now," observed Jack Wumble.  "But
in the early spring, when the snow on the mountains begins to melt,
they become raging torrents, and getting across 'em is out of the
question."

"How far are yonder peaks from here?" asked Sam, pointing ahead.

"About twenty miles."

"Gracious, as far as that!  I didn't know one could see so clearly
for such a long distance.  They look to me to be only about three
miles."

"The air is very pure and clear out here, lad.  No better air in
this wide world than that of Colorady."

At noon they came to a halt in a little hollow, protected alike
from the breeze and the direct rays of the overhead sun.  Their
saddle bags were filled with provisions, and Tom and Sam began to
prepare their first meal in the open, with Dick and the old miner
assisting.

After the meal Jack Wumble took a smoke and a ten minutes' nap, and
during that time the three boys strolled off in various directions,
Sam going ahead on the trail.

Presently the youngest Rover had his eye arrested by a post set up
in the middle of the trail.  To the top of the post was tacked a
sheet of white paper.

"This is queer," thought Sam, and drew closer to inspect the sheet.
On it were written the words, in pencil:

  "To the Rovers and their friend:

  "If you want to keep out of trouble you will return to Gunnison at
  once.  If you dare to push on to Larkspur Creek it may cost you
  your lives.  We are watching you, and are fully armed, and you had
  better be warned in time.

  "THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS OF THE MINE"





CHAPTER XXI

LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS


"Dick!  Tom!  Jack!  Come here and see what I have found!"

Sam's cry was a loud one, and soon the others came up on a run,
Jack Wumble pistol in hand, for his life in the open had taught him
to be forever prepared for danger.

"Wot is it, lad?" asked the old miner anxiously.

"It's a quit notice for us," answered Sam soberly.  "I can tell
you, the Baxters mean to carry matters with a high hand."

All of the others read the notice in silence.  Then Dick thrust his
hands into his pockets coolly.

"I'll see them hanged before I'll go back," he said.

"I am with you," added Tom.  "But we must be cautious after this,
or the Baxters will be firing at us from an ambush."

"If only we could catch sight of them," put in Sam.  "They ought to
be shot on sight!"

The boys looked at Jack Wumble, who had remained silent.

"Do you advise us to go back?" asked Dick hastily.

"I can't say as I do, lads," was the slow response.  "Yet it might be
better to do that nor to be shot down and have yer body thrown into a
canyon," added Wumble, speaking in his old time vernacular.  "Perhaps
your father would rather have ye back."

"I don't believe it," burst out Tom.  "Father never wanted cowards
for sons."

Dick caught the paper, tore it down and ripped it in two, throwing
it to the wind.

"I say I'm going ahead."

"So am I," came from both of his brothers.  "But you need not go
Jack." went on Dick.  "We don't wish you to run into danger, and--"

"Hold up, Dick, I said I would see ye through, and I will," cried
the old miner.  "But I want ye to realize what ye are doing, that's
all.  If you are shot down it will be yer own fault, so to speak."

"But we don't intend to be shot down," interrupted Tom.  "We have
run up against the Baxters before, so we know how to be careful."

"It aint like as if they were in a city in the East," went on
the old miner.  "Here some men are mighty free with their
shootin'-irons.  And they could take a shot at ye from a long
distance, with a good rifle."

Thus talking the entire party walked back to their camp and sat
down to discuss the situation in detail.

"Perhaps we had better not advance until dark," said Dick.  "If we
advance now we will simply be making targets of ourselves," and he
shivered in spite of himself.

"We won't advance at all," put in Jack Wumble briefly.  "We would
be wuss nor fools if we did--with them human wildcats a--watchin'
of us," and he began to puff vigorously at his short stump of a
briarroot pipe.

"But you said--" began Tom, when the old miner waved him to
silence.

"Let me think it out, lads, and then I'll tell ye my plan.  We'll
trick 'em--that's best," and he began to smoke again.

Satisfied that Jack Wumble knew the ground to be covered better
than they did, the boys decided to let him have his own way, so
long as the object of the expedition should be advanced.  They sat
down in the shade to rest, and thus several hours passed, and the
old miner smoked up half 'a dozen pipefuls of his favorite plug
mixture.

"I've got it," he cried at last.  "If we kin work the deal we'll
keep 'em guessing."  And he laughed softly to himself.

His plan was a simple one.  Several miles back on the trail there
was a fork, the second trail running to the northward.  His plan
was to ride back to the fork, and then in the darkness of the night
to take to the second trail.

"That don't lead to Larkspur Creek," he said.  "But it leads to Go
Lightly Gulch, and from there I know an old Indian trail which
leads to the Larkspur by way of Bender Mountain.  It's dangerous
trail to ride, but it's safe, too, so far as our enemies are
concerned, for they can't cover it from any other part of the
mountains.  They would either have to be right in front of us or
right behind, and in that case we'd have as much of a show at them
as they would have at us."

"That's a good plan," exclaimed Dick.  "Let us adopt it, by all
means."

Slowly the afternoon wore away, until the sun was lost to view
behind the great Rocky Mountains in the west.  As soon as the
shadows became long and deep Jack Wumble arose.

"Now I reckon we can begin to ride on the back trail," he said,
with a shrewd smile on his rugged face.

It was an easy matter to saddle the horse again.

The rest had made the animals as fresh as ever and this was a good
thing, as the old miner calculated to ride a long distance between
sunset and sunrise.

"I suppose our enemies are watching every move we make," said Tom.
"But I must say I can't catch a single glance of them."

"I thought I saw a speck or two of something over the hill to the
south," said Dick.

Jack Wumble nodded.  "You are right, Dick, I saw the specks too,
and they were men looking in this direction.  But they might not
have been our enemies."

"If only we had a good field glass," sighed Sam.  "I was going to
bring one along, but I forgot all about it."

They rode on slowly, the old miner not wishing to reach the fork in
the trail until it was quite dark.  Fortunately it was clouding up,
so that not even the stars would be left to betray them.

"We are coming to the fork," said Wumble, about eight o'clock.
"Keep your eyes peeled, lads, and if you see anything out of the
ordinary, let me know at once."

There was a tiny stream to cross, and then the way led around a
series of sharp rocks.

"Keep to the grass as much as possible," cautioned the old miner in
a voice that was a mere whisper.  "And now follow me as fast as you
can!"

Away he bounded in the lead, and the three Rover boys followed
around the rocks through a stretch of pines and over some fallen
firs, and then up and up a rugged trail where the footing was so
insecure that the horses slipped continually.  The branches of the
drooping trees bothered them greatly, and had it not been for
Wumble's continual warnings one or another of them would have been
seriously hurt.  The horses panted for breath, but still the old
miner kept the pace until the top of the first range of foothills
was gained.  Here he called a halt under an overhanging rock
beneath which it was as black as a dungeon.

"So far so good," he muttered, as he leaped to the ground and began
to pat his heaving and perspiring animal.  "I don't believe they
know much about where we went to, even if they followed us back to
the fork."

"I don't believe they are following us," said Dick, as he placed
his ear to the ground and listened.  All was as silent as the
grave.

They remained under the rock the best part of an hour, allowing
their trusty animals to get back their wind and strength.  During
this time Wumble walked back a short distance and Tom climbed up to
the top of the rock, but neither made any discovery of importance.

It was a little after midnight when they moved forward again.
Their pace was now little better than a walk, for the trail was a
dangerous one, and in many spots they had to leap down and lead
their horses.  Once they came to a gully six to eight feet wide,
without a bridge, and it took a good deal of urging to get Tom's
horse to make the leap across.

"If a fellow should tumble in there where would he go to?" asked
Sam, with a shudder.

"He'd go out of sight forever," replied Wumble solemnly.  "Some of
those cuts are a thousand feet deep."

"What a mighty upheaval of nature there must have been here at one
time," said Dick.

By three o'clock in the morning Tom was completely fagged out and
could scarcely keep his eyes open.  Gradually he dragged behind the
others, his eyes closing every few minutes in spite of his efforts
to keep them open.

"I wish I had a cup of strong coffee to keep me awake," he
murmured.  "How much further are you going, Jack?"

"A couple of miles or so," answered the old miner.  "Want a smoke?
You can have my pipe."

"Thank you, but I don't smoke, and I guess it would only make me
feel worse," answered Tom.

He began to drop further and further behind.  The other boys spoke
to him, but they were in reality nearly as much worn out as their
brother, and had all they could do to keep Wumble in sight.

At last Tom's head fell forward on his breast, and on the instant
he went fast asleep.  His horse continued to move forward, but
coming to a fork in the trail, took the downward path, that being
the easier to travel.  On and on went the beast, until striking a
smooth road he set off on a gallop.

The violent motion aroused Tom, and he stared about him in
bewilderment.  "Dick!  Sam!" he called out.  "Where are you?"

No answer came back, and he sat bolt upright in alarm.  Nobody was
in sight, nor could he hear a sound saving the hoof beats of his
own horse.  He drew rein instantly.

"Dick!" he called loudly.  "Jack Wumble!  Where are you?"

Not a sound came in reply--not even the cry of a bird--all was
absolutely silent.  Tom gave something of a gasp.  He realized his
position only too well.

He was lost in the mountains.





CHAPTER XXIII

TOM MEETS THE ENEMY


"Oh, what a fool I was to fall asleep!"

Thus spoke poor Tom to himself, as he continued to gaze around him
and call out. To one side was the high mountain, to the other a
deep valley filled with giant trees, and on both sides an utter
loneliness which seemed to penetrate his very soul.

Like a flash there came over him the various stories he had heard
of men being lost in these mountains and wandering around for days
and weeks until their very reason forsook them.  Was he, too,
doomed to such a horrible fate?

Fervidly he prayed to Heaven that such an ending might not overtake
him.  Then with care he turned his horse about, thinking to gain
the point where he had become separated from the rest, and feeling
that they must, sooner or later, turn back to look for him.

Once he imagined that he heard somebody calling him.  But the sound
was so far away he was not sure, and the echo was such that he
could not determine from what direction the call emanated.  Yet he
yelled in return, nearly splitting his throat in his endeavor to
make himself heard.  For the time being the enemy was completely
forgotten.

Tom's turning back, as he thought he was doing, only made matters
worse, for the horse branched off on another trail--but so slender
that it soon gave out altogether and left him on the trackless
mountain side, and several miles from the fork where his steed had
made the first mistake.

Yet he pressed on, calling again and again, but receiving no
answer.  Twice he imagined he heard pistol shots, and this gave him
the idea of firing his own weapon, and he emptied the cylinder, but
with no good to himself.  Then he reloaded and came to a dead stop.
He had never been more lonely in his life.

The balance of the night dragged so slowly that Tom thought it
would never come morning again.  With the first streak of light in
the East he arose from the rock upon which he had thrown himself,
and running to a higher point gazed eagerly around him.

He felt as Robinson Crusoe must have done on his deserted island.
On all sides were rocks and hills, mountains and valleys, some bare
and others covered with growths of pines and firs.  Here and there
glistened a rushing stream or a lofty waterfall, and on one of the
hills he saw a herd of mule deer and on another a solitary Rocky
Mountain goat.  But nowhere was there the first sign of a human
being.

Tom stood there for fully ten minutes, his breast heaving and his
heart sinking within him like a lump of lead.  He was alone,
absolutely alone, in that wild and almost trackless region.

What was to be done?

Over and over he asked himself the question, and the answer always
remained a blank.  He knew not which way to turn, for going on
might bring him into worse difficulty.

And yet he could not think of remaining still where he was, for the
very thought was maddening.  He must try to do something, be the
consequence what it might.

Then he realized that his mouth was dry and that he was hungry.
This made him remember that all of the provisions were loaded on
the horses ridden by Jack Wumble and Dick.  His own steed bore only
some mining tools.

"I wish I could swap the tools for something to eat," he mused.
"But there is no use in crying over spilt milk.  I'm in a pickle,
and I must do my best to get myself out of it."

At a short distance he saw a small hollow which had become partly
filled by the rain of several days before.  He walked to the hollow
and drank his fill and then led his horse thither.

"We're lost, old man," he said, patting the beast on the neck.  "We
must find the others.  You'll help, won't you?"  And the horse
pricked up his ears and looked around wisely as if he understood
every word.  At that moment Tom felt that a horse is indeed man's
best friend.

He soon set off, but slowly, trying to locate the trail which had
brought him astray, and trying at the same time, by the rising sun,
to determine the direction in which his brothers and Jack Wumble
had passed.  But, as before, his efforts were misleading, and by
the middle of the forenoon he found himself on a barren hilltop
with no chance of leaving it excepting by the way he had come.