CHAPTER XVI.—HOW A CAT TREED A WOLF.

Presently the two came up so that the figure of the man could be discerned, standing before the bulk of the planes. Green sprang forward and seized him by the arm. For an instant it seemed as if the capture would be made without a struggle, then a shot was fired and a crouching figure leaped away.

Frank saw the forester fall and leaped toward the retreating figure. The race in the darkness, caused by the pall of smoke which followed, was short, for Frank was a noted runner and soon overhauled the fugitive. He did not attempt to take hold of the man as he came up. He knew that such a course might mean an unequal contest, for he was only a boy.

Instead, he dropped to the ground and caught one of the runner’s ankles in both hands. Naturally the fellow plunged to the ground head-first. He turned quickly and leveled a revolver. There was no warning. The shot came instantly, the bullet passing over the boy’s head as he dropped upon the prostrate figure.

With the hand which held the weapon held closely to the ground, Frank struggled with the fellow for an instant, filling the heavy air with his cries for assistance. The first shot had been heard by the sleepers, and help was at hand immediately. The captive was neatly tied by the light of Frank’s flashlight, and the foresters gathered about, still rubbing their eyes.

The “burn” was not all in darkness all the time, for the glare of the smouldering embers to the west lighted the place fairly well. Only for the smoke the ruddy light would have made a pretty good illumination. When the fellow was lifted to his feet an exclamation of astonishment came from the group about him.

“Sawyer!” some one cried.

The prisoner dropped his chin for a moment, as if studying out some difficult proposition, then faced the others sheepishly.

“I thought I could get away with it,” he said.

A cry now came from the men who had hastened to Green’s assistance.

“He’s dead, I guess,” the voice said.

“I didn’t shoot to kill,” Sawyer exclaimed. “He can’t be dead.”

“Why did you shoot at all?” demanded one of the rangers, approaching Sawyer with threatening fists.

“He was in my way,” was the sullen reply. “I have always wanted an aeroplane, and I thought this a good time to get one.”

“Did you injure the machine in any way?” asked Frank, as Sawyer stood gazing furtively from face to face, his black eyes showing fear.

“When I found I couldn’t get it off,” was the reply, “I loosened some of the burrs. It can be repaired easily enough.”

“That is more than can be said for you, if you have killed Green,” one of the men declared, shaking a fist at the prisoner. “If he’s dead you’ll be hauled up on one of these trees.”

“You wouldn’t dare do that!” Sawyer cried.

“Wouldn’t we?” cried the other. “You’ll see when we know whether he will live or not. How is it, boys?” he continued, stepping toward the spot where Green lay.

The man bending over Green was about to reply when Nestor laid a hand on his arm. The boy had been awakened at the first shot and had slipped out of his tent and over to the side of the wounded man, being the first to arrive there.

“Wait,” he said, as the ranger looked up in surprise. “Green is not seriously injured,” Ned went on, “but I want to make that rascal think he is.”

“What’s the idea?” asked the other, glancing from face to face about him.

“When he stands under a tree with a rope about his neck,” Ned said, “he’ll tell us the truth about this affair.”

“He was trying to steal the machine,” the other said.

“Green has a bullet hole through his shoulder,” Ned said, “but I want you to treat the prisoner as if the shot had been fatal. Kindly carry him to his tent.”

The command was instantly obeyed, for the foresters all knew why Ned was there, and understood that he was the personal representative of the Secret Service chief at Washington. Ned then called Frank aside and spoke a few words in a whisper. The boy grinned and hastened back to the group about Sawyer.

“Nestor wants to talk with Sawyer,” he explained, “and wants me to take him to his tent.”

“We’ll take him to Nestor’s tent after we get done with him,” declared a burly forester whose face bore many evidences of the hard fight he had made during the fire. “It won’t take us long to settle with him.”

Frank spoke a few words to the man and he was one of the first to push the prisoner toward Nestor’s tent.

“If you’ll keep those men off me,” were Sawyer’s first words, “I’ll tell you what you want to know. They mean to kill me.”

“I think there is little doubt about that,” was Ned’s reply. “Why did you want the aeroplane?”

“If you must know,” was the reply, “I was sent here to get it, or to wreck it so you couldn’t use it.”

This looked promising, and Ned waved a hand at Frank.

“Throw him out here!” came a gruff voice from the crowd.

“I won’t tell,” Sawyer went on, “unless you promise to keep them away from me. I didn’t mean to kill Green, and no court will convict me.”

“When did you come here?” asked Ned.

“A month ago,” was the reply. “The day you landed in San Francisco a man came to my boarding house and employed me.”

“He mentioned the aeroplane?”

“Yes, he knew all about it.”

“Treachery in the Secret Service, eh?” asked Ned.

“I don’t know how he gained his information,” was the reply. “He told me that he had secured a job for me in the forest service, and that I was to join the crew in this district.”

“And steal the aeroplane?”

“Steal it or wreck it. There are men with the other crews. You would have found an enemy wherever you landed.”

This was all very amazing, and Ned wondered how many pitfalls had been set for him in San Francisco. He had no doubt that Sawyer was telling the truth. The question was as to whether he would tell the story as it was from that point on.

“Who was it that engaged you—gave you your instructions?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” was the reply.

Ned swung his hand again, and a fierce demand that the prisoner should be thrown out arose from the group outside. Sawyer shivered and crept out of his camp-chair to Nestor’s side. His face was deadly pale, being sheltered from the ruddy glow of the fires. Just where the men stood outside lay a red lance of light, giving a demon-like look to their rugged faces.

“If you don’t tell me the truth,” Ned said, “I can’t protect you.”

“I tell you I don’t know,” wailed the frightened man. “I had never seen him before. I wanted a job and took what he offered. I didn’t think it would be so great a crime to steal or wreck an aeroplane.”

“What were you to receive for the job?”

“One thousand dollars.”

“Hurry up! Throw that sneak out!”

Sawyer, like the coward he was, threw himself down on the floor of the tent and groveled at Ned’s feet.

“You would know the man again?” asked Ned.

“Yes; I can pick him out of a score of men.”

“You will do this willingly?”

“Yes; I’m sick of the whole game. I didn’t mean to hurt Green. I wanted to scare him away so I could get back to my tent without being recognized. That is all I wanted, and I did not mean to hit him at all.”

There was a great deal more talk between the two. Ned soon became convinced that Sawyer was a weak man, morally and intellectually, who would be apt to follow the lead of one stronger than himself.

After Ned had left a guard over the man and visited Green—who was doing very well, and laughing over the trick the boy had played on Sawyer—he went back to his rough bed, well satisfied with the events of the night.

“By the way,” Frank said, crawling into the tent after assisting in caring for the wounded man, “I don’t understand what you mean by saying that you’ve got a clue which you think will force the man behind the scenes out on the stage, in full view of the audience. If there is such a clue hovering about I haven’t become acquainted with it.”

“The clue is hardly well enough advanced to talk about,” Ned replied.

“But if you’ve got a line on the leader of this bunch you’ve won the case,” suggested Frank.

“That is what the government sent me here for,” Ned replied. “The chief of the Secret Service expects me to round up the man responsible for the frequent forest fires. I think now that he should have told me that smuggling was going on up here, but he may have had a good reason for not doing so.”

“You know what Mr. Green said,” Frank interrupted. “He said the government officers wanted you to take the case and find out everything for yourself. Perhaps they feared that you would pay too much attention to these smugglers, and let the forest fires issue go with scant investigation. They might have arrested the smugglers at any time, you know.”

“Perhaps so,” Ned replied, “But that wouldn’t have brought the manager of the unlawful enterprises into the hands of the law. After all, the Secret Service men may have been right in sending me up here without instructions or special information. What a laugh they would have had if I had failed to discover the Chinamen and the opium.”

“Perhaps they wanted to see if you would discover them,” laughed Frank. “Have you any idea,” he added, “that the Secret Service men knew that you would be followed in here—that the plans of the government regarding your work were known to the outlaws? Do you think they knew of the employment of Sawyer and the others by the men at the head of the conspiracy?”

“No; I hardly think the man who gave me final orders at San Francisco knew that all he did was known to the men he was fighting,” Ned replied. “The head of the bunch put a good one over on him there.”

“And came near putting one over on you, also,” grinned Frank. “The aeroplane has been attacked twice already, and others are doubtless waiting to get a crack at it.”

“They will have to hurry up if they do,” Ned said, with a chuckle, “and you will have to look out for yourself if they succeed, for I’m going to have you take me to Missoula in the morning and then go back and collect the boys.”

“And not come back here again?” asked Frank.

“Not unless we come back for a pleasure trip,” was the reply.

“Well,” Frank said, “that pleasure trip idea looks pretty good to me. Why not?”

“I may have time,” Ned replied.

Frank threw himself on the blankets which had been provided by Mr. Green and closed his eyes, which were still smarting from the effects of the smoke.

“If you go away to-morrow,” he said, presently, “what is to become of the clues we found in the cavern by the lake?”

“All provided for,” Ned answered.

“And all the Chinks, and everything you discovered while visiting them in the caves almost under the divide?”

“Everything provided for,” Ned said, sleepily.

“And you think you can close this case by going to San Francisco?” demanded Frank, a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

“Go to sleep, little boy,” said Ned, in a tantalizing tone.

“But do you?” insisted the boy.

“Of course I do,” was the muttered reply. “Go to sleep, little man!”

And Frank tried to obey, but sleep would not come. The fire still smouldered over in the west. The ruddy light of the embers was still touching the camp with its red fingers. The smoke was still asserting itself in the air. The puzzle was still there!

After the boy had rolled over at least fifty times, and arose to consult a water bag at least a dozen times, he seated himself under the flap of the tent and looked out. There was a moon now, and the smoke only half hid it. Far off in the woods wild creatures were expressing their opinion of the fire and the wanton destruction of their homes. There was a faint rustle in the foliage of the trees east of the “burn.”

“Gee!” the boy muttered. “I’d like to come back here for a month!”

Then his attention was attracted to the savage growl of some animal in the thicket beyond the fire limit of the “burn.” It seemed to the boy as if some man-eating creature had cornered a bit of animate supper, but couldn’t reach it. The language used by the forest resident seemed to be in the tongue of the panther. While he listened a cry which was not that of a hungry beast came out of the gloom.

That was a cry for help, surely. Frank put his revolver and his searchlight into convenient pockets and set out for the scene of the disturbance, without awakening any of the sleepers. It was slow work pushing through the bushes, and the boy wondered if a fire there, well guarded on a quiet day, wouldn’t be a good thing.

He kept his searchlight ahead and looked about for the source of the noises as he advanced in the darkness. In a short time he heard a voice he knew, but hardly expected to hear there.

“Hurry up!” the voice said. “I’m goin’ to tumble out of this tree in about a minute! I’m that hungry! I thought you might meet me with a pie under one arm.”

“Well, why don’t you come down, then?” Frank asked.

“If you’ll turn your honorable attention to that tree to the east,” Jimmie said, “your excellency will observe a panther waiting for his supper. He’s been tracking me all day, getting bolder every minute. Now, if I turn this searchlight away for an instant, he’ll jump on me, and there you are. No more Jimmie McGraw than a rabbit!”

“I didn’t see your light at first,” Frank said, “for it was hidden by the foliage of the trees. I suppose you want me to shoot the cat?”

CHAPTER XVII.—THE TIME FOR THE ROUND-UP.

He thought to himself that it looked like a tiger head fastened against a gray cloud with unseen pins. Jimmie’s searchlight brought the evil face, the cruel eyes, the back-sloping ears, the faintly-moving jaws, out into strong relief, as the circle of flame was only large enough to cover the face.

The beast heard Frank moving in the bushes below and turned its head to look, at the same time crouching low, as if to spring.

The first bullet struck him fair in the throat, the second entered the head just above the eyes, the third, coming so rapidly on the others that the three reports seemed to merge into one, entered the body over the heart. The great beast was dead when the body struck the ground.

Jimmie was not long in getting down to Frank’s side and grasping him by the shoulders in a hug which threatened to end in a scuffle.

“Get away!” Frank said. “Suppose there’s another cat here? If there is he’ll get one of us through your foolishness.”

“There were two,” Jimmie said, coolly, “but I killed one.”

“How did you get here?” was the next question, asked as the boys turned toward the camp.

“How do you think I got here?” returned Jimmie.

“Walked!” laughed Frank.

“Yes, I walked.”

Jimmie stopped and rubbed his legs with careful hands.

“I’m all wore out!” he said. “I can’t walk any farther to-night.”

“All right,” Frank said, with a grin. “I’ll leave you both lights to keep the cats off with, and my gun, and come out after you in the morning after breakfast.”

“Oh, my eats!” Jimmie cried. “Lead me to something that will sustain life! I’m starving, I tell you.”

“You walked all the way?” asked Frank.

“Sure! Forty miles at least.”

“Where are the others?”

“Pat, Jack and the Chink Scout? Pat came up just before I started, riding on a burro, an’ in the custody of a small party of rangers, who thought he had been setting fires. The rangers went into camp over there, all tired out, an’ Jack an’ Pat settled down with them. I run away.”

“They don’t know where you are?” asked Frank.

“Nix know!” replied the boy.

“But how did you ever get through the burning forest?” asked Frank, hardly believing the boy’s story of his long walk.

“This ‘burn’ is only a mile wide,” Jimmie said. “I walked on the south edge of it. Say, there are plenty of lives lost! Bears, an’ cats, an’ all that. I guess this will be an agreeable place to live in about a week—not!”

The boy was indeed “all in,” as he expressed it. He had walked since early morning through a tangled forest black with smoke, through an atmosphere burned and smoked out of its life-giving qualities. And all this exertion in order that he might be near his chum, Nestor.

Fortune had favored the lad, and he had at last blundered on the camp where Ned had taken refuge, otherwise he might have died in the forest from hunger and exhaustion, or been devoured by some of the savage beasts which had followed him all day.

“Where’s Ned?” Jimmie asked, as they stood before the little row of tents.

“Asleep,” was the reply, “and you let him alone for to-night. He’s been having a lively time. But how in the name of all that’s wonderful did you ever find your way here?” the boy added.

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “I knew that Ned would be wherever the fire was, and so started east. Not so very long ago I heard a couple of shots, and that directed me toward the camp. Who was hurt?”

Frank explained, briefly, what had taken place, hunted up a liberal meal for the boy, and then saw him settled for the night.

Ned’s astonishment at seeing the boy in the morning may well be imagined.

“Huh!” Jimmie said. “You thought you would fool me out of all the fun!”

Ned laughed and asked about the others, finally informing Jimmie that he was leaving that morning for San Francisco by the aeroplane route.

“Then I’m goin’!” declared the boy. “I’m not goin’ to be chucked into the discard again.”

“You’ll have to sit in Frank’s lap,” grinned Ned, “and the machine may tip over with such a load, at that.”

“I guess it didn’t tip over when Frank and Jack an’ yours truly run it,” Jimmie replied. “Anyway, I’m goin’ with you.”

Before leaving for Missoula, where he was to surrender the aeroplane to Frank, Ned had another long talk with Mr. Green, whose wound was not so serious as it had been considered the night before. The forester told him what he knew of the men under the leadership of Greer, saying that he might have arrested Greer at any time during the month, and, what is more, convicted him of smuggling both Chinamen and opium over the border.

“But what good would it have done?” Green went on. “The conspirators in Washington, or New York, or San Francisco would have chosen another leader, and the game would have gone on as before.”

“That is very true,” Ned admitted, “and still, it seems to me that the time to round the fellows up has come!”

“Do you give that as an order?” asked the other, a flash of excitement showing in his face.

“Yes,” was the reply.

“But some of them have gone to Portland with the Chinks—some to Frisco, I think. What about that?”

“If you can spare men,” Ned said, “follow them.”

“You’re on!” laughed Green. “I’ve been waiting for some such orders for a long time. You’re on!”

“And follow on to Frisco as soon as you can,” Ned continued. “Address me, or look for me, if you are able to be about after you get there, at the Federal building.”

“I’ll be there in a week,” Green said, his eyes showing the joy of the coming fight with the outlaws, “and I’ll have a bunch of prisoners with me.”

The forester hesitated a moment, as the importance of the proposed move came to him, then faced Ned with a hesitating look. It was plain to the boy that Green wanted to ask a question which he believed to be either personal or impertinent.

“Is there something else?” Ned asked.

Green still hesitated, his eyes on the ground.

“Are you sure of your clues?” he asked, then.

“I think so,” was the reply.

“Because, you see,” Green went on, “the government doesn’t want any trap sprung until the whole bilin’ is within reaching distance. After the good work you have done here, I wouldn’t like to have you order the round-up and then find that the men you wanted were still out on the range.”

“Thank you for your frankness,” Ned replied.

“I just want to be sure that you are sure,” smiled Green. “It would mix things for me to make these arrests and have the big ones get away, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed it would,” Ned admitted, “but I think it is safe to go ahead as we planned a moment ago.”

“All right!” Green said, but there was still doubt in his eyes.

“And I’ll accept all the responsibility,” Ned added.

“I have a suggestion to make,” Green said, then. “Why not go on to Frisco in the aeroplane and ask for instructions? You can make the trip in the airship in no time, but it is a long ride by rail.”

“I think,” Ned replied, with a laugh, “that the game will be ripe just about the time I get to Frisco by rail. Besides, I don’t want the outlaws to know that I’m going to the city. They would know it if they saw the aeroplane making for the coast. Well, if I leave Frank navigating it in this district they will think I am still here. Don’t you see?”

“Go it!” laughed Green. “I reckon you know what you’re about.”

“Anyway,” Ned said, “I’ve got to play the game in my own way if I play it at all.”

“I see,” observed Green, and the two parted.

The aeroplane had not been damaged at all by the fire, but Ned went over it carefully before attempting a start. Sawyer, trembling with fright, was brought out to show where he had meddled with the machinery.

“I didn’t harm it any,” the prisoner said.

“There are some burrs missing,” Ned said.

Sawyer brought half a dozen out of a pocket and passed them to Ned with a reluctant hand.

“I neglected to tell you that I had them in my pocket,” he said.

“What did Green say to you this morning?” asked Ned, screwing the burrs on where they were needed.

“He says he won’t be hard on me, if I tell all I know about the men who are doing these tricks,” was the reply.

“You told me all you know?” asked Ned.

“Yes, there is nothing else to tell. I’m so glad to think that Green is not going to die from the wound I gave him that I’ll do everything in my power to bring the men who put me up to this to punishment.”

“Sure you can identify the man who hired you?”

“Dead certain,” was the reply.

“Then I’ll have one of the men bring you to Frisco,” Ned said. “You will be wanted there.”

“All right; anything the government wants goes!”

In half an hour the three boys, Ned, Frank and Jimmie, were on the aeroplane, sailing through the clear air of a splendid summer morning. Below they could see the long, narrow strip of land which had been swept by the fires. Off to the north was the British frontier, with Lake Kintla glimmering in the sunshine.

“Aren’t we going back to that lake cavern again?” asked Frank.

“Not just now,” Ned replied.

“I didn’t know that you got all you wanted in there,” Frank went on. “I had an idea that you were trying to identify the man we found dead there.”

“I think I learned all there was to learn there,” Ned replied.

“He spent a lot of time in there before he went to Frisco,” Jimmie said. “He made me go in there with him, and I didn’t like it.”

“And so no one will ever know who the dead man was?” asked Frank.

“I have been given a name,” Ned said, “a name to call him by, but I don’t exactly like to accept the information, considering the source from which it came.”

The aeroplane drifted to the west and north easily under the steady pulse of the motors, and the plateau where Jimmie had left the boys and the foresters was soon in sight.

“I wonder if they’re all alive?” said Jimmie.

“What could happen to them?” demanded Frank.

“Oh,” Jimmie replied, with biting sarcasm, “there is nothing here to harm ’em! This is a pink tea, this is! This is a church fair, where you get ices made out of the cream they skim off the cistern!”

“You’re getting nutty!” Frank said, with a grin.

“When I left ’em,” Jimmie went on, “the boys an’ the foresters were wondering if the outlaws would come back an’ kill ’em one by one or just blow up the caves underneath the plateau an’ send ’em up in the air without any good means of gettin’ down.”

“Then we’ll look them up,” Ned said.

The great divide lay down below, and the plateau was in plain sight, with the early sunshine streaming over it. When the aeroplane circled about it a shout came up to Ned’s ears, then a shot, and the powder smoke drifted lazily upward in the clear air.

“Somethin’ doin’!” Jimmie cried. “Suppose we go down an’ see.”

CHAPTER XVIII.—TWO INANIMATE WITNESSES.

Closing the door softly—the same having been opened with a skeleton key—Ned stepped across the room to the writing desk which he had examined on that other night. After searching the half-open drawer for an instant, he took out a number of papers and examined them. He also took a check-book out and put it into a pocket. The papers he returned to the desk. The check-book was an old one, there being few blank checks in the binding, but plenty of stubs.

Then Ned looked at the lock of the desk. It had been out of repair at his previous visit, but was in excellent shape now. He removed the new key and inserted the one with the broken stem which had so excited the interest of Albert Lemon and Jap on occasion of his previous visit.

The key with the broken stem did not fit. A new lock had been put on. Next Ned went to a mantel over a gas grate and lifted the cover from a little ivory box which stood there. At the very bottom of the box, under buttons, pins, needles, and odds and ends, he found a key. This one was whole, and it was an exact duplicate of the one with the broken stem.

Ned had been in San Francisco three days, and Jimmie was not far away. On bringing the aeroplane to the plateau on the day of his return to Missoula he had found Ernest Whipple, Jack, Pat, Liu, and a small party of rangers anxiously awaiting him. Also “several tough ones waitin’ for an introduction,” as Jimmie put it. It seems that the fake foresters had returned to the cave after the fire in the cañon had burned itself out and had at once discovered that the prisoner had vanished, also that Liu, the Chinese boy, had disappeared with him.

There had been a long search for the missing boys, as the outlaws knew very well that the escape meant the bringing of officers to the caves, but they had not been discovered until a short time before the arrival of the aeroplane.

When Ned reached the plateau—in fact, before he reached it—he heard the whistling of bullets aimed at the big bird. The outlaws were trying to cripple the aeroplane and so give the riders a tumble. The boys landed in safety, however, and joined the others.

Seeing the boys thus reinforced, the outlaws had withdrawn, and the rangers had conducted them to a pass which led over the divide. So it was that Ned had left them, making their way down toward the Valley of the Wild Animals, where a large number of rangers were encamped, and where Frank was to come for them with the aeroplane as soon as Ned landed at Missoula.

There were numerous shots fired at the aeroplane as it mounted into the sky again, but no harm was done.

“If they had been shootin’ at that cat last night,” Jimmie said, in derision, “they would ’a’ been eaten alive.”

“They are nervous,” Frank said, “and don’t dare come out of their hiding places so as to get a good sight at us. They are afraid of the rangers, and afraid that we’ll drop a bomb or something of that sort down on them.”

This explanation of the bad marksmanship, as well as the failure of the outlaws to rush the aeroplane, was accepted by the boys, who had anticipated a fight with the fellows. It was afterwards learned, too, that there were only half a dozen outlaws in the group, and that they had been sent back to guard the caves and not to fight rangers unless they were attacked.

Ned had been very busy since his return to the city, having made many inquiries concerning Albert Lemon and his servant, the Japanese attendant who had given the boy such a chilly reception on the night of the first visit.

Lemon, he had been informed, was a millionaire of eccentric habits. According to Ned’s source of information, he would absent himself from his usual haunts for days at a time, and would then return to shut himself up in his rooms, at home to no one, and attended only by Jap.

After a time the clatter of dishes grew louder in the adjoining room, giving notice, doubtless, that the luncheon being prepared was nearly ready to serve. Then the boy seated himself behind a screen which cut off a corner of the room and waited. He had occupied his retreat only a short time when a key turned in the door and the man he had talked with on his first visit entered.

It was not the old, half-dazed, disreputable Lemon who stepped into the room, but a young man handsomely dressed and evidently very wide awake and in the best of spirits. After seeing that the window shades were closely drawn he turned on the lights and dropped into a chair at the writing desk.

Ned saw him rummage the pigeon-holes for a moment, extract a folded paper, and fall to checking off the items. The boy had examined this sheet while at the desk, and so knew what it contained. After checking the items the man drew out a long pocket-book and placed its contents on the writing board.

The boy gave a quick start when he saw what the book had contained, for a large package of yellow-back bank notes lay exposed to view. The man counted them carefully, compared the total with the figures he had marked on the sheet, and then sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Everything correct!” he said.

Then he lighted a cigar and turned to the door opening into the inner room.

“Jap!” he called softly. “Oh, Jap!”

The door opened and the servant looked in.

“Come here!” Lemon commanded. “What have you been doing?” he added, as the Jap stood before him.

“Nothing,” was the reply.

“You are not telling the truth,” Lemon said. “You have been seen about the city, in tea houses, talking with strangers.”

“I have not been out of the rooms,” the other insisted, stubbornly.

“Let it pass,” Lemon said, in a moment. “There may be some mistake. Any one been here?”

“No one.”

The servant appeared to have a perfect knowledge of English. He looked into his master’s face with a bland smile, but now and then his eyes sought the screen behind which Ned was hidden.

“Well, some of the boys will be up here to-night,” Lemon said. “See that there is plenty to eat. Go, now.”

The servant turned to the door opening into the private hall, stood with his hand on the knob for an instant, and then, apparently changing his mind, went out through the doorway by which he had entered. If Lemon had been listening intently he would have heard a quick movement in the back room as Jap closed the door.

In a moment there was another movement in the private hall, and then Ned heard the corridor door open. He pushed the screen aside and stepped out before the astonished occupant of the rooms.

“What does this mean?” Lemon demanded, a quiver of excitement—or it might have been consternation—in his voice.

While he spoke he moved toward a table where a revolver lay in full view.

“Never mind that,” Ned said, coolly. “We can arbitrate our differences without its assistance. Besides, it is not loaded.”

“What are you doing here?” Lemon almost shouted, his face growing white, either with rage or fear. “Leave the room immediately.”

Ned dropped into a chair and motioned toward another.

“Sit down!” he ordered.

“Your impudence is amazing,” Lemon said, but he took the chair.

In a moment, however, he turned to the door.

“Jap!” he called.

Again the door opened and the servant looked in.

“Are you armed?” Lemon asked.

The servant nodded, fixing a pair of inscrutable eyes on Ned’s face as he did so.

“Very well,” was the reply. “Stand there by the door. How did this man gain entrance here?”

The only reply was a shrug of the shoulders.

“Let it pass for the present,” Lemon said, with a smile of triumph. “Stand there and shoot when I give the word.”

The servant nodded again. Ned remained seated, his eyes fixed coolly on the face of the master.

“Now, what do you want?” demanded Lemon. “You don’t look exactly like a common sneak thief.”

“You doubtless remember,” Ned began, in a level voice, “that I did myself the honor of calling at these rooms not long ago in quest of information of one—of one Felix Emory?”

Lemon started at the name, but gained confidence as he glanced toward the servant at the door.

“Yes, I remember,” he said. “What about it?”

There was a sharp ring at the corridor door before Ned spoke again. The Jap looked inquiringly at his master.

“Company may prove of value just now,” Lemon said. “Will you see who is there?”

It was clear to Ned that Lemon expected some of the associates he had mentioned as “the boys” when giving instructions about the luncheon, and there was a smile of welcome on his face when a bustle in the hall told of an arrival.

There was only one man, however, and Lemon at first seemed disappointed, but in a moment he had his face under perfect control again.

“Father!” he cried, springing to his feet. “It is good to see you here!”

The newcomer, a man of perhaps sixty, well dressed and with the air of a man to whom marked attention was due, stood looking into Lemon’s face for an instant and then grasped his hand.

“You have changed little, my son,” he said.

Lemon smiled and indicated Ned with a slight motion of the hand.

“Permit me to present to you my father, Mr. Leon Lemon,” he said, “and this, father, is a boy burglar who broke into my rooms in quest of plunder a short time ago,” he added. “We were having quite a cheerful talk when you came. I don’t know his name, unfortunately.”

The old gentleman gave a start and attempted to rise from his chair.

“Don’t distress yourself,” Lemon said. “He is quite harmless. Besides, Jap has him covered with the cannon he delights to carry.”

“This is a strange situation,” the other said, wiping the sweat of excitement from his face.

“One of the incidents which add to the joy of life,” Lemon said. “You remember Felix Emory?” he added. “Well, his pretense for this call is that he came to ask about him. Go ahead, Mr. Burglar.”

“Perhaps you will also remember,” Ned went on, “that on my former visit here I exhibited a key with a broken stem—the key to that writing desk?”

Lemon’s face hardened and he glanced furtively at the servant, but said not a word.

“This key,” Ned said, producing the one mentioned, “was found in the pocket of the man who was found dead in the Rocky Mountains. You think you left it in the suit of clothes you gave Emory?”

“Possibly,” was the strained reply. “But we have had enough of this,” Lemon added. “Call the police, Jap.”

“Just a moment,” Ned went on, when the Jap moved toward the door. “When you could not find the key, Mr. Lemon, why didn’t you use the duplicate. The duplicate you kept in the box on the shelf? Why did you think it necessary to break the lock?”

“The servant did that,” was the angry reply.

“I see,” Ned replied, coolly, “perhaps that was done while you were up in the mountains with Emory—before he was killed?”

“Possibly,” Lemon gritted out.

“Now, since talking with you,” Ned continued, “I have been up in the mountains. There I found a man using a typewriter. By the way, have you a machine here?”

“Certainly not,” was the angry reply.

“But you formerly used one here?”

“Never!” was the reply.

“That is strange,” Ned said, “for when I came in here not long ago I took the liberty of looking through some papers in your desk, for which I ask your pardon. Well, I discovered that the machine you used here carried a defective letter ‘c.’ It looked in the writing like an ‘o.’ The machine the man was using under the divide had the same defect. If you will observe the sheet you were examining a few moments ago, you will note the imperfect letter.”

Lemon’s teeth clinked together sharply, but he did not speak.

“When I came here last,” Ned continued, “you lay in an opium stupor on that couch. You had recently returned from a trip to Lake Kintla, where Emory was found dead. While in that section you visited a cavern on the eastern slope of the divide. There is where you used the typewriter taken from these rooms.”

“My son never learned the keyboard,” said the old gentleman, an angry snap in his eyes. “He has never found it necessary to earn money.”

Lemon turned to the old man and bowed, gratefully.

“When you lay on the couch that night,” Ned continued, “there was the smear of the typewriter on the middle finger of your left hand, close to the nail. I use a double keyboard machine myself, and sometimes smut my finger on the ribbon when I turn the platen. Some papers I chanced upon in the mountains bear the mark of a smudged hand. You are careless in using the machine. You even left a blue record ribbon in the cave headquarters where the dead man was found. That was my first valuable clue!”

“What papers did you steal while in the mountains?” demanded Lemon, springing to his feet, his face deadly white, his fists swinging aimlessly in the air.

“Lists,” Ned replied. “Lists of Chinamen brought from over the border, and lists of opium cases smuggled in. I have the papers in my possession now. They match with the statement you examined just before I made my appearance in the room—just before you counted the money you received from this illegal traffic.”

The old man leaped at Ned, but the boy moved away and stood by the door. The Jap stepped closer. There came a sound of whispering, a noise of footsteps, from the hall outside. Then the door was opened and Greer, Slocum, Chang Chee and two others entered, glancing keenly at Ned as they passed him, still standing by the door.

“Do you mean to accuse my son of crime?” shouted the old man, not noticing the new-comers in his rage and excitement. “You scoundrel!”

“How do you know,” Ned asked, with a smile at the others, “that this man is Albert Lemon, your son?”

CHAPTER XIX.—THE MAN BEHIND THE SCENES.

“I will lay the papers on the table,” he said. “You are quite welcome to them for the present.”

“I’ll take him down to the police station,” said Chang. “He ought not to be at large. Come, youngster.”

“You seem to be able to talk pretty good English now,” laughed Ned. “Much better than the slang you gave out in the mountains.”

“Come!” shouted the Chinaman. “You are here alone, so there is no need of a fight. Come along!”

“We’ll see about my being here alone presently,” Ned said. “Anyhow, I’d better be here alone than with any one of you in the dark streets. I should be murdered before a block was passed. That is what you came to Frisco for, to murder me—just as the man in the lake cavern was murdered.”

Those in the room looked at each other and remained silent. There was a tense moment, when every person there seemed gathering for a spring, when the lust of blood seemed in every glaring eye, but it passed.

“Where are the Chinamen you brought away from the British border?” asked Ned of Chang Chee. “Are they in this city? Oh,” he continued, as Chang glared at him, “we knew that you were about to bring in a batch. You usually light forest fires in order to attract the attention of the rangers when you get ready to unload a band of Chinese on Uncle Sam. That is Doyers street cunning, Chang!”

“You see,” he went on, “we have had the good luck to discover why the forests in Northern Idaho and Montana have been set on fire so frequently. I don’t care to say what I think of the wisdom of your course in so attempting to hide your movements, except that it attracted attention instead of diverting it. You firebugs might have been arrested long ago,” he continued, turning to Slocum, “but it was thought best to wait until the head center of the whole conspiracy was in the hands of the law. Now that this has been accomplished, I may speak.”

The people standing around the boy looked into each other’s faces, and there was a movement as if to draw weapons.

“Permit me to congratulate you on the discovery of the leader of the outlaws,” the old man said with a snarl. “Perhaps you will be kind enough to give us his name?”

“There are no objections that I know of,” was the reply. “His name is Felix Emory. You may have heard of him.”

“An old acquaintance of my son Albert,” the old man said.

“That is the name of the man who was so mysteriously murdered in the Kintla lake cave,” Slocum observed. “Why do you place the crime on the dead?”

“Felix Emory,” Ned said, “is not dead. He is alive at this moment—alive and in this room!”

The young man broke into a jarring laugh and turned to the old man.

“You remember the strange resemblance between Felix and myself,” he said. “Well, it seems to have deceived this clever young man. By the way, Slocum, why don’t you take the lad to the police station? We have no more time for him here.”

Slocum and another sprang forward, but Ned opened the door with a quick motion and stood beyond their reach.

“The man found dead in the cave,” the boy said, facing the old man, “had met with an accident in his youth. The first joint of the little finger of the right hand was missing. Also, there was a scar over his left eye—a trifling scar, made with a knife in the hands of a playmate. Do you recall these marks of identification, Mr. Lemon?” he added.

The old man threw his hands to his face and stood silent for a moment while the others looked on in perplexed silence. When he uncovered his face again he stepped forward to the man he had called his son on entering the room.

“Let me see your hands, Albert,” he said, kindly. “Bend down so I can see the scar on your forehead!”

“Step aside, you old fool!” the young man cried, pushing the old man back rudely. “We have had enough of this, boys,” he continued, turning to the others. “The game is up unless we get rid of this dotard and this boy. Why don’t you get busy?”

The old man dropped into a chair and lifted his face to Ned’s.

“You found my son murdered?” he asked. “Then this man Felix Emory stands in his shoes! Even I was deceived by him! Why, he has been calling upon me for large sums of money during the past month. He has taken possession of my boy’s rooms. Was it this man Emory who killed him?”

“We believe so,” was the reply. “The proof is within reaching distance.”

“Out with them both!” shouted Emory.

“Your son Albert took this man in and tried to do something for him,” Ned went on, “and was robbed and murdered for his pains. This man Emory was the leader of this choice band of smugglers and firebugs when he came to your son. The band was on the point of scattering because the officers were close on their track. They needed a man well up in the world—a man against whom the breath of suspicion had never been blown—to represent them in the opium market and the smuggled Chinamen market. They sent this man Emory to your son with a proposition, and he turned him down. Then they parted. But Albert knew too much and so he was lured to the woods and killed, and Emory stood before the world as your son. It was a devilish plot, great wealth being the object. If you will look at the stubs in this check-book you will see the difference in the hand-writing.”

“I rather admire your nerve, boy,” Slocum said to Ned. “You’ve got the right kind of courage to stand up here and tell all this to us. You know very well that we can never let you go out of this place alive? That even this old man must suffer for your bit of foolish daring?”

“I’d like to have the training of that kid for a few years,” Chang said. “I could beat the world with him!”

“Well, you all know what we’ve got to do,” Emory said, angrily. “We’ve got to get rid of the boy and this old man. If we do not, there is an end of a rather profitable business. Besides, with Albert Lemon dead, I become his heir, with no possible chance of being identified as Felix Emory.”

“You devil!” shouted the old man. “You murderer!”

Enraged by the exclamation, Emory made a rush for the old man, but was stopped by a voice from the doorway opening into the rear room.

“That’ll be all for you!” the voice said.

It was Jimmie who stood in the doorway, smiling, and making about the worst bow a Boy Scout ever made.

“Don’t wiggle about so, gentlemen,” he added, “for the men behind this partition have you all covered with repeating rifles, and some of them are nervous. Stand still while a friend of mine presents you with wristlets.”

Jap turned and faced the frightened group and then pointed to the wall, near the ceiling, where a line of two-inch holes were seen, at each hole a shining eye.

“You see,” he said, “I cut those holes there to-night, so the boys wouldn’t have to lie hidden under the furniture. There’s a gun behind every one of them. And now, with your permission—”

Jimmie passed out a bunch of clattering, ringing handcuffs, and Jap slipped them on the wrists of the prisoners. As he did so Frank came dashing into the room, swinging his cap aloft. Ernest, Jack, Pat and Liu were there, too, overjoyed at the great victory.

“Wow!” he cried. “Here’s a wire saying that the bunch was captured at Portland to-night, and another from Missoula says the men left in the caverns were caught yesterday. I have the honor to report, Mr. Sherlock Holmes Nestor,” he added, with a low bow, “that the round-up is complete.”

“Our day will come directly,” Emory shouted. “You haven’t a word of proof against any of us. Your story sounds all right here, but wait until you get into court. Our lawyers will pick your yarn apart like a rag doll. And you, Jap,” he went on, turning to the servant, “when did you turn against me?”

“There have been two instances of false personation in this case,” Ned said. “You, Emory, personated Albert Lemon, whom you murdered, and you, Jap, personated the servant Emory brought here after he had seen you carried out of the rooms for dead.”

“Then that isn’t my servant at all?” asked Emory.

“I was in the employ of Albert Lemon,” answered the Jap, “when you took him away and killed him. When you came back from the mountains you caused me to be drugged and killed, as you supposed. But your servant hesitated in the work. He finally turned against you, and permitted me to come here in his stead. It was he who disclosed the hiding place of the duplicate key. He told me, and I told Mr. Nestor.”

“It is all a blackmailing conspiracy!” cried Emory.

“When Mr. Nestor came back to the city, three days ago,” the servant went on, “I was told by the man I was personating in these rooms that the whole plot was known. He said that Mr. Nestor knew that you were not Albert Lemon, also that I, Albert Lemon’s servant, still lived. I didn’t have much to tell him when he came to me, but I told him all I knew.”

“And you let him search my rooms?” cried Emory.

“Of course,” was the cool reply. “He has everything required to send you to the gallows for the murder of Albert Lemon, and everything necessary in the case against the smugglers and firebugs, too. He found Emory’s servant,” he added, facing the father, “in a Japanese tea house, and brought him here to me after the closing scene was set for to-night. You may talk with him if you want to. He can tell you how the murder of your son was planned, also how the plot to kill Mr. Nestor in the mountains was laid—here in these rooms.”

Again the old man sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. It was a severe blow to him. He had arrived in San Francisco that day, anticipating a pleasant month with his son. And now to find him dead!

“It would be interesting,” said Slocum, speaking for the first time since the arrests, “to know just how this remarkable boy discovered the connection between this flat and the mountain caves.”

“The murder brought the clue,” Ned replied. “From the first the clue led here. And then the key without a stem, the smudge on Emory’s finger, the typewritten sheets, the machine in the mountains—oh, it was all easy enough after the discovery that this man Emory did not know where Albert Lemon kept his duplicate key to that desk!

“The case is ended,” Ned continued, “and all the parties wanted by the law are under arrest, so, if you don’t mind, gentlemen, I’ll go to bed!”

Jack, Pat, Ernest and Liu now advanced into the room and looked smilingly at their leader.

“You can’t lose us,” Jack said. “If you don’t mind, we’ll take you back to the Rocky Mountains for a little fun with the aeroplane. I guess there won’t be any bold bad smugglers up there to distract our attention for a few weeks.”

“And then,” Jimmie cut in, “I hope you’ll all go back to little old New York. I’m hungry and thirsty, and sleepy for a walk down the good old Bowery and the wise old White Way!”

The case against Felix Emory was so complete that he pleaded guilty on being arraigned in court and was sentenced to the gallows. Chang received a long sentence for his connection with the murder, and the smugglers and firebugs were sent to prison for ten years each.

The clean-up was so complete that Ned was requested to visit Washington and confer with the Secret Service chief regarding other cases.

“But, after all,” he said, on leaving Jimmie and the other boys, including Ernest and Liu, in New York, “I don’t think I want any more fighting forest fires assignments in the Secret Service. We’ll go back some day and look over the ground, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get some of those rides in the air out of my mind.”