LITMIR.BIZ

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is like. All the same I don't want to stump through to the other side of the globe."

      The travellers encamped for the night in a dry spot among a group of gum-trees, and it may readily be believed that all slept well. The boys felt dead tired, and it was with difficulty they were awakened in the morning.

      About five o'clock Fletcher opened his eyes. He was one who slept fast, so to speak, and obtained as much refreshment from an hour's sleep as most people do from a period twice as long. He had been lying on the ground wrapped in a blanket, as was the case with the other members of the party.

      Raising himself, and leaning on his elbow, he saw that they were all fast asleep. He nodded with satisfaction, and getting on his feet he approached Obed Stackpole with noiseless tread. The Yankee was sleeping with his mouth wide open, occasionally emitting a sonorous snore through his aquiline nose. He was not beautiful to look upon, as Fletcher evidently thought.

      "Ill-favored brute!" he ejaculated. "I'd like to choke him!"

      If any special advantage had been likely to accrue to him, Fletcher's conscience would not have been likely to stand in the way of violence; but his purpose now was different.

      "The fellow must have gold about him," muttered Fletcher. "I wonder whether I can get at it without waking him up."

      Obed seemed to be in a profound slumber, but it was a peculiarity of our Yankee friend to wake at the least touch. This, of course, was not known to Dick Fletcher, who felt that there would be no risk in a careful exploration of Obed's pockets.

      He thrust his hand into one of the Yankee's pockets with the practiced skill of a pickpocket, when an entirely unexpected result followed.

      "Why, you skunk, what in creation are you about?" exclaimed Obed, suddenly seizing Fletcher by the throat.

      "Let me go!" said Fletcher, struggling violently, but ineffectually, to free himself.

      "Not till you've told me what you are after."

      "Let go, and I'll tell you."

      Obed loosened his grip, saying sternly, "Are you a pickpocket, my enterprising friend, or what is the meaning of all this business?"

      "You had better not insult me!" said Fletcher angrily. "I'm no more a pickpocket than you are."

      "Then what is the meaning of your little game? Maybe you got up in your sleep."

      "No, I didn't. I just waked up, and thought I'd like to have a smoke, but had no matches. I thought you might have some in your pocket."

      "Why didn't you wake me up and ask me?"

      "You looked so comfortable, and I thought you needed rest after a hard day's work, so I decided to help myself."

      "It looks like it," responded Obed dryly. "So that's all you were after, was it?"

      "Of course," said Fletcher, regaining confidence. "What else could it be?"

      "Well, it strikes me it's rather takin' a liberty with a gentleman to search his pockets while he's asleep, that's all! In Californy, Fletcher, if you had been caught doin' it, ten chances to one you'd have been lynched, and lynchin' isn't usually regarded as comfortable or desirable. Where's your cigar?"

      "I haven't any, but I've got a pipe."

      "Well, I do happen to have a few matches in my other pocket, but I'd rather you'd ask for 'em next time."

      "I will. The fact is, I ought to have brought some with me. It's very strange, old traveller as I am."

      "It would have been a little better than borrowin' them of a sleepin' man without leave. Don't do it again, Fletcher."

      "I'm not very likely to borrow them of you again, except when you're awake," said Fetcher with a short laugh. "Do you always wake up so easy?" he asked, in some curiosity.

      "Always. I sleep mighty sound, but the least touch wakes me up."

      "I shall remember that," thought Fletcher. "This Yankee is rather a dangerous man to tackle. I won't attempt it again unless I have the decided advantage."

      "I hope you'll excuse me, Mr. Stackpole," he said aloud in a smooth tone. "I used to travel with a friend – a great chum of mine – and we never stood on ceremony with each other. I ought to have remembered that you and I are comparatively new acquaintances."

      "Perhaps it will be best," said Obed dryly. "You see when I wake up I don't always have my wits about me, and I might cut up rough before I had time to think."

      "Oh, no apologies, I beg," said Fletcher, waving his hand.

      "Who's apologizin'?" demanded Obed, in surprise.

      "Never mind, it's all right! I thought you were apologizing for seizing me by the throat. As you say, you waked up suddenly, and didn't have your wits about you."

      "Well, I know!" ejaculated Obed half to himself. "I didn't think of that way of puttin' it. You're a cute fellow, Fletcher."

      "Thank you, Mr. Stackpole. Now I will have my smoke;" and Fletcher, though he did not care for it, by way of removing any lingering suspicion, lit his pipe and puffed away with apparent pleasure.

      CHAPTER VII. PARTING COMPANY

      "I mistrust that man Fletcher," said Obed to Harry Vane the next day, taking the opportunity when, at one of their rests, the man referred to had sauntered into the woods.

      "I don't like him myself," said Harry. "Have you any particular reason for mistrusting him?"

      "He was searchin' my pockets last night when he thought I was asleep," answered Obed, and he related the incident of the night before.

      "It looks suspicious," said Harry. "I have not much money, but I don't care to lose what I have."

      "I should like to shake him, but I don't see how we can very well. He's a reg'lar member of the party."

      "We can be on our guard at any rate," said Harry. "I'll tell Jack, and advise him to be careful also."

      At this point Dick Fletcher returned. He looked suspiciously from one to the other, under the impression that something had been said about him. He asked no questions, however, and no information was volunteered. He could not but observe, however, that there was more or less restraint in the manner of his companions toward him, and that they were not disposed to be social.

      That day they made nine miles, the road being slightly better than the day before. About five o'clock they reached a rude wayside inn, over the door of which was a swinging sign, on which was printed:

      TRAVELLERS' REST.

      "We might as well stop here, instead of camping out," said Fletcher.

      "I'm agreeable," said Obed, "if the tax isn't too high."

      "Oh, Linton is moderate in his charges," said Fletcher. "I've known him a good while. He's a good fellow."

      This was not a very valuable recommendation in the opinion of Obed and the two boys, but they had no objection to becoming guests of the establishment.

      It was a rude building, and the accommodations were very limited. In fact, there were but two sleeping rooms. One of these Fletcher occupied, and the other was given up to the other members of the party, there being two beds.

      "I'd rather bunk in with you, if you don't mind," said Stackpole to

      Harry. "I don't feel easy in the same room with Fletcher."

      "We shall be very glad of your company, Mr. Stackpole."

      "If I snore, just come and turn me over. I don't want to disturb nobody."

      "I think Jack and I will be too sound asleep to be disturbed by your snoring," said Harry with a laugh. "However, if there is any occasion, I will follow your directions."

      The landlord was a broad-shouldered man of moderate stature, who had lost the sight of one eye. The other, being covered with a green shade, gave him an ill look. His manner, however, was hearty, and showed a bluff, off-hand cordiality, as he welcomed the party to the hospitalities of the Travellers' Rest. He was familiarly called "Larry," by Fletcher, who greeted

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