LITMIR.BIZ

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where the hold-up was committed. If he were to come into Elreno on this train, for instance, it would be a blind."

      "How far is Oklahoma City from the place where the train was robbed?"

      "Between thirty and forty miles, direct."

      "That distance could be made on horseback between the time of the robbery and this morning—do you think so?"

      "Well, it is very likely. What do you think, Mr.—ah—er—I beg your pardon?"

      "My name is Frank Merriwell."

      "Really?"

      Walker lifted his eyebrows in a very odd manner, which Frank did not fail to observe.

      "You appear as if you doubted me," came a trifle warmly from the lad's lips, while the color rushed to his cheeks.

      "Oh, not at all—not at all! You are in Oklahoma on business?"

      "No, sir."

      "Not?"

      "No."

      "Pleasure?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "How? Traveling?"

      "I am."

      "Alone?"

      "No."

      "Didn't notice you had company."

      "I have not, at present."

      "H'm! Ha! Your friends—are they on this train?"

      "No, sir."

      Walker elevated his eyebrows again. His nose seemed longer and more pointed than ever. It was a nose that reminded the boy of an interrogation point. It seemed built to thrust itself into other people's business.

      "Ha! Not on the train?"

      "No."

      "You expect to meet them?"

      "Yes."

      "Where?"

      "In Elreno."

      "How many of them?"

      "Two."

      "No more?"

      "No."

      Frank was answering curtly, and his manner announced his dislike for his inquisitive companion. Still, he was courteous and cool, holding himself in check.

      "I presume your companions are older than yourself?" questioned the prying Jerseyite, his small eyes glistening.

      "One is; the other is a boy about my age."

      "Ha! H'm! Just so. You are from the East, I presume?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "It seems to me that I have seen you before, but I cannot remember where it was. And I do not remember your name. Do you mind giving me the names of your traveling companions?"

      "Not at all. They are Professor Horace Orman Tyler Scotch, of Fardale Military Academy, sometimes known as 'Hot' Scotch, as he has a peppery temper, and the initials of his first three names form the word 'hot.' The other is Barney Mulloy, a youth who was born in Ireland, and has not recovered from it yet. The latter was a classmate of mine at Fardale, and he is traveling with me as a friendly companion, which he can afford to do, as I pay all the bills."

      "Haw!" exclaimed Walker. "You must have money to burn!"

      "No, I have not. My uncle left me a comfortable fortune, and his will provided that, in order to broaden my knowledge of the world, I should travel in company with my guardian. He selected Professor Scotch as a proper man to become my guardian, and specified that I might take along a schoolmate as a companion, if I so desired."

      "Re-e-markable!" cried Walker. "A most astonishing will! And how does it happen that you have become separated from your guardian and friend?"

      "We were going through to Texas on the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific. I wished to visit Guthrie, the capital of Oklahoma, and they did not care to do so. I left them at Caldwell, in Kansas, with the understanding that they were to proceed to Elreno, and wait for me there."

      "H'm!"

      Walker's nose seemed pointing at the boy like an accusing finger. Doubt was expressed all over that foxy face.

      "You tell it well," said the man, with another queer lifting of his thin eyebrows.

      "What do you mean by that?" demanded the youth, sharply, wheeling squarely toward Walker. "Do you insinuate that I am not telling the truth?"

      Before Walker could reply, a commotion arose in the seat directly behind them.

      CHAPTER II.

       "HANDS UP!"

       Table of Contents

      "Aw! Thay, weally, this ith verwy impudent, don't yer know!" drawled a languid voice. "What wight have you to cwout yourthelf into a theat bethide a gentleman, thir?"

      "I don'd seen der shentleman anyvere," replied a nasal voice, a voice that had the genuine Jewish sound.

      "Thir! Do you mean to thay I am no gentleman, thir?"

      "Vell, I don'd mean to say nodding aboud id. I don'd vant to hurd your veelings."

      "You insulting w'etch!"

      "Don'd get excided, mein friendt."

      "Will you leave thith theat, thir?"

      "Cerdinly I vill—ven I leaf der drain."

      "I thall call the conductor!"

      "Don'd vaste your preath—peckon to him."

      "Thir, I would have you understand that my name ith Cholly Gwayson De Smythe."

      "Vell, I vos bleased to meed you. Anypody vould be pleased shust to dake a look ad you."

      "Thir!"

      "My name vas Solomon Rosenbum, vid the accent on der bum. Shake handts vid yourself."

      By this time everybody in the car was staring at the Jew and the dudish fellow beside whom Solomon had taken a seat. The latter was a youth of uncertain age, with an insipid mustache, a sallow face, and spectacles of colored glass, which seemed to indicate that he had weak eyes. He was dressed, as far as possible, in imitation of an English tourist.

      The Jew, who had given his name as "Solomon Rosenbum, vid der accent on der bum," was a rather disreputable-looking man of about thirty, having the appearance of the Jew peddler, and carrying a pack, which he had stuffed down between his knees and the back of the next seat, thus completely fencing in Cholly De Smythe.

      "Will you wemove yourthelf fwom this theat?" squawked the dude, in a flutter.

      "Say, mein friendt, you vas nervous. Now, I dell you vat you do vor dat. Shust dake a pottle of Snyde's Shain-Lighdning Nearf Regulardor. Id vill simbly gost you von tollar a pottle, dree bottles vor dwo tollars. I haf shust dree pottles left. Vill you dake 'em?"

      Solomon began to untie his pack.

      "Stop it!" squealed Cholly, in terror. "I don't want your nawsty stuff, don't yer know!"

      "Berhaps I know petter dan vat you do. I haf studied to pe a horse toctor, und I make a sbecialty uf shack-asses."

      "You wude thing!"

      The other passengers in the car were enjoying all this, and the laughter that had begun with the first passage between the two now threatened to swell to a tumult.

      "Uf one pottle don'd gure you, der dree pottles vill—or kill you, und nopody vill mindt dot."

      "Go'way!"

      "Vill you half der dree pottles?"

      "No, thir!"

      "Veil, dake

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