BURT L. STANDISH Ultimate Collection: 24 Action Thrillers in One Volume (Illustrated) - Burt L. Standish

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and he lay there, in a huddled heap, and dead, forever past harming any living creature.

      And yet, as was afterward discovered by examination, he had not been touched by the bullet which Frank had fired up at him. He had been startled by the shot, had lost his balance, and had fallen to his death.

      Frank was trying to restore Lona to consciousness when he heard the rattle of rifle and revolver shots, the sound coming down faintly from above. Following it there was wild and continued cheering, and still more shooting.

      "It sounds like a battle," thought the boy. "I believe the outlaws have been attacked."

      He was right. For all that he fancied he had thrown his pursuers from the trail, Black Harry had been tracked to Cade's Canyon. The guard was captured while the assault on the hut was taking place, and then Hank Kildare, at the head of the trailers, swept down on the astonished braves.

      The battle was short and sharp, and but few of the outlaws escaped. Some were killed, and some were captured.

      One of the captured ruffians told them where to find Black Harry, Frank and the kidnaped girl.

      Lariats were tied together, and a line was made long enough to reach the bottom of the chasm.

      Lona Dawson was drawn up first, and then Frank tied the rope about the body of his double, permitting them to draw him to the top of the bluff. Frank came up last, and he found the men from Elreno in a rather dazed condition.

      "Is thar two Black Harrys?" asked one, staring at the dead boy, and then at his living counterpart.

      "Moses in der pulrushes!" groaned Solomon Rosenbum, who was on hand. "There vas only von, und he vas deat, vid der accent on der deat. Dat leds me oudt, und I don'd vas aple to take him pack East vor murter."

      "Take him back East for murder?" questioned a man. "What do you mean by that."

      "I mean that he is wanted in the East, and I have been tracking him for the last two months," said the supposed Jew, suddenly speaking without a trace of accent.

      "Who are you?"

      "I am Burchel Jones, a detective."

      "Burchel Jones! Impossible! Jones was the fellow who arrested this boy for Black Harry."

      "That fellow was not Burchel Jones; he is an impostor, and he was working for the reward offered for Black Harry's capture. If he is in Elreno when we get back there, I shall have a little settlement with him."

      Then Lona Dawson, who had recovered, told them how bravely Frank had fought for her, and the boy suddenly found himself regarded as a hero by the very ones who had been fierce to lynch him a short time before.

      "Hurro!" cried Barney Mulloy, who was on hand. "Oi knew ye'd come out at th' top av th' hape in th' ind, Frankie, be b'y!"

      And the delighted Irish boy gave his friend a "bear's hug."

      It was a triumphant party that returned to Elreno. Lona Dawson was restored to her wounded father, the body of Black Harry was placed on exhibition, and Frank was cheered and stared at by admiring eyes wherever he went.

      The bogus detective heard what had happened in time to leave the place and avoid meeting the real Burchel Jones.

      Robert Dawson did not die from his wound. He recovered in time, but, as he lay on his bed, with his daughter restored to him, he held out a hand to Frank, who had been summoned to that room, saying, fervently:

      "God bless you, young man! My daughter has told me everything. You shall be rewarded by anything it is in my power to give you."

      Frank laughed, his face flushing, as he gallantly returned:

      "Mr. Dawson, I have already been rewarded by the pleasure it gave me to be of service to your daughter in a time of peril."

      A week later Frank and his friends continued their journey westward, where fresh adventures awaited them.

      CHAPTER XIII.

       A THRILLING RESCUE.

       Table of Contents

      "No, sir!" roared Professor Scotch, banging his clinched fist down on a rough wooden table that stood in the only "hotel" of the town of Blake, Utah. "I say no, and that settles it!"

      "But," urged Frank, who sat opposite the little professor at the table, "wait till I tell you——"

      "You have told me enough, sir! I do not want to hear any more!"

      Barney, who sat near, could restrain his merriment no longer.

      "Begobs!" he cried; "th' profissor is on his ear this toime, Frankie, me b'y. He manes business."

      "That's exactly what I do!" came explosively from the little man's lips. "It is my turn now. You boys have been having your own way right along, and you have done nothing but run into scrape after scrape. It is amazing the troubles you have been into and the dangers you have passed through. Several times you have placed me in deadly peril, and but for my coolness, my remarkable nerve, my extremely level head, I must have been killed or gone insane long ago."

      Both boys laughed.

      "Allow me to compliment you on your remarkable nerve, professor," chuckled Frank. "You are bold as a lion—nit."

      The final expressive word was spoken in an "aside," but the professor heard it, as Frank had intended he should.

      "Laugh, laugh, laugh!" shouted the little man, in a hoarse tone of voice. "The time has passed when you can have fun with me; I decline to permit you to have fun with me. I have decided to assert myself, and right here is where I do it."

      "Ye do thot, don't yez, profissor!" cried the Irish lad, in a way that made the little man squirm.

      "You can bet I do! Judging by the past, any one would think Frank my guardian. They'd never dream I was his. He has gone where he pleased, and done as he pleased. Look where he has dragged me! Where is this forsaken hole on the face of the earth? It's somewhere in Utah."

      "Blake is very easily located," said Frank, glibly. "Any schoolboy will tell you it is in Eastern Utah, on the line of the Grand Western Railway, at the point where the railroad crosses Green River. You are a little rusty on such things, professor, and so you fancy everybody else is as much a back number as yourself."

      "Back number!" howled the little man, leaping into the air and dashing his hat to the floor. "That is more than I can endure. You have passed the limit."

      Neither of the boys had ever before seen him so far forget his dignity without greater provocation, and they were not a little surprised.

      "Steady, professor," laughed Frank. "Don't fly off the handle."

      "Howld onter yersilf, profissor," chuckled Barney. "Av ye don't, ye may get broken."

      "This is terrible!" cried the professor, his face crimson with anger. "Frank Merriwell, you are an ungrateful, reckless, heartless young rascal!"

      "Oh, professor!"

      Frank seemed deeply touched. He grew sober in a moment, out came his handkerchief, he carried it to his eyes, and he began to sob in a pitiful way.

      Behind the handkerchief the mischievous lad was laughing still.

      The professor rushed about the room a moment, and then he stopped, staring at Frank and beginning to look distressed.

      "That I—should—ev-ev-ever live—to—see—this sad—hour!" sobbed the boy, with the handkerchief to his eyes. "That I should be called ungrateful and heartless by a man I have loved and honored like—like a—a sister! If my poor uncle had not died——"

      "Goodness knows you cannot feel worse about that than I do!" came from the little man's lips. "I suppose he fancied he was doing me a favor when he appointed me your guardian and directed that I should accompany you as your tutor

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