LITMIR.BIZ

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of peril, and not through fear, he stood quite still and did nothing.

      Without a shout or a sound, the man in black leaped toward the end of the station, where a saddled and bridled horse was hitched to a post.

      One slash of the knife set the horse free, and the desperate man leaped to the creature's back, riding rapidly away.

      Frank had swiftly risen to his feet, and several persons, who had witnessed the blow, crowded anxiously around him, asking how badly he was hurt.

      "It's nothing but a scratch in the shoulder, for I saw it coming, and dodged. Don't mind me. Don't let that man get away!"

      "He won't get very fur on that hoss," said the owner of the animal. "She's lame in her off hind foot, an' she'll tarnal soon give out if he pushes her like that."

      "Still he will get away if he is not immediately pursued. Come—who'll follow?"

      "Into this carriage, boy!" cried a man. "I have a little horse here that will give him a hot chase. Come on!"

      "I am the constable," said another man, with great dignity. "I'll foller as soon as I can get a boss saddled."

      Realizing that the boy was not seriously hurt, half of those who had been lingering about the station made a rush to join in the pursuit of the murderous stranger. All kinds of teams were pressed into use, and the road was soon filled with a string of pursuers.

      Looking back anxiously, the man in black saw them coming, and he grated his teeth fiercely, for he had already discovered that the horse he had appropriated was seriously lamed.

      "Let 'em come!" he cried. "I'll not be taken easily! I have the key to a fortune in my pocket, and I will escape with it, if it is in me to do so!"

      Ruthlessly and cruelly he pricked the lame mare with the keen point of the knife, which he still held in his hand, and a trail of dust rose behind him.

      Out of the village and into the country the lame horse bore the fugitive. Not far from Fardale was a big stone quarry, and, by chance, the man had selected the road which skirted the jagged hole in the ground.

      His pursuers were gaining on him, and he continued to use the knife mercilessly as the horse bore him along the road past the quarry.

      Of a sudden a large dog bounded into the road in front of the man in black, and the horse which the man bestrode gave a snort and whirled sideways, coming with a crash against the rail which ran along by the roadside.

      At that point the rail was somewhat rotten, and a shriek of horror broke from the man's lips as he saw it break. He made one desperate effort to spring from the saddle and escape going down into the quarry with the horse, but the pursuers were dismayed to see man and beast disappear into the yawning hole.

      "He won't get away to-day, my boy," said the man in the foremost carriage, at whose side was Frank. "We'll find him down at the bottom of the quarry, dead as a flounder."

      Finding a place to hitch the horse at the side of the road, the man did so, and they went forward together, while the other pursuers kept coming up.

      Reaching the point where the man and horse had fallen into the quarry, they looked down.

      Amid the jagged rocks far below were two motionless forms.

      "Come," said the man; "we'll go down there by the regular road."

      They passed round the quarry till they found a road that wound downward till it reached the bottom. By this road they descended, with scores of others at their heels.

      When they came to the man and the horse, great was their astonishment to hear the man moaning and to see him open his eyes and look at them.

      "Why, the critter an't dead yet!" exclaimed the constable. "I think it's my sollum duty to arrest him on the spot."

      Frank quickly knelt by the side of the mysterious man, who faintly whispered:

      "So I didn't kill you, boy. Well, I have crimes enough to answer for. The ring is here in my vest pocket. Take it. It will never do me any good now."

      Frank quickly extracted the ring from the man's pocket, and slipped it upon his finger.

      "I am dying," murmured the man.

      "Perhaps not. We'll have you taken back to town, and see what a doctor can do for you."

      "No use; I wouldn't live to get there. My time has come. The hidden mine will never reveal its riches to me."

      "He is really dying," whispered some one in Frank's ear. "He will not live ten minutes. The wonder is that he is alive at all."

      "Who are you? and what is the mystery connected with this ring?" hurriedly asked the boy.

      "Never mind my name," came faintly from the lips of the dying man. "It would do you no good to know it. I have lived a wild life—a wicked life. This is the end! Fate brought me to Fardale—fate showed me the ring that bore the chart to the lost mine."

      The man stopped and closed his eyes, while the ghastly pallor spread over his face.

      A hand held a bottle of liquor to his lips, and he swallowed a few drops, which gave him a few more moments of life. Again his eyes unclosed.

      "Once I committed murder for that ring," he whispered. "I killed the Mexican who possessed it. It was a crazy hermit who cut that map on the stone. He discovered one of the richest mines in Arizona, and a fantasy of his deranged brain led him to cut the chart upon the stone, for he cared nothing for the gold himself. When he died, he gave the ring to a Mexican who attended him in his last moments, telling him its secret. In Tombstone the Mexican got drunk and boasted of his riches, showing the ring. That night I killed the greaser, and obtained the ring. I had a partner, and he stole the ring from me. How he came to part with it, and how it fell into the hands of your father, boy, is something I do not know."

      He was exhausted, and his voice sunk till Frank could not catch the words. Then he lay still, short breaths fluttering his lips.

      Frank feared the man would not rally again, but he did, and the boy panted:

      "Tell me where this mine is located. What part of Arizona does the chart represent?"

      With a last great effort, the dying man whispered:

      "Northwest from Tombstone—lies the—Santa—Catarina—mountains. There—there—is——"

      His eyes grew glassy—the last faint breath fluttered over his lips—the man of mystery was dead.

      The man in black was buried in the cemetery just outside Fardale village, and the small stone which Frank Merriwell caused to be placed at the head of his grave bears the word "Unknown."

      The man had died just as his lips were about to reveal the location of the country depicted by the chart cut on the black stone of the ring that had caused so much trouble. He had mentioned the Santa Catarina mountains, but he had not told what part of the large range the chart depicted.

      "If he had lived thirty seconds longer, I should have learned his secret—should have known how to reach the lost mine by aid of the chart. Now——"

      "You may be able to reach the mine after all," said Bart, encouragingly. "You have the ring, and you know its value. When you leave school, you may go West and search for your mine, for it certainly belongs to you now. You may find somebody in the Santa Catarina region that will recognize this portion of the country depicted here."

      "Long before that the mine may be found by some one else."

      "It is possible, but hardly probable. If it were so easy to find, that man would not have made such desperate attempts to obtain possession of the ring."

      "Well, I am not going to kick. I have the ring, and his knife did not end my life, as it would if I had not dodged. He slit open my sleeve from the shoulder to the elbow, and brought the blood."

      "Oh, you're a lucky dog," laughed Bart. "You are sure to come out on top every time."

      Wat

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