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is the cave?"

      "That I cannot tell, for I was blindfolded all the time, except while in the cave where my boy is kept."

      "It is near Mendoza?"

      "It must be within fifty miles of here."

      "Perhaps it is nearer?"

      "Possibly."

      "But you have no means of knowing in which direction it lies?"

      "No."

      "Your only hope is to raise the five hundred dollars?"

      "That is my only hope, and that can scarcely be called a hope, for I must have the money within a day or two, or my boy will be dead."

      "Hum! hum!" coughed the professor. "This is a very unfortunate affair—very unfortunate. I am not a wealthy man, but I——"

      "You will aid me?" shouted the old man, joyously. "Heaven will bless you, sir—Heaven will bless you!"

      "I have not said so—I have not said I would aid you," Scotch hastily said. "I am going to consider the matter—I'll think it over."

      "Then I have no hope."

      "Why not?"

      "If your heart is not opened now, it will never open. My poor boy is lost, and I am ready for death!"

      The old man seemed to break down and sob like a child, burying his face in his hands, his body shaking convulsively.

      Frank made a quick gesture to the others, pressing a finger to his lips as a warning for silence.

      In a moment the old man lifted his face, which seemed wet with tears.

      "My last hope is gone!" he sighed. "And you are travelers—you are rich!"

      He turned to Frank, to whom, with an appealing gesture, he extended a hand that was shaking as if with the palsy.

      "You—surely you will have sympathy with me! I can see by your face and your bearing that you are one of fortune's favorites—you are rich. A few dollars——"

      "My dear man," said Frank, quite calmly, "I should be more than delighted to aid you, if you had told the truth."

      The old man fell back. He was standing fairly in the light which shone from the window.

      "What do you mean?" he hoarsely asked. "Do you think I have been lying to you—do you fancy such a thing?"

      "I fancy nothing; I know you have lied!"

      "Frank!" cried Professor Scotch, in amazement.

      "Shimminy Gristmas!" gurgled Hans Dunnerwust, in a dazed way.

      The manner of the old man changed in a twinkling.

      "You are insolent, boy! You had better be careful!"

      "Now you threaten," laughed Frank. "Well, I expected as much from a beggar, a fraud, and a scoundrel!"

      Professor Scotch and Hans fell into each other's arms, overcome with excitement and wonder.

      Frank was calm and deliberate, and he did not lift his voice above the tone used in ordinary conversation.

      Still another step did the man fall back, and then a grating snarl broke from his lips, and he seemed overcome with rage. He leaned forward, hissing:

      "You insulting puppy!"

      "The truth must always seem like an insult to a scoundrel."

      "Do you dare?"

      "What is there to fear?"

      "Much."

      Frank snapped his fingers.

      "Your tune has changed in the twinkling of an eye. You are no longer the heart-broken father, begging for his boy; but you have flung aside some of the mask, and exposed your true nature."

      Professor Scotch saw this was true, and he was quaking with fear of what might follow this remarkable change.

      As for Hans, it took some time for ideas to work their way through his brain, and he was still in a bewildered condition.

      For a moment the stranger was silent, seeming to choke back words which rose in his throat. Finally, he cried:

      "Oh, very well! I did not expect to get anything out of you; but it would have been far better for you if I had. Now——"

      "What?"

      Frank asked the question, as the speaker faltered.

      "You shall soon learn what. I am going to leave you, but we shall see more of each other, don't forget that."

      "Wait—do not be in a hurry. I am not satisfied till I—see your face!"

      With the final words, Frank made a leap and a sweep of his hand, clutching the white beard the man wore, and tearing it from his face!

      The beard was false!

      The face exposed was smoothly shaven and weather-tanned.

      "Ha!" cried Frank, triumphantly. "I thought so! This poor old man is Carlos Merriwell, my villainous cousin!"

      CHAPTER V.

       KIDNAPPED

       Table of Contents

      As our old readers know, Carlos Merriwell was Frank's deadly enemy, although they were blood cousins.

      Carlos was the son of Asher Merriwell, the brother of Frank's father.

      At the time of his death, Asher Merriwell was supposed to be a crusty old bachelor, a man who had never cared for women and had never married. But he had not been a woman-hater all his life, and there was a romance in his career.

      Asher Merriwell had been snared by the wiles of an adventuress, and he had married her. By this woman he had a son, but the marriage had been kept a secret, so that when she deceived him and they quarreled they were able to separate and live apart without the fact becoming public that Merriwell had been married.

      Fortunately the woman died without openly proclaiming herself as the wife of Asher Merriwell. In her veins there had been Spanish blood, and her son was named Carlos.

      After the death of his wife, Asher Merriwell set about providing for and educating the boy, although Carlos continued to bear his mother's maiden name of Durcal.

      As Carlos grew up he developed into a wild and reckless young blade, making no amount of trouble and worry for his father.

      Asher Merriwell did his best for the boy, but there was bad blood in the lad's veins, and it cost the man no small sums to settle for the various "sports" in which Carlos participated.

      Finally Carlos took a fancy to strike out and see the world for himself, and he disappeared without telling whither he was going.

      After this, he troubled his father at intervals until he committed a crime in a foreign country, where he was tried, convicted, and imprisoned for a long term of years.

      This was the last straw so far as Asher Merriwell was concerned, and he straightway proceeded to disown Carlos, and cut him off without a cent.

      It was afterward reported that Carl Durcal had been shot by guards while attempting to escape from prison, and Asher Merriwell died firmly believing himself to be sonless.

      At his death, Asher left everything to Frank Merriwell, the son of his brother, and provided that Frank should travel under the guardianship of Professor Scotch, as the eccentric old uncle believed travel furnished the surest means for "broadening the mind."

      But Carlos Merriwell had not been killed, and he had escaped from prison. Finding he had been cut off without a dollar and everything had been left to Frank, Carlos was furious, and he swore that his cousin should not live to enjoy

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