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thought Ned, "and it wouldn't surprise me in the least to know that he had something to do with his disappearance. Well, if he has gone for good, I don't see what I can do about it. I don't see why I should cry over it, either, for I am master of a cool forty thousand a year. I little thought, while I was handling the yard-stick in old Robbins's store and working for starvation wages, that I should ever be a millionaire. Forty thousand a year! How in the world am I going to spend it, I'd like to know! Of course I must go to Europe – all the gentlemen go there – but first I'll go to Foxboro' and lord it over some of those fellows who used to slight me because I was nothing but a dry-goods clerk. But, after all, I don't know that I blame them. I shall not renew my association with those clerks, for a millionaire ought to be particular in regard to the company he keeps."

      "Now make up your mind where you want to go and we will leave Brownsville to-night," repeated Uncle John, slapping his son familiarly on the shoulder and breaking in upon his meditations. "We have nobody but ourselves to look out for now that George is gone, and we can do as we please."

      "But he might escape and come back, you know," suggested Ned.

      "I hardly think – I am afraid he will not be so fortunate," replied Uncle John. "Those cattle-thieves are a desperate lot of men."

      "Don't you think you ought to go back to the rancho and make some effort to find him?" inquired Ned.

      He asked the question simply to see what answer his father would make, and not because he wanted him to act upon the hint thus thrown out.

      "And put myself in danger for nothing?" exclaimed Uncle John. "That would be the height of folly. How could I help him while he is across the river in the hands of those desperadoes? They may have made an end of him already. Mr. Gilbert, who thoroughly understands the temper of the people in that settlement, advised me to go away for a while, and I shall certainly do so."

      "And when we come back I shall be the lawful master of the finest estate in Texas," exclaimed Ned, with great enthusiasm.

      "I confess that it looks that way now," replied Uncle John, who, although he was as highly elated as Ned was, controlled himself better. "Have you any idea what you will do with your wealth?"

      "I know one thing," answered Ned, "and that is, I'll not live in Texas. I'll leave an agent in charge of the ranche and go up north where white folks live. They won't snub me because I wear good clothes. Who's there?"

      The bell-boy, who knocked at that moment, evidently took this question for an invitation to enter. At any rate he opened the door, saying as he thrust his head into the apartment —

      "A gentleman to see you, sir."

      Uncle John and Ned jumped to their feet in the greatest surprise and consternation. The former could not have told just what he stood in fear of, but Ned could. He fully expected to see the owner of that stolen horse stalk into the room; but if that gentleman had made his appearance, Ned would not have been so utterly confounded as he was at the sight of the visitor who came in. Uncle John and Ned took just one look at him and dropped back into their chairs without speaking. It was George Ackerman. He looked as natural as life, and was apparently none the worse for his short sojourn among the cattle-thieves. His presence there proved quite conclusively that Ned was not yet lawful master of the finest estate in Texas.

      CHAPTER III

      THE CONTRA-GUERRILLAS

      The last time we saw George Ackerman he was dressed in his cousin's nobby suit, and was riding away from camp between the two cattle-thieves, whom Philip, his uncle's cook, had placed upon his trail. He was their prisoner, and they seemed determined to keep him too; for one of them, in order to prevent all attempts at escape, held fast to one end of a lariat, the other end of which was tied around the neck of George's horse.

      The boy was not frightened in the least – he never was, unless he saw something to be frightened at – but he was anxious and uneasy, as any body would have been under the same circumstances. He began to believe now, that Springer told the truth; and that his capture was the result of the plans his uncle had laid to get him out of the way, so that Ned could lay claim to the property. But beyond that he was all in the dark.

      As long as George remained within sight of the camp he turned in his saddle, now and then, to look back at the boys from whom he had been so unexpectedly separated. They were disconsolate enough, if one might judge by their actions. Gus Robbins was standing in the edge of the timber gazing stupidly after the prisoner and his captors, as if he had not yet been able to make up his mind, whether he was awake or dreaming; and Ned was walking back and forth, wringing his hands and making other demonstrations indicative of a very agitated state of mind.

      "There is nothing for him to cry over," thought George, who was surprised at his cousin's want of pluck. "He can't get lost if he tries; and he will be sure to meet his father in Brownsville. He had no business to shoot those cattle, for I told him he would get himself into trouble by it."

      When the camp and its two unhappy occupants had been left out of sight behind the swells, George turned to take a good look at his captors. They were dressed in Mexican costumes; but for all that, he knew that they were Americans. They were a hard-looking pair; and if he had had any intention of appealing to their sympathies, one glance at their faces would have been enough to drive all such thoughts out of his mind.

      "I always heard that the Ackermans was a plucky lot, but I didn't allow to find a kid like you so mighty cool an' keerless like," said one of the men, after he had looked in vain for some signs of alarm in his captive's countenance. "Look here! You said that you knew all about Fletcher, an' I ax you again, who told you about him?"

      "And I give you the same reply that I did before," returned George, "It's my own business. Were you with Fletcher on the night he made the attack on our rancho?"

      "Mebbe we was, an' mebbe we wasn't," replied the man.

      "I hardly thought you would confess it," said George. "Philip thought he was doing a very smart thing when he left that door open, so that you could go into the house; didn't he?"

      George's captors seemed greatly astonished at this question. They stared fixedly at him for a moment and then they looked at each other.

      "You didn't succeed in getting the money-box, did you?" continued George, who knew that the men would have given something handsome to know where he received all his information. "You got nothing at the ranche but a horse – a dark chestnut with white mane and tail, and four white feet."

      "He is over the river now," said one of the men, who was so amazed, that he spoke before he thought what he was doing.

      "I know it."

      "Wal, go on. What else do you know?"

      "I know that you expect to receive a thousand head of fat cattle, as your reward, for making a prisoner of me. You can tell Fletcher, for his satisfaction, that the next time he wants to put a spy into any of the ranches in this country, he had better select a more reliable man than that Mexican cook. There!" added George, to himself, "If I am not very much mistaken, Philip is in a fair way to see as much trouble as he has tried to get me into."

      There could be no doubt about that, if the expression on the faces of the boy's captors, was any index of the thoughts that were passing through their minds. He had purposely aroused their suspicions against the cook, and the significant glances they exchanged with each other, had a volume of meaning in them.

      "When I get home, the first thing I do will be to tell Jake to kick Philip out of the house," said George, again communing with himself. "Of course, Fletcher will want to know who told me all these things, and it would never do to say that I got my information from Springer. I say," he added, aloud, "where do you fellows make your home, anyhow?"

      "You'll see when you get thar," replied one of the men.

      "I suppose you were with Fletcher on the night he jumped down on me and stampeded my cattle, were you not?" continued George.

      "Mebbe we was, an' mebbe we wasn't."

      "I know who was there."

      "Who?"

      "Springer. He used to herd cattle for my father, you know, and I

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