Frank Merriwell's Triumph; Or, The Disappearance of Felicia

by Burt L. Standish

  CHAPTER I.

  A COMPACT OF RASCALS.

  They were dangerous-looking men, thirty of them in all, armed to theteeth. They looked like unscrupulous fellows who would hesitate at nodesperate deed. Some of them had bad records, and yet they had servedFrank Merriwell faithfully in guarding his mine, the Queen Mystery,against those who tried to wrest it from him by force and fraud.

  Frank had called these men together, and he now stood on his doorstep inMystery Valley, Arizona, looking them over. Bart Hodge, Frank's collegechum and companion in many adventures, was behind him in the doorway.Little Abe, a hunchback boy whom Merriwell had rescued from ruffians ata mining camp and befriended for some time, peered from the cabin. Merrysmiled pleasantly as he surveyed the men.

  "Well, boys," he said, "the time has come when I shall need yourservices no longer."

  Some of them stirred restlessly and looked regretful.

  "To tell you the truth," Frank went on, "I am genuinely sorry to partwith you. You have served me well. But I need you no more. My enemieshave been defeated, and the courts have recognized my rightful claim tothis property. You fought for me when it was necessary. You risked yourlives for me."

  "That's what we is paid for, Mr. Merriwell," said Tombstone Phil, theleader. "We tries to earn our money."

  "You have earned it, every one of you. I remember the day we stood off ahundred painted ruffians in the desert; I remember the hunting of JimRednight; and I don't forget that when Hodge and I stood beneath a treenear Phoenix, with ropes about our necks, that you charged to the rescueand saved us. Have I paid you in a satisfactory manner?"

  "Sure thing!"

  "You bet!"

  "That's whatever!"

  "You don't hear us kick any!"

  "We're satisfied!"

  These exclamations were uttered by various men in the gathering.

  "I am glad to know, boys," declared Frank, "that you are all satisfied.If you must leave me, I like to have you leave feeling that you havebeen treated on the square."

  "Mr. Merriwell," said Mexican Bob, a wizened little man, "I ken chew upthe galoot what says you ain't plumb on the level. Thar's nary a critterin the bunch whatever makes a murmur about you."

  "You can see, boys," Frank went on, "that I have no further use for youas a guard to my property. If any of you wish to remain, however, Ishall try to find employment for you. There's work enough to be donehere, although it may not be the sort of work you care to touch. I needmore men in the mine. You know the wages paid. It's hard work and maynot be satisfactory to any of you."

  The men were silent.

  "As we are parting," Merry added, "I wish to show my appreciation of youin a manner that will be satisfactory to you all. For that purpose Ihave something to distribute among you. Hand them out, Hodge."

  Bart stepped back and reappeared some moments later loaded down with alot of small canvas pouches.

  "Come up one at a time, boys," invited Merry, as he began taking thesefrom Bart. "Here you are, Phil."

  He dropped the first pouch into Tombstone Phil's hand, and it gave fortha musical, clinking sound that made the eyes of the men sparkle.

  One by one they filed past the doorstep, and into each outstretched handwas dropped a clinking canvas pouch, each one of which was heavy enoughto make its recipient smile.

  When the last man had received his present, they gathered again in frontof the door, and suddenly Tombstone Phil roared:

  "Give up a youp, boys, for the whitest man on two legs, FrankMerriwell!"

  They swung their hats in the air and uttered a yell that awoke theechoes of the valley.

  "Thanks, men," said Merry quietly. "I appreciate that. As long as youdesire to remain in Mystery Valley you are at liberty to do so; when youwish to depart you can do so, also. So-long, boys. Good luck to you."

  He waved his hand, and they answered with another sharp yell. Then theyturned and moved away, declaring over and over among themselves that hewas the "whitest man." One of those who repeated this assertion a numberof times was a leathery, bowlegged, bewhiskered individual in greasygarments known as Hull Shawmut. If anything, Shawmut seemed more pleasedand satisfied than his companions.

  The only one who said nothing at all was Kip Henry, known as "theRoper," on account of his skill in throwing the lariat. Henry was thin,supple, with a small black mustache, and in his appearance was somewhatdandified, taking great satisfaction in bright colors and in fancifulMexican garments. He wore a peaked Mexican hat, and his trousers wereslit at the bottom, Mexican style. Several times Shawmut glanced atHenry, noting his lack of enthusiasm. When the Thirty retired to theircamp down the valley and lingered there, Henry sat apart by himself,rolling and smoking a cigarette and frowning at the ground.

  "What's the matter, pard?" asked Shawmut, clapping him on the shoulder."Didn't yer git yer little present?"

  "Yes, I got it," nodded the Roper.

  "Then what's eating of yer?"

  "Well, Shawmut, I am a whole lot sorry this yere job is ended. That'swhat's the matter. It certain was a snap."

  "That's right," agreed Kip, sitting down near the other. "We gits goodpay for our time, and we works none to speak of. It certain was a snap.Howsomever, such snaps can't last always, partner. Do you opine we'vegot any kick coming?"

  "The only thing I was a-thinking of," answered Kip, "is that here wefights to keep this yere mine for him, we takes chances o' being calledoutlaws, and--now the job is done--we gits dropped. You knows and Iknows that this yere mine is a mighty rich one. Why don't we have theluck to locate a mine like that? Why should luck always come to othergaloots?"

  "I ain't explaining that none," confessed Shawmut, as he filled hispipe. "Luck is a heap singular. One night I bucks Jimmy Clerg's bankdown in Tucson. I never has much luck hitting the tiger, nohow. Thisnight things run just the same. I peddles and peddles till I gits downto my last yeller boy. If I loses that I am broke. I has a good hoss andoutfit, and so I says, 'Here goes.' Well, she does go. Jim's dealer herakes her in. I sets thar busted wide. When I goes into that place I haseight hundred in my clothes. In less than an hour I has nothing.

  "Clerg he comes ambling along a-looking the tables over. I sees him, andI says: 'Jim, how much you let me have on my hoss and outfit?' 'What'sit wurth?' says he. 'Three hundred, cold,' says I. 'That goes,' says he.And he lets me have the coin. Then I tackles the bank again, and I keepsright on peddling. Yes, sir, I gits down once more to my last coin. Thisis where I walks out of the saloon on my uppers. All the same, I betsthe last red. I wins. Right there, Kip, my luck turns. Arter that itdidn't seem I could lose nohow. Pretty soon I has all the chips stackedup in front of me. I cashes in once or twice and keeps right on pushingher. I knows luck is with me, and I takes all kinds o' long chances.Well, pard, when I ambles out of the place at daylight the bank isbusted and I has all the ready coin of the joint. That's the way luckworks. You gits it in the neck a long time; but bimeby, when she turns,she just pours in on yer."

  "But it don't seem any to me that my luck is going to turn," mutteredthe Roper.

  "Mebbe you takes a little walk with me," said Shawmut significantly."Mebbe I tells you something some interesting."

  They arose and walked away from the others, so that their talk might notbe heard.

  "Did you ever hear of Benson Clark?" asked Shawmut.

  "Clark? Clark? Why, I dunno. Seems ter me I hears o' him."

  "I knows him well once. He was a grubstaker. But his is hard luck anda-plenty of it. All the same, he keeps right on thinking sure that luckchanges for him. Something like two years ago I loses track of him. Inever sees him any since. But old Bense he hits it rich at last.Somewhere in the Mazatzals he located a claim what opens rich as mud.Some Indians off their reservation finds him there, and he has to runfor it. He gits out of the mountains, but they cuts him off and shootshim up. His luck don't do him no good, for he croaks. But right here iswhere another lucky gent comes in. This other gent he happens along andfinds old Bens
e, and Bense he tells him about the mine and gives him amap. Now, this other lucky gent he proposes to go and locate that mine.He proposes to do this, though right now he owns two of the best minesin the whole country. Mebbe you guesses who I'm talking about."

  "Why," exclaimed Henry, "you don't mean Mr. Merriwell, do yer?"

  "Mebbe I does," answered Shawmut, glancing at his companion slantwise."Now, what do yer think of that?"

  "What do I think of it?" muttered the Roper. "Well, I will tell yer. Ithink it's rotten that all the luck is to come to one gent. I think Mr.Merriwell has a-plenty and he can do without another mine."

  "Just what I thinks," agreed Shawmut. "I figgers it out that way myself.But he has a map, and that shows him where to find old Bense's claim."

  "See here," said Kip, stopping short, "how do you happen to know so muchabout this?"

  "Well, mebbe I listens around some; mebbe I harks a little; mebbe Ifinds it out that way."

  "I see," said Henry, in surprise; "but I never thinks it o' you. Youseem so satisfied-like I reckons you don't bother any."

  "Mebbe I plays my cards slick and proper," chuckled Shawmut. "You sees Idon't care to be suspected now."

  "What do you propose to do?"

  "Well, partner, if I tells you, does you opine you're ready to stick byme?"

  "Share even and I am ready for anything," was the assurance.

  "Mr. Merriwell he proposes hiking out soon to locate that thar claim o'Benson Clark's. I am none in a hurry about getting away from here, so Ilingers. When he hikes I follers. When he locates the claim mebbe he hasto leave it; mebbe I jump it; mebbe I gits it recorded first. If hedon't suspect me any, if he don't know I'm arter it, he don't hurry anyabout having it recorded. That gives me time to get ahead of him. Ifyou're with me in this, we goes even on the claim. It's a heap resky,for this yere Merriwell is dangerous to deal with. Is it settled?"

  "Yere's my hand," said Kip Henry.

  Shawmut clasped the proffered hand, and the compact was made.