Boy Scouts in Mexico
G. Harvey Ralphson

BOY SCOUTS IN MEXICO
Or
On Guard with Uncle Sam
By
Scout Master, G. Harvey Ralphson




Author of
"Boy Scouts in the Canal Zone; or
The Plot Against Uncle Sam."
"Boy Scouts in the Philippines; or
The Key to the Treaty Box."
"Boy Scouts in the Northwest; or
Fighting Forest Fires."




CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.     Planning a Vacation
II.    A Member of the Wolf Patrol
III.   The Wolf Advises Flight
IV.    The Wolf Talks in Code
V.     The Wolf in the Bear's Bed
VI.    Two Black Bears in Trouble
VII.   Signals on the Mountain
VIII.  A Strange Disappearance
IX.    About the Third Suspect
X.     The Wolf Meets a Panther
XI.    Black Bear and Diplomat
XII.   Wolf and Panther after Bear
XIII.  Captured the Wrong Boy
XIV.   The Case is Well Stated
XV.    Accusing Each Other
XVI.   Wolves on the Mountain
XVII.  Plenty of Black Bears
XVIII. Fremont and the Renegade
XIX.   What was Found Underground
XX.    Black Bears to the Rescue
XXI.   Wolves Becoming Dangerous
XXII.  The Call in the Rain
XXIII. Some Unexpected Arrivals
XXIV.  The Story of the Crime
XXV.   Ready for the Canal Zone



DEDICATION.
This book is dedicated to the Boys and
Girls of America, in the fond hope that
herein they will find pleasure, instruction
and inspiration; that they may increase and
grow in usefulness, self-reliance, patriotism
and unselfishness, and ever become fonder
and fonder of their country and its insti-
tutions, of Nature and her ways, is the
cherished hope and wish of the author.
G. Harvey Ralphson,
Scout Master




BOY SCOUTS IN MEXICO; OR, ON GUARD WITH UNCLE SAM.
CHAPTER I.
PLANNING A VACATION.

"After all, it is what's in a fellow's head, and
not what's in his pocket, that counts in the long 
run."

"That's true enough!  At least it proved so
in our case.  That time in the South we had
nothing worth mentioning in our pockets, and
yet we had the time of our lives."

"I don't think you ever told us about that."

"That was the time we went broke at Nash-
ville, Tennessee.  We missed our checks, in
some unaccountable way, yet we had our heads
with us, and we rode the Cumberland and Ohio
rivers down to the Mississippi at Cairo, in a
houseboat of our own construction."

The speaker, George Fremont, a slender boy
of seventeen, with spirited black eyes and a 
resolute face, sat back in his chair and laughed
at the memory of that impecunious time, while
the others gathered closer about him.

Fremont was ostensibly in the employ of
James Cameron, the wealthy speculator, but
was regarded by that worthy gentleman as an
adopted son rather than merely as a worker in
his office force.  Seven years before, Mr. Cam-
eron had become interested in the bright-faced
newsboy, and had taken him into his own home,
where he had since been treated as a member
of the family.

"Went broke in the South, did you?" asked
one of the group gathered before an open grate
fire in the luxuriously furnished clubroom of the
Black Bear Patrol, in the upper portion of a
handsome uptown residence, in the city of New
York.  "Go on and tell us about it!  What's
the matter with the Tennessee river, or the Rio
Grande?"

"If you had no money, how did you get your
houseboat?" asked another member of the group.
"Houseboats don't grow on bushes down there,
do they?"

"Oh, we had a little money," George Fre-
mont replied, "but not enough to take us to
Chicago in Pullman coaches.  The joint purse
was somewhere about $10.  We built the house-
boat ourselves, of course."

"Must have been a strange experience, going
broke like that!" one of the others said.  "Hurry
up and tell us about it!  I believe it does a fellow
good, once in a while, to get where he's got to
hustle for himself or go hungry!" he added,
glancing at the others for appreciation of the
sentiment.

"I suppose it does seem funny for some other
fellow to be broke in a desolate land," said
another voice, "but it isn't so funny right there
on the spot.  Little Old New York looked a
long way off when we were in Nashville!"

The speaker, a boy of sixteen, short, and
heavily built, left a window from which he had
been looking out on a wild March night and
joined the group before the fire.  This was Frank
Shaw, familiarly known to his friends of the
Black Bear Patrol, Boy Scouts of America, as
"Fatty" Shaw.  He was the only son of a
wealthy newspaper owner of the big city, and in
training to succeed his father in the editorial chair.

"So, 'Fatty' was there!" exclaimed one of
the group.  "How did you ever get him into
a houseboat?  Must have been a big one!"

"Yes, Frank was there," Fremont replied,
with a friendly glance at young Shaw.  "His
father sent him along to report the expedition."

"I haven't seen any book about it!" broke
in another.

"Frank wrote four postal cards and nine
letters," laughed Fremont.  "The cards were
descriptive of the scenery, and the letters asked
for more money."

"Why can't we get up a trip down the Rio
Grande this spring?" was asked.  "The sol-
diers are on the border, and it would be sporty.
We can stand guard with Uncle Sam."

"I want to know how Fremont got his house-
boat," said one of the lads.  "Perhaps we can
get one in the same way.  It would be fun to
build a boat.  Anyhow, I'm for the Rio Grande
trip this spring.   It would be glorious."

"We might build the boat up in New Mexico,"
said the other, "and drop down to the Gulf.
That is, I guess we could.  The Rio Grande is
shallow, and large boats run only a short dis-
tance up the river, but we might make it with a
small one."

"Let Fremont tell how he built his boat and
got his provisions."

"Well," Fremont began, "we were standing
on the high bridge at Nashville, one day, when
Frank Shaw brought out the brilliant thought.
He was doing a thinking part just then, for there
was a fine chance of our getting good and hungry
before our checks got to us."

"Then he was thinking, all right!" a boy
laughed.

"Frank explained," George continued, "that
the Cumberland river had been placed in the
scenery for the sole purpose of providing trans-
portation for us to the Mississippi.  Then he
went on and told how we could build a flat-boat
with a cabin on it and beat the railroads out
of our fare to Cairo.  So we counted our money,
right there, on the bridge, and started for a lum-
ber yard."

"It was a sporty notion, all right!  Just you
wait until we get a houseboat into the dirty
waters of the Rio Grande!"

"When we got the lumber, we all turned to
and built the boat.  We didn't know much about
boat-building, but we used what few brains we
had and got the boards together in pretty good
shape, considering.  Boy Scouts can do almost
anything now, since they're learning how to help
themselves.  There isn't a boy in the room who
can't build a fire with sticks and cook a good meal
on it.  Also, we'll show, directly, that we can
build a houseboat on the Rio Grande."

"If we are as slow at building the boat as we
are in getting this story out of you, we won't get
started toward the Gulf of Mexico until cold
weather next fall."

"We bought two pine planks sixteen feet
long," Fremont went on, with a smile at the im-
patience of the boys, "a foot wide, and two
inches thick.   We sloped the end so the boat
would be scow-shaped, and bought matched
flooring for the bottom.  We put tar into all
the seams, joints and grooves to keep the water
out.  Then we bought half-inch boards and 
built a cabin at the back end.  That never
leaked, either.  The boat was sixteen feet long
and six feet wide, and the bulliest craft that ever
went anywhere.  When we got to Cairo we sold
it for $6, and that helped some."

"Tell us about your eatings.  We'll have to
cook when we get down to the Rio Grande.  
Where did you get your cook stove?"

"We nailed a piece of sheet-iron on the prow-
board," laughed Fremont, "and put the bottom
section of an old-fashioned coal stove on that.
The hole where the magazine used to fit in made
a place for the frying pan, and the open doors in
front, where the ashpan used to be, took in the
wood we collected along the river.  Cook!  We
could cook anything there."

"What about the sleepings?" was asked.

"That was easy.  We bought an old bedtick
and stuffed it with corn husks, then a pair of
back-number bed-springs, which we put on the
floor of the cabin.  Sleep!  We used to tie up
nights and sleep from nine o'clock until sunrise.

"With the money we had left we bought
bacon, eggs, corn-meal, flour, butter and coffee.
There wasn't much of it, because we had little
money left, but we thought we might get fish
on the way down.  We never got one.  They
wouldn't bite.  Still, we had all we needed to
eat, and found our checks at Cairo.  It took us
eight days to float to the Mississippi.  We were
told at Nashville that we would spill out on the
rapids, that river pirates would rob us, and that
the big boats would run us down or tip us over,
but we never had any trouble at all.  We'll
know better than to listen to such talk when we
set afloat on the Rio Grande this spring."

"It was better than walking," said Frank.

"Frank was frisky as a young colt all the
way down," Fremont added.  "There are little
trading places all along the river banks, kept
mostly by farmers.  When you want to buy
anything you ring a bell left in view for that pur-
pose, and the proprietor comes out of the field
and waits on you.  Frank wanted a record of
being the prize bell-ringer, and once he got to the
boat just a quarter of an inch ahead of a bulldog
with red eyes and bowlegs.

"He holds the world's record for speed,"
Fremont continued, with a friendly glance at
Frank.  "The faster he runs the whiter he gets,
through fear, and he left white streaks behind
him all along the Cumberland river.  Now, how
many of you boys are ready for a trip down the
Rio Grande, and, possibly, over into Mexico?"

Every boy in the room shouted approval of
the plan, and Frank said he would go as war
correspondent.

"It will be exciting, with the soldiers on the
border," Frank said, "and I may make a hit
as special news writer."

All was now excitement in the room, the story
of the trip down to the Mississippi having stirred
the lads' love of out-of-door adventure to the
sizzling point.  They capered about the hand-
some room in a most undignified manner, and
counted the days that would elapse before they
could be on their way.

The club-room was in the residence of Henry
Bosworth, whose son, Jack, was one of the live-
liest members of the Black Bear Patrol.  The
walls of the apartment were hung with guns,
paddles, bows, arrows, foils, boxing-gloves, and
such trophies as the members of the patrol had
been able to bring from field and forest.  Above
the door was a red shield, nearly a yard in diam-
eter, from the raised center of which a Black
Bear pointed an inquisitive nose.  The boys were
all proud of their black bear badge, especially as
no Boy Scout patrol was so well known in New
York for the character and athletic standing of
its members.

On this stormy March night-one long to be
remembered by every member of the party--
there were only five members of the Black Bear
Patrol present.  These were Harry Stevens, son
of a manufacturer of automobiles; Glen Howard,
son of a well-known board of trade man; Jack
Bosworth, son of a leading attorney; George
Fremont, adopted son of James Cameron; and
Frank Shaw, son of a newspaper owner.

They had been planning a trip to the South
all winter, and now, as has been said, the men-
tion of the journey down the Cumberland and
Ohio rivers to the Mississippi had so fired their
enthusiasm for the great out-of-doors that they
were ready to start at short notice.  They took
down maps and hunted up books descriptive of
Mexico, and so busied themselves with the de-
tails of the proposed trip that it was after eleven
when their minds came back to the common
things of life.

"Well," Harry Stevens said, then, "I've
got to go home, but I'll be here to-morrow
night to talk it over.  As Glen says, the Rio
Grande del Norte is a funny kind of a stream,
like all the waterways in that section of the
country, bottom full of sand, and all that, but
I presume we can float a houseboat on it."

"Of course we can," Glen put in.  "It
doesn't take much water to run a houseboat.
If we get stuck, you can wire your father to send
a motor car down after us."

"He would do it, all right," replied Harry.
"We'll take an auto trip across the continent,
some day.  Good night, fellows."

"I must go right now," George Fremont
said.  "Mr. Cameron is at the office, working
over the Tolford estate papers, and he asked me
to call at the rooms and go home with him.
He's always nervous when working over that
case.  The heirs are troublesome, and threat-
ening, I guess."

Frank Shaw walked with George to the near-
est corner, where the latter decided to wait for a
taxicab.  The night had cleared, but the wind
off the Bay was still strong and cold.

"I've a notion to ride down to the office with
you," Frank said, as they waited.  "You could
leave me at home on the way up."

"I wish you would," Fremont said.  "Sky-
scrapers are uncanny after dark, and the elevator
will not be running.  Mr. Cameron will be glad
to see you.  Come on!"

Frank hesitated a minute, and then decided
to go on home, so the boys shook hands and
parted for the night.  Many and many a time
after that night they both had good cause to re-
member how different the immediate future of
one of their number would have been had Frank
obeyed his first impulse and gone to the Cam-
eron building with his friend.

When, at last, Fremont was whirled up to the
front of the Cameron building he saw that there
were lights in the Cameron suite.  Believing that
his benefactor would be there at his work, Fre-
mont let himself in at the big door with a key and
started up the long climb to the sixth floor.

The vacant corridors, as he passed them one
by one, seemed to him to be strangely still.
Even the people employed at night to clean the
halls and offices were not in sight.  The boy
started suddenly half a dozen times on the way
up, started involuntarily, as if some uncanny thing
were spying out upon him from the shadows.

Then he came to the Cameron suite and
thrust his key into the lock of the door.  He had
been told that he would find the door locked
from the inside.  Then, his premonition of
approaching evil by no means cast aside, he
pushed the door open and looked in upon a
sight he was by no means prepared to see.


CHAPTER II.
A MEMBER OF THE WOLF PATROL.

When Fremont opened the door of the Cam-
eron suite, facing the Great White Way, he saw
that the room before him was dark and in dis-
order.  The place was dimly illuminated from
the high-lights on Broadway, and the noises of
the street came stridently up, still, there seemed
to the boy to be a shadowy and brooding hush
over the place.

Remembering his subconscious impressions
of some indefinable evil at hand, the boy shivered
with a strange dread as he switched on the
electrics, half afraid of what they might reveal.
Why was the room so dark and silent?  The
lights had been burning when he looked up from
below, and he had not met Mr. Cameron on his
way up.  Where was the man he had come to
meet?  What evil had befallen him?

At the left of the apartment, from which two
others opened, to right and left, was a small safe,
used privately by Mr. Cameron.  Its usual place
was against the wall, but it had been wheeled
about so that it fronted the windows.  The door
was open, and, although no violence seemed to
have been used, Fremont saw that the interior
was in a mess, papers and books being scattered
about in confusion.

At the right of the room, and near the door-
way opening into the north room, stood a large
flat-topped desk, most of the drawers of which
were now open.  One of the drawers lay on its
side on the floor, and was empty.  The articles
on the desk's top gave evidence of rough hand-
ling.  Papers appeared to be dripping from file-
cases, and a black pool of ink lay on the shining
surface of the desk.

A swivel-chair which had stood in front of
the desk was overturned, and its back now
rested on the rug while its polished castors stuck
up in the air.  At first glance, there seemed to
be no human being in the suite save the fright-
ened boy.

With his mind filled with thoughts of rob-
bery, George was about to rush out into the
corridor and summon assistance, when a slight
sound coming from the north room attracted his
attention.  He hastened thither, and was soon
bending over an office couch upon which lay a
still figure.

There was no longer doubt in the mind of the
boy as to what had taken place there.  Mr.
Cameron had been attacked and the suite ran-
sacked.  The boy recalled the fact that the
rooms had been lighted from within when he
stood on the pavement, and wondered if it would
not be possible, by acting promptly, to capture
the assassin, as he must still be in the building,
possibly hiding in some of the dark corners.

First, however, it was necessary that the
injured man should receive medical help.  Fre-
mont saw a wound on the head, probably dealt
with some blunt instrument, and then moved
toward the telephone in the outer room.  As he
did so the corridor door was opened and a boy of
perhaps fifteen years looked in.  When the in-
truder saw that Fremont was observing him, he
advanced to the connecting doorway.

For quite a minute the boys, standing within
a yard of each other, remained silent.  Fremont
would have spoken, but the accusing look on the
face of the other stopped him.  The intruder
glanced keenly about the two rooms which lay
under his gaze and finally rested on the figure on
the leather office couch.  Then, while Fremont
watched him curiously, he went back to the corri-
dor door and stood against it.

"You've got your nerve!" he said, then.
"You're nervy, but you ain't got good sense,
doin' a think like that with the shades up, the
lights on, an' the door unlocked.  What did
you go an' do it for?"

The sinister meaning of the words took form
in the mind of the boy instantly.  For the first
time he realized that he would be accused of the
crime, and that circumstances would be against
him.  If Mr. Cameron should never recover
sufficiently to give a true account of what had
taken place, he would be arrested and locked up
as the guilty one.

If his benefactor should die without regaining
consciousness, he might even be sent to the
electric chair, and always his name would be
mentioned with horror.  While these thoughts
were passing through the dazed mind of the boy,
there came, also, the keen regret that Frank
Shaw had not accompanied him to the building.
That would have changed everything--just one
witness.

"What did you go an' do it for?" repeated the
intruder.  "What had Mr. Cameron ever done
to you?"

"You think I did it?" said Fremont, as cooly
as his excitement would permit of. "You think I
struck Mr. Cameron and robbed the office?"

"What about all this?" asked the boy,
swinging a hand over the littered rooms, "and
the man on the couch?" he added.  "Who did
it if you didn't?"

"I understand that circumstances are against
me," Fremont said, presently.  "It looks bad
for me, but I didn't do it.  I came here to accom-
pany Mr. Cameron home, and found everything
just as you see it now."

A smile of disbelief flitted over the other's
face, but he did not speak.

"I hadn't been in here half a minute when
you came in," Fremont went on.  "I had just
switched on the lights when I heard a noise in
here and there Mr. Cameron lay.  I was going
to the 'phone when you entered."

"Tell it to the judge," the other said, grimly.

Fremont dropped into a chair and put a
hand to his head.  Of course.  There would
be a judge, and a jury, and a crowded court
room, and columns in the newspapers.  He
had read of such cases, and knew how re-
porters convicted the accused in advance of
action by the courts.

"Where did you get that badge?" the intru-
der demanded, stepping forward as Fremont
lifted his arm.  "The arrow-head badge with
the lettered scroll, I mean."

"I earned it," replied Fremont, covering the
scroll with one hand.  "Can you tell me," he con-
tinued, "what the letters on the scroll say?"

"Be prepared," was the reply.

"Be prepared for what?"

"To do your duty, and to face danger in
order to help others."

"What is the name of your patrol?"

"The Wolf.  And your's is the Black Bear.
I've heard a lot about the boys of that patrol,
a lot that was good."

"And never anything that was bad?"

"Not a thing."

"Well then" said Fremont, extending his
hand, which the other hastened to take, "you've
got to help me now.  You've got to stand by
me.  It is your duty."

"If you belong to the Black Bear Patrol,"
began the boy, "and have all the fine things you
want--as the members of that patrol do--what
did you want to go an' do this thing for?  What's
your name?"

"George Fremont.  What is yours?"

"Jimmie McGraw," was the reply.  "I'm
second assistant to the private secretary to the
woman who scrubs here nights.   She'll be dock-
ing me if I don't get busy," he added, with a
mischievous twinkle in his keen gray eyes.
"Or, worse, she'll be comin' in here an' findin'
out what's goin' on."

"Why didn't one of you come in here before
I got to the top of the stairs?" asked Fremont,
illogically.  "Why did you just happen in here
in time to accuse me of doing this thing?"

"I was just beginnin' on this floor," the boy
replied.  "I wish now that I hadn't come in
here at all.  You know what I've got to do?"

"You mean call the police?" asked Fremont.

"That's what I've got to do."

"I didn't do it.  I wasn't here when it was
done," exclaimed Fremont.  "You've got to
listen to me.  You've got to listen to me, and
believe what I say.  It is your duty to do so."

"What did you want to go and be a Boy
Scout an' do such a thing for?" demanded the
boy.  "Boy Scouts don't protect robbers, or
murderers.  You know I've got to go an' call
the police.  There ain't nothin' else I can do."

"If you call the police now," Fremont
urged, "you'll rob me of every chance to prove
that I am innocent.  They will lock me up in
the Tombs and I'll have no show at all.  Mrs.
Cameron will believe that I did it, and won't
come near me.  If he dies I'll be sent to the elec-
tric chair--and you'll be my murderer."

"What am I goin' to do, then?" demanded
Jimmie.  "I can't go out of the room and testify
that I know nothing about it when the police do
come.  I can't do that for you, even if you do
belong to the Black Bear Patrol.  I wish I'd
never come here to-night.  I wish I'd never
worked for the scrubwoman."

"To face danger in order to help others,"
Fremont repeated, significantly.

"Oh, I know--I know," said Jimmie, fling-
ing his arms out in a gesture of despair.  "I've
heard that before, but what am I to do?"

"Who's your patrol leader?" asked Fre-
mont.  "Go and ask him, or the scoutmaster.
One of them ought to be able to tell you what
you ought to do."

"And you'll take to your legs while I'm
gone " replied Jimmie, with a grin.  "Good
idea that.  For you."

"Here," said Fremont, tossing out his key
to the door, "go on away and lock me in.  I
couldn't get away if I wanted to, and I give you
my honor that I won't try.  Go and find some
one you can talk this thing over with."

Jimmie's eyes brightened with sudden recol-
lection of his patrol leader's love for mysterious
cases--his great liking for detective work.

"Say," he said, presently, "I'll go an' bring
Ned Nestor.  He's my patrol leader, and the
bulliest boy in New York.  He'll know what to
do.  I'll bet he'll come here when he knows
what the trouble is.  And I'll do just as he says."

Jimmie turned toward the door, fingering the
key, his eyes blinking rapidly, then he turned
and faced Fremont.

"If Ned Nestor tells me it ain't no use," he said,
slowly, reluctantly, "I'll have to bring the police.
I'll have to do it anyway, if he tells me to."

"You'll find me here, whoever you bring,"
Fremont replied.  "I won't run away.  What
would be the use of that?  They'd find me and
bring me back.  Go on out and bring in anyone
you want to.  I guess I'll never make the trip to
the Rio Grande we were planning to-night--just
before I came here."

"The Black Bears?" asked Jimmie.  "Were
they planning a trip to the Rio Grande?"

Fremont nodded and pointed toward the
door.

"Anyway," he said, "you can get me out of
this suspense.  You can let me know, if you
want to, whether I am going to the Rio Grande
or to the Tombs."

"Jere!  What a trip that would be."

Without waiting for any further words,
Jimmie darted out of the door and then his steps
were heard on the staircase.  Fremont had never
in all his life had a key turned on him before.
He threw himself into a chair, then, realizing
how selfish he was, he hastened to the north
room and again bent over the injured man.

There appeared to be little change in Mr.
Cameron's condition.  He moved restlessly at
intervals.  Fremont brought water and used
it freely, but its application did not produce
any immediate effect.  Realizing that a surgeon
should be summoned at once, the boy moved
toward the telephone.

However, he found himself unable to bring
himself to the point of communicating with the
surgeon he had in mind.  Questions would be
asked, and he would be suspected, and the inter-
vention of the Boy Scouts could do him no good.  
He understood now that his every hope for the
future centered in the little lad who was hurrying
through the night in quest of Ned Nestor, his
patrol leader.  If these boys of the Wolf Patrol
should decide against him, and the injured man
should not recover, there was the end of life and
of hope.  And only an hour ago he had planned
the wonderful excursion down the Rio Grande.
That time seemed farther away to him now than
the birth of Adam.

And mixed with the horror of the situation
was the mystery of it!   What motive could have
actuate the criminal?  Had the blow been
struck by a personal enemy, in payment of a
grudge, or had robbery been the motive?  Sure-
ly not the latter, for the injured man's valuable
watch and chain, his diamonds, were in place.
Stocks and bonds, good in the hands of any
holder, lay on the floor in front of the open safe.
A robber would have taken both bonds and
jewelry.

The one reasonable theory was that the act
had been committed by some person in quest of
papers kept in the office files.  The manner in
which the desk and safe had been ransacked
showed that a thorough search for something had
been made.  Directly the boy heard Mr. Cam-
eron speaking and hastened to his side.  If he
had regained consciousness, the nightmare of
suspicion would pass away.

"Fremont!  Fremont!  He did it!  He did
it!"

This was worse than all the rest.  Mr. Cam-
eron was still out of his head, but his words
indicated that he might have fallen under the
blow with the impression in his mind that it was
Fremont who had attacked him.  At least the
words he was repeating over and over again
would leave no doubt in the minds of the offi-
cers as to who the guilty party was.  While
Fremont was mentally facing this new danger,
the corridor door was roughly shaken and a
harsh voice demanded admittance.

It was Jim Scoby, the night watchman, a
sullen, brutal fellow who had always shown dis-
like for the boy.  Why should he be asking ad-
mission?  Did he suspect?  But the fellow went
away presently, threatening to call the police
and have the door broken down, and then two
persons stopped in front of the door.

Fremont could hear them talking, but could
not distinguish the words spoken.  It seemed,
however, that one of the voices was that of
Jimmie McGraw, who had gone out after his
patrol leader.

The question in the mind of the waiting boy
now was this:

Had Jimmie brought his patrol leader, or had
he brought an officer of the law?

And there was another question connected
with this one, that depended upon the manner
in which the first one was answered:

Would it be the Black Bear Patrol excursion
down the Rio Grande, the sweet Spring in the
South, or would it be the Tombs prison with its
brutal keepers and blighted lives? 


CHAPTER III.
THE WOLF ADVISES FLIGHT.

The question was settled in a moment, for a
key was thrust into the lock and the door swung
open.  The night watchman had possessed no
key when at the door, for which the boy was
thankful.  Two persons entered and the door
was closed and locked.

"Who's been here?" asked Jimmie, panting
from his long climb.  "We heard a voice in
this corridor, and met the watchman down be-
low.  He's red-headed about something.  That
feller's of about as much use here as a chorus
lady painted on the back drop.  I told him that
you'd probably gone to sleep over your work.
Here, Black Bear," he continued, with a grin,
"meet Mr. Wolf, otherwise Ned Nestor.  You
fellers get together right now."

Fremont saw a sturdy boy of little less than
eighteen, a lad with a face that one would trust
instinctively.  His dark eyes met the blue ones
of the patrol leader steadily.  There was no
suspicion of guilt in his manner.

Ned Nestor extended his hand frankly, his
strong, clean-cut face sympathetic.  Fremont
grasped it eagerly, and the two stood for a
moment looking into each other's eyes.

"I've brought Ned Nestor to talk it over with
you," Jimmie said.  "He's a good Scout, only he
thinks he's a detective.  He gets all the boys
out of scrapes--except me, and I never get into
any.  That is, he gets out all the honest ones."

"Jimmie told me about the trouble here,"
Nestor said, "and I came to learn the exact
truth from you.  If you struck this man and
rifled the safe, tell me so at once.  There may be
extenuating circumstances, you know."

"I didn't do it," Fremont broke out. "I
hadn't been in the room a minute when Jimmie
came in and accused me of the crime.  There is
some mystery about it, for no man could get into
this building at night unless he was helped in, or
unless he hid during the day, in which case he
would be observed moving about."

Nestor smiled but made no reply.

"There has been no robbery," Fremont con-
tinued.  "There are negotiable bonds on the
floor by the safe, and Mr. Cameron's watch and
chain and diamonds are still on him."

"Do you know," Nestor said, smiling, "that
the points to which you refer are the strongest
ones against you?  Tell me all about it, from the
moment you came into the room."

Fremont told the story as it is already known
to the reader, Nestor sitting in silence with a
frown of deep thought on his brows.  When the
recital was finished he went into the north room
and stood over the unconscious man.

"Fremont!  Fremont!  He did it!  He did it!"

Over and over again the accusing words came
from the white lips.  Nestor turned and looked
keenly at the despairing boy at his side.  Then
he stooped over and examined the wound on the
head.

"It is a hard proposition," he finally said.
"It appears to me that his mention of your name
is more like an appeal for help than an accusa-
tion, however.  Jimmie," he went on, facing the
boy, "you heard Fremont coming up the stairs?"

"Yes; he was whistling.  He couldn't make
enough noise with his feet."

"You followed him up here?"

"Yes," with a little grin.

"Why did you do that?"

"Well, I wanted to see if it was all right--
his coming in here."

"Very commendable," smiled Nestor.  "Do
you think he would have attracted attention to
himself by whistling if he had had no business
here?"

"Anyway," observed Jimmie, "I followed
him up.  Wish I hadn't, and wish you wouldn't
hop onto me so."

"Do you think he was in these room before
he whistled on the stairs?" was the next ques-
tion.  "That is, in the rooms within a couple of
hours of the time you heard him coming up the
stairs?"

"No; I don't think he was.  I heard him
whistling down at the bottom.  There was a
light in this room then, and it was put out; or it
might have been put out just before I heard him
whistling."

"How long was he in here before you came
in?" was asked.

"Oh, about half a minute, I reckon."

"Not long enough to make all this muss with
the papers?"

"Of course not.  He couldn't do all this in
half a minute."

"Then you think that if he did this at all he
did it before he whistled on the stairs.  That he
did it and went back, to indicate that he had
just entered the building?"

"That's just it, but I'm not sayin' he did it,
mind you, Ned."

"Whoever did this took plenty of time for
it," said Nestor, turning to George.  "Will you
tell me where you spent the evening, and with
whom?"

Fremont told of the meeting of the Black
Bear Patrol, of the plans which had been made
at the club-room, and of his parting with Frank
Shaw at the corner.

"Frank will know what time it was when he
left me," said the boy, hopefully, "and the taxi-
cab driver will know what time it was when he
left me at the door of the building.  That ought
to settle it."

"It might," was the grave reply, "if Mr.
Cameron would not speak those accusing words.
Your danger lies there now.  For my part, I
believe that, as I said before, the words are more
an appeal to you for assistance than an accusa-
tion, but the police will want to arrest some one
for the crime, and so they will doubtless lock you
up without bail until there is a change in the
injured man's condition."

"The police are dubs!" exclaimed Jimmie.

"We have to figure on the working of their
alleged minds if they are," said Nestor.

Then he turned to Fremont and asked:

"You were on good terms with Mr. Cam-
eron?"

"Yes; well, we had a few words at dinner to-
night about office work.  We did not quarrel,
exactly, of course, but he seemed to think that I
ought to pay more attention to my duties, and I
told him I was studying hard, and that I was
doing my best."

"Did he appear to be satisfied with the ex-
planation?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are friendly with the other members of
the family?"

"Yes, sir; though I hardly think Mrs. Cam-
eron likes me.  She thinks her husband favors
me above his own sons."

"Then she would not be apt to believe you
innocent of this crime if the police should arrest
you?  She would not come to your assistance?"

"With Mr. Cameron unconscious and likely
to die--no, sir."

"There was silence for a moment, and then
Fremont asked:

"Do you think they will lock me up, sir?"

"The police will want to do something at
once," was the reply.  "They like to make a
flash, as the boys say on the Bowery."

"Suppose I send for a man high in authority,
here now, and tell him the truth?" suggested
Fremont.  "Wouldn't I stand a better show
than if the matter passed through the hands of
some ambitious detective?"

"They are all ambitious," was the non-
committal reply.

"You keep the whole matter out of the hands
of the cops until you know just what you want to
do," advised Jimmie.  "I don't like the cops.
They pinched me once for shootin' craps."

After further talk, Fremont decided to leave
the course to be taken entirely to his new friends,
and that point was considered closed.  Then
Nestor turned to another phase of the matter.
Mr. Cameron needed immediate attention, but
the office must be looked over before others were
called in, so he set about it, Fremont and Jim-
mie looking on in wonder.

First Nestor went to the door opening into
the corridor and examined every inch of the
floor and rug until he came to the front of the
safe.  Then he went through the big desk, care-
fully, and patiently.  Three or four times the
boys saw him lift something from the floor, or
from the desk, and place it in a pocket. He
spent a long time over a packet of papers which
he took from a drawer of the desk.

One of the papers he copied while the boys
looked on, wondering what he was about, and
from another he cut a corner.  This scrap he
wrapped in clean paper and placed in his pocket-
book.  During part of the time spent in the
investigation Fremont sat by the side of the
unconscious man in the north room.

"Now, asked Nestor, presently, "do you
know what business brought Mr. Cameron to
his office to-night?"

"Yes; he was closing up the Tolford estate."

"He asked you to come and go home with
him?"

"That is the fact, but how did you know it?"

"Because he was timid about being here
alone?" asked Nestor, ignoring the question.

"Yes, I think so.  He was always nervous
when dealing with the Tolford heirs. I believe
they threatened him.  He brought his gun with
him to-night.  You will find it in a drawer of
the desk if the assassin did not take it."

"Where were the Tolford papers usually
kept?"

"At the deposit vaults.  I brought them
over this afternoon."

"See if you can find them now."

Fremont went to the safe and then to the
desk, from which he took the packet of papers
he had previously seen Nestor examining.  It
was a sheet from this packet that the Wolf
Patrol leader had copied.  He passed the large
envelope containing the papers over to the
other.

"What occurred when these papers were last
left in this office over night?" Nestor asked, and
Fremont, a sudden recollection stirred by the
question, replied that there had been an attempt
at burglary the last time the Tolford estate pa-
pers were left there at night.

Nestor smiled at the startled face of the boy
as he related the occurrence, but made no com-
ment.  He was examining a bundle of letters
at the time, and ended by putting them into a
pocket as if to carry them away with him.

"They concern a proposed transaction in
firearms and ammunition," the patrol leader
said, in answer to Fremont's inquiring look.

"Now, it appears to me," Nestor said, after
concluding his examination of the suite, "that
you ought to keep out of the hands of the police
until this affair can be thoroughly looked into.
Nothing can prevent your arrest if you remain
here.  What about the proposed Black Bear
Patrol trip down the Rio Grande and over into
Mexico?"

"I wouldn't like to run away," Fremont
replied.  "That would show guilt and coward-
ice.  I'd much rather remain here and take what
comes."

"If you are arrested," the patrol leader went
on, "the police, instead of doing honest work in
unraveling the mystery, will bend every effort
to convict you.  They will not consider any
theory other than your guilt.  Every scrap of
evidence will be twisted and turned into proof
against you, and in the meantime the real crim-
inal may escape.  It is a way the police have."

"It seems like a confession of guilt to run
away," Fremont said.

"Another thing," Nestor went on, "is this.  
I have made a discovery here--a very startling
discovery--which points to Mexico as my field
of operations.  I cannot tell you now anything
more about this discovery, except that it is a
most important one.  I might hide you away in
New York where the police would never find
you, but you would enjoy the trip to Mexico,
and I want you with me."

"Mexico!" cried Jimmie.  "I'll go with you,
Mr. Nestor.  A houseboat on the Rio Grande.
Well!"

"Have you money enough for the trip?"
asked Nestor of Fremont, not replying to the
generous offer of the boy.

"I have about $300 which Mr. Cameron
gave me yesterday for my Spring outfit," was
the reply.  "He was very generous with me."

"That will pay the bills until I can get some
money," Nestor said, "so we may as well con-
sider the matter settled.  This business I am
going to Mexico on will pay me well, and I will
share the expense of the trip with you."

"Not if you go to protect me," Fremont
replied.

"Not entirely to protect you," Nestor an-
swered, "although I believe that the solution to
this mystery will be found on the other side of,
the Rio Grande."

"It seems strange that the Rio Grande
should mix in every situation which confronts me
to-night," Fremont said.  "What can the af-
fairs of turbulent Mexico have to do with the
cowardly crime which has been committed here
to-night?"


CHAPTER IV.
THE WOLF TALKS IN CODE.

"I can't tell you much about it at this time,"
replied Nestor.  "I can only say that you
ought to get out of the country immediately, and
that Mexico is as good a place to go to as any
other.  I may be able to tell you something
more after we are on our way."

"Me, too!" cried Jimmie.  "Me for Mexico.
You can't lose me."

"I'm sorry to say that you'll have to remain
here," said Nestor, noting with regret the keen
disappointment in the boy's face.  "After we
leave the building you must call a surgeon and
see that Mr. Cameron is cared for.  The sur-
geon will call the police if he thinks it advisable."

"The cops will geezle me," wailed Jimmie.

"I think not," was the reply; "not if you tell
them the truth.  Make it as easy for Fremont
as you can by saying that he had been here only
a minute when you came in, and that he had just
entered the building.  You may say, too, that
we have gone out to look up a clue we found here,
in the hope of discovering the assassin.  Tell the
truth, and they can't tangle you up."

"They can lock me up," said the boy.  "I'll
call a surgeon an' duck.  You see if I don't.
It is Mexico for mine."

"I suppose you have the price?" laughed
Nestor.

"I haven't got carfare to Brooklyn," was the
laughing reply, "but that don't count with me.
I guess I know something about traveling with-
out money."

Having thus arranged for the care of the
unconscious man, and tried to console Jimmy for
his great disappointment, Nestor and Fremont
left the big building, seeing, as the latter sup-
posed, no one on their way out.  As they turned
out of the Great White Way, still blazing with
lights, directing their steps toward the East
River, Fremont turned about and glanced with
varying emotions at the brilliant scene he was
leaving.  He was parting, under a cloud, from
the Great White Way and all that the fanciful
title implied.  He loved the rush and hum of the
big city, and experienced, standing there in the
night, a dread of the silent places he was soon to
visit under such adverse conditions.

He loved the forest, too, and the plains and
the mountains, but knew that the burden he was
carrying away from the Cameron building would
hang upon him like the Old-man-of-the-Sea until
he was back in the big city again with a name
free from suspicion.  Nestor stood waiting while
the boy took his sorrowful look about the familiar
scenes.

"I know what you're thinking about," he
said, as they started on again.  "You're sorry to
go not entirely because you love the city, but
because you feel as if you were turning coward
in going at all.  You'll get over that as the case
develops."

"I'm afraid it will be lonesome down there
where we are going," said Fremont.  "I had
planned something very different.  The Black
Bears were to go along, you know, and there
was to be no fugitive-from-justice business."

"Fugitive from injustice, you should say,"
said Nestor. "The Black Bears may come along
after a time, too.  Anyway, you'll find plenty
of Boy Scouts on the border.  I have an idea
that Uncle Sam will have his hands full keeping
them out of trouble."

"He'll have a nest on his hands if they take
a notion to flock over the Rio Grande," replied
Fremont.  "It is hard to keep a boy away from
the front when there are campfires on the moun-
tains."

The two boys passed east to Second avenue,
south to Twenty-third street, and there crossed
the East River on the old Greenpoint ferry.
Still walking east, an hour before daylight they
came to a cottage in the vicinity of Newtown
Creek, and here Nestor paused and knocked
gently on a door which seemed half hidden by
creeping vines, which, leafless at that time of the
year, rattled noisily in the wind.

The door was opened, presently, by a middle-
aged lady of pleasant face and courteous man-
ner.  She held a night-lamp high above her
night-capped head while she inspected the 
boys standing on the little porch.  Nestor broke
into a merry laugh.

"Are you thinking of burglars, Aunty Jane?"
he asked.  Then he added, "Burglars don't
knock at doors, Aunty.  They knock people
on the head."

"Well, of all things, Ned Nestor!" exclaimed
the lady, in a tone which well matched her en-
gaging face.  "What are you doing here at this
time of night?"

"I want to leave a friend here for the day,"
was the reply.  "Come, Aunty, don't stand there
with the lamp so high.  You look like the
Statue of Liberty.  Let us in and get us some-
thing to eat.  I'm hungry."

"I suspected it" smiled the lady.  "You
always come to Aunty Jane when you are hun-
gry, or when you've got some one you are hiding.
Well, come in.  I'm getting used to your man-
ners, Ned."

The boys needed no second invitation to step
inside out of the cold wind.   After Fremont had
been presented to Aunty Jane, they were shown
to the sitting-room--an apartment warmed by a
grate fire and looking as neat as wax--where
they waited for the promised breakfast.

"She is a treasure, Aunty Jane White,"
explained Nestor, as the boys watched the cold
March dawn creep up the sky.  "She really is
my aunt, you know, mother's sister.  She knows
all about my love for secret service work, and
lets me bring my friends here when they want
to keep out of sight."

"You said something about leaving me here
to-day," Fremont observed.  "Why are you
thinking of doing that?  Why not keep together,
and both get out of the city?"

"I can't tell you now," Nestor replied, a
serious look on his face.  "I've got something
to do to-day that is so important, so vital, that I
dare not mention it even to you.  It does not
concern your case, except that it, too, points to
Mexico, but is an outgrowth from it."

"Strange you can't confide in me," said
Fremont, almost petulantly.

Nestor noted the impatience in his friend's
tone, but made no reply to it.  He had taken
a packet of letters from his pocket, and was
running them thoughtfully through his hands,
stopping now and then to read the postmark on
an envelope.

"Do you remember," he asked, in a moment,
"of seeing a tall shadow in front of the door to
the Cameron suite just before we left there?"

"I did not see any shadow there," was the
astonished reply.  "How could a shadow come
on the glass door?"

"Because some tall man, with one shoulder a
trifle lower than the other, stood between the
light in the corridor and the glass panel," was the
reply," and his shadow was plainly to be seen.
I thought you noticed it."

"Was that when you opened the door and
looked out?"

"Yes; I opened the door and look out into
the corridor and listened.  I could hear foot-
steps on the staircase, but they died out while I
stood there.  The man was hiding in the build-
ing, for the street door was not opened, and we
did not see him on the way down.  I suspect
that the watchman knew he was there."

"The watchman, Jim Scoby, is a rascal,"
replied Fremont.  "I don't like him.  What am
I to do if you leave me alone here all day?" he
added, with a sigh.

"Read, eat, sleep, and keep out of sight," was
the reply.  "I'll return early in the evening and
we'll leave for the South at midnight."

"I wish I could communicate with the Black
Bears," said Fremont.

Nestor smiled but said nothing.  In a short
time breakfast was served and Nestor went
away.  That was a long day for Fremont,
although Aunty Jane endeavored to help him
pass the time pleasantly.  He dropped off into
sleep late in the afternoon, and did not wake
until after dark.

Instead of its being a long day for Nestor, it
seemed a very short one.  From the Brooklyn
cottage he went directly to a telegraph office in
the lower section of the city and asked for the
manager, who had not yet arrived, the hour
being early.  The clerk was inquisitive and
tried to find out what the boy wanted of the
manager, but Nestor kept his own counsel and
the manager was finally reluctantly sent for.

When the manager arrived Nestor asked
that an expert code operator be procured, and
this was reluctantly done, but only after the boy
had written and sent off a message to a man the
manager knew to be high in the secret service
department of the government.  In an hour,
much to the surprise of the manager, this im-
portant gentleman walked into the office and
asked for the boy.

After a short talk there, the two went to a
hotel and secured a private room, and two clerks
familiar with code work were sent for.  When a
waiter, in answer to a call, looked into the room
he was astonished at seeing the four very busy
over a packet of letters.

Then, in a short time, code messages began
to rain in on the manager.  They were from
Washington, from the Pacific coast, and from
various forts scattered about the country.  The
manager confided to his wife when he went home
to luncheon that it seemed to him as if another
war was beginning.  All the military offices in
the country seemed talking in code, he said.

"What has this boy you speak of got to
do with military operations?" asked the wife,
wondering at a lad of Nestor's age being mixed
up in a state affair.

"That is what I don't know," was the reply.
"He came to the office this morning and sent for
for me, as you know.  When I met him he asked
for a code expert and wired to the biggest man
in this military division.  Then the code work
began."

It was late in the evening when Nestor re-
turned to the cottage and announced himself
ready for the southern trip.  Fremont, who had
been impatiently awaiting his arrival, was eager
to know the status of the Cameron case.

"Mr. Cameron is alive, but unconscious,"
was the unsatisfactory reply.  "The police
ordered him taken to a hospital and his people
summoned.  It is said that Mrs. Cameron is
very bitter against you."

"That's because I ran away," Fremont
said, gravely.  "What about Jim Scoby?"

"The watchman has disappeared," was the
reply.  "He left with a Mexican called Felix
who occupied a room in the building.  The
police are after them."

"And of course they are looking for me--
egged on by Mrs. Cameron?"

"There is a reward of $10,000 offered for the
arrest of the guilty party," was the unsatis-
factory reply, "and the police officers are raking
the city to find any one who was in the building
last night."

"Did they arrest Jimmie McGraw?" asked
Fremont, hoping that the bright little fellow
had not been placed in prison.

"Jimmie ran away, just as he said he would,
called a surgeon and left the building before he
arrived.  The police followed him to a room
where members of the Wolf Patrol meet occa-
sionally, but he was not there.  The boys who
were there, night messengers and the like, who
had dropped in before going home, said that he
had gone South.  I met a boy named Frank
Shaw, and he said the Black Bears were getting
ready to do something for you, though he would
not say what it was."

"Good old Frank!"  exclaimed Fremont.

"The Black Bears are loyal," Nestor went on,
"and so are the Wolves.  We may hear from
both patrols after we cross the Rio Grande."


"I wish some of them were going with us,"
said Fremont, with a sigh.

"If I am not mistaken," Nestor said, with a
frown, "we'll have plenty of company on the
way down.  We may not see our traveling com-
panions, but they will be close at hand."

"Do you mean that the police will trail us to
Mexico?" asked Fremont.

"I don't know," was the reply.  "I give it
up.  There are others beside the police to reckon
with.  Well, we'll see what Boy Scouts can do to
protect a friend who is in trouble."


CHAPTER V.
THE WOLF IN THE BEAR'S BED.

The two boys traveled for three days and
nights, the general direction being south.  There
were, however, numerous halts and turns in the
journey to the Rio Grande.  Three times Fre-
mont was left alone at junction towns while
Nestor took short trips on cross lines.  Once
the patrol leader was absent hours after the time
set for his return, and the boy was anxious as well
as mystified.

Fremont knew that his traveling companion
was receiving telegrams in code all the way
down, and knew, also, that his movements were
in a measure directed by them.  Still, one delay
seemed to lead to another, as if new conditions
were developing.  The movements of the boys,
too, were carefully guarded, so carefully, indeed,
that it seemed to Fremont that Nestor was con-
tinually spying upon some one, as well as hiding
from those who were spying upon him.

Time and again Fremont asked his friend to
explain the mystifying situation, but never suc-
ceeded in gaining satisfactory information on the
subject of the frequent halts and seemingly use-
less journeys back and forth.  At various times
during the journey he secured newspapers con-
taining wild and improbable theories of the crime
which had been committed in the Cameron
building.  Mr. Cameron's death, the dispatches
said, was hourly expected, so the unfortunate boy
received little encouragement from his reading of
the New York news.

Early in the evening of the third day out the
boys reached El Paso, on the Texas side of the
Rio Grande.   They found the city looking like a
military encampment.  Soldiers wearing the
khaki uniforms of Uncle Sam were everywhere,
martial music filled the air with its shrill fifings
and deep drum-beats, and there was a gleam of
polished steel wherever the boys walked.

It was a scene well calculated to stir the imag-
ination and excite the patriotism of the Boy
Scouts, and for a time the excitement of it all
forced Fremont's troubles from his mind.  The
boys dined at a restaurant and then Fremont
went to a comfortable room which had been
engaged in a small hotel while Nestor went out
into the city, "to spy out the resources of the
land," as he declared.

Fremont, however, knew that his friend was
very anxious over something.  There appeared
to be some new complication which the patrol
leader was having a hard time puzzling out.
It may well be imagined that his return was
awaited with impatience.  His face was very
grave when at last he entered the room.

"I'm sorry I have no better report to make,"
Nestor said, throwing himself into a chair, "but
the fact is that we've got to lose ourselves in the
mountains across the river as soon as we can do
so.  We can get across to-night, of course, but
must hustle after we get across.  We can get
provisions at San Jose."

"We've got to carry the provisions into the
mountains on our backs?" asked Fremont.

"We surely have," was the reply, "and we've
got to lay low while we are cooking and eating
them.  The Sierra del Fierro mountains, where
we are going, are lined with insurrectos, and they
are not in good humor just now."

"I'm game for anything, so long as we can
get out of the beaten way," replied Fremont.
"I've felt all the way down that we were being
followed.  Anyway," he continued, more cheer-
fully, "I shall enjoy the sight of a mountain
camp-fire again.  We don't have to take any
matches with us.  I can build a fire, Indian-
fashion, with dry sticks and a cord.  My Boy
Scout experiences will be of service now, I take
it."

"And you must fix up a little disguise to get
over the river in," continued Nestor.  "The
New York police are in communication with the
officers here, and the latter are out for the
$10,000 reward.  As you suspected, we have
been shadowed from New York.  More than
once I threw the shadows off the track, but they
landed again.  There are most unusual condi-
tions around us, and we must be very discreet.
After we get across the Rio Grande the danger
will decrease."

"It makes me feel happy again," Fremont
said, after putting on a new, cheap suit and
tinting his face, "this idea of meeting a different
sort of danger.  I can't stand this lurking peril--
this obsession that some one may spring out
upon me from some dark corner at any minute.
Get me out by a mountain camp-fire, old fellow,
and I'll be game for anything."

There was a short silence, and then the boy
went on.

"I don't understand exactly why you are
heading for Mexico, but one country is as good as
another just now.  The police over there are
said to be in close touch with those here, and to
be brutal in their handling of prisoners.  How-
ever, let us make up our minds that we will have
nothing to do with the police."

"We are going to Mexico for three reasons,"
Nestor said, in a moment.  "I can't tell you all
about the three now, but one is to get you out
of the way until the real criminal is discovered.
The other two will show in time, and are likely
to bring out a great deal of excitement."

"I have been wondering all the way down
here," Fremont said, "why you copied one of
the papers in the Tolford estate packet.  I know
now.  There is in that sheaf of papers a descrip-
tion of a lost Mexican mine--a very valuable
mine which has been lost for any number of
years.  I remember of hearing Mr. Cameron
discuss the matter with one of the heirs.  The
lost mine seems to be the most valuable item in
the estate schedule," the boy went on.  "At
any rate, there has been a lot of quarreling over
it.  That paper contains the only description
in existence, and all the heirs want it."

"So you think I'm going after the lost mine?"
laughted Nestor.

"If you are not, why did you copy the de-
scription?"

"How do you know that I copied the de-
scription?"

"You copied something."

"Yes; I copied the description of the lost
mine.  I thought it might be of use to us, and
it may prove of the greatest importance."

"Then you think the man who invaded the
office and struck Mr. Cameron down is interested
in the lost mine?" exclaimed Fremont.  "You
think he committed the crime to get the descrip-
tion?  That he copied it, and left the original
paper there to throw off suspicion?  That the
man we are in quest of will go directly to the lost
mine?  Is that why you are going to Mexico?
Is that why you said, from the start, that the
clue pointed across the Rio Grande?"

"Don't ask so many questions," laughed
Nestor.  "There is a shadowy suspicion in my
mind that the assassin is interested in the Tol-
ford estate, if you must know, but I may be
entirely mistaken.  Still, we must remember
that on the occasion when the Tolford papers
were in the office over night, there was an
attempt at robbery.  This may be a coincidence,
but it is worth looking into."

"I should say so, cried Fremont, with
enthusiasm.  "I should say it was worth looking
into.  Now I begin to see what you mean by
coming this way, and why you dodged about on
the route down.   You think the lost mine man
is watching us."

"I don't think anything about it," said
Nestor.  "I never imagine issues, and I never
form theories.  One thing I know, and that is
that we shall find friends over in Mexico.  You
may even come upon some of the Black Bears
there."

"I hope so," was the cheerful reply.

"In which case," continued Nestor, "you
might take the suggested ride down the Rio
Grande."

"Not with the mountains in sight, and a lost
mine to find," exclaimed Fremont.

"And a brutal assassin to bring to punish-
ment," added Nestor.

"And the third motive for visiting Mexico to
develop," smiled Fremont.  "I wish I knew
about that third motive.  I understand the first
two--one you told me and one I guessed."

"You shall know the other in time," said
Nestor.  "Just at present, however, the secret
is not mine.  Important issues are at stake, and
I must keep my lips shut, even when talking with
you, concerning our mission."

"All right," said Fremont.  "Don't worry
about me.  I'll get it out of you in some way.
See if I don't."

Shortly after this conversation closed Nestor
went out into the city to arrange for the trip to
the mountains.  As he left the little hotel he
imagined that he saw men bearing unmistakable
stamp of plain-clothes policemen hanging about,
and it also seemed to him that he was followed
as he walked down the crowded street toward
the river.

It was late when he returned to the room
where he had left Fremont.  His suspicions had
proven to be more than suspicions, for he had
indeed been tracked from the hotel, and had
been obliged to do a great deal of walking in order
to leave his pursuers behind.  When he entered
the hotel he saw that the plain-clothes men were
no longer on duty at the front.

He climbed the stairs to his room and opened
the door with a little quiver of the lips, for the
place was dark and silent.  When he turned on
the lights, however, he was easier in his mind,
for there was the sleeping figure he had hoped to
find.

In a moment, however, his eyes fell upon a
heap of clothing lying across a chair near the
head of the bed.  Those were not the clothes
Fremont had worn.  These were soiled and torn.
Whose were they, then, and how was it that they
were there?

He shook the sleeper lightly and a dust-
marked face was lifted from the sheltering bed-
clothes.  But the face was not that of Fremont,
but of Jimmie McGraw.  Nestor started back
in wonder.  How had the boy come there, and
where was Fremont?  Had he been taken by
the police?  Was he already on his way back
to the tombs?  Then Jimmie sprang out of bed
with a grin on his face.


CHAPTER VI.
TWO BLACK BEARS IN TROUBLE.

Left alone in his room by the departure of
Nestor, Fremont busied himself for a time with
the newspapers which his friend had brought in.
On the first page of the evening newspaper he
found the source of Nestor's information con-
cerning the movements of the police.

The story, under a New York date line, was
highly colored, the reporter taking advantage of
every strange happening to bring in paragraphs
of what he doubtless termed "local color."
From first to last, every clue was bent and
twisted so as to point to the guilt of the boy.  It
seemed that some cunning enemy was directing
the reporters.

It was stated that Fremont had been seen
in the building earlier in the evening, and that
the night watchman had "reluctantly" admitted
that he had heard high words passing between
Mr. Cameron and his employe.  The interview
with the watchman had taken place on the very
night of the crime.  Since that time, the news-
paper said, no one had seen him in New York, at
least no one who would admit knowledge of his
movements to the police.

On the whole, the newspaper made out a
pretty good case against the boy, and Fremont
was pleased to think that he had taken the advice
of his friend and left the city.  If he had not
done so, he would now be in the Tombs, he had
no doubt.

After a time he tossed the paper aside and
began walking up and down his room, anxious
for Nestor's return, anxious for a breath of moun-
tain air--for the freedom of the high places, for
the sniff of a camp-fire.  It was then that he
heard a footstep at his door.

He turned the lights down and waited, his
hand on a weapon which had been given him by
Nestor.  Then the door was opened softly and
an arm clad in khaki was thrust through the
narrow opening.  Fremont waited, but no face
followed the arm into view.  Then, approaching
nearer, he saw something on the sleeve which
sent the hopeful blood surging through his veins.
It was the badge of the Black Bear Patrol, and
beneath it was the Indian arrow-head badge of
the Boy Scouts.  With a shout he caught at the
door and threw it open.  There, with a delight-
ful smile on his broad face, stood Frank Shaw.

Fremont seized his chum about the neck and
dragged him into the room, where the hugging
and pulling about rivaled the efforts of real black
bears.  Then Fremont closed and locked the
door and dropped into a chair, eyeing his friend
as if he would like to devour him, black bear
fashion.

"You didn't expect to see me here, did you?"
asked Frank.

"I should say not.  How did you know where
to find me?  When did you leave New York?
How is Mr. Cameron?  Tell me all about every-
thing."

"When you get done asking questions,"
cried Frank.  "First, Ned Nestor told me where
to look for you.  He told some of the others, too,
but I reckon they got lost on the way down.
I've been waiting for you half a year--it seems
to me--a whole day, any way.  And that re-
minds me that you've got to beat it."

"And how is Mr. Cameron?  Is he conscious
yet?"

"Not yet, and they say he can't live.  Say,
I came down here to enlist as drummer, so I
could get a stand-in with the army fellows, and,
what do you think, they wouldn't enlist me!
Said I was too short and fat.  Me short and fat!
I'm going to write up that recruiting officer and
have Dad publish him to the world."

"There is a lot of talk about the case?" asked
Fremont.

"Of course there is," was the reply.  "But
what do you think about that recruiting officer?
He ought to be pinched.  Me too short and fat!
Ever hear me drum?"

"Only once," was the reply.  "Then the
boys held me while you drummed."

"Never you mind that," Frank replied.  "I'm
going to tell you now that you've got to beat it.
Understand?  You've got to get out right away
--not to-morrow, but now."

"Yes, I know the police are after me," said
Fremont, gravely.  "There is some one who is
keeping them posted as to our movements.  It
appears to me that this crime was directed against
me as well as against Mr. Cameron.  What are
you going to do now?"

"Do?" demanded the other.  "Do?  I'm 
going to stay here and fight for you.  What else
could I do?  And I'm going to write to father
and tell him all about the case, and say you are
innocent, and he'll show the other newspapers
where to head in at."

"We've got to get the proof first," said
Fremont.  "The case looks dark for me," Fre-
mont added with a sigh.  "Nestor will soon be
here, and he'll be glad to see you."

"I hope he'll come before the police, do,"
said Frank.  "I'll tell you, old man, that they're
hot after that reward.  They know you're in this
hotel.  I don't doubt that they know the room
you're in.  You've got to beat it, I tell you."

"I've got to wait for Ned Nestor," said
Fremont.

"Say," said Shaw, "do you know who it is
that brought you here?"

"Ned Nestor, of course."

"But do you know who he is?  He's the best
amateur detective in the world.  He's always
looking for a chance to help those accused of
crime.  Even the high police officers of New
York ask him to look into cases for them.  Some
day he'll be at the head of the United States
secret service department.  You see.  He'll get
you through if any one can.  Leave it to him.
Here's some one coming now.  Perhaps it is
Ned."

But it was not Ned, for there were noises in
the hall, just beyond the door, which indicated a
struggle, and then a sharp voice called out:

"Cut it out, youse feller!  Cut it out, or
I'll bring out me educated left.  Let me alone, I
say.  I ain't no tramp."

Both boys recognized the voice, and Fremont 
hastened to unlock the door.  When it was
opened the second surprise of the evening con-
fronted the fugitive.  Jimmie McGraw stood
in the hall threatening an angry waiter with his
clenched fists.  Although the boy was small, and
no match for the waiter, he was exceedingly
nimble, and the waiter was unable to lay hands
on him.

"He's tryin' to throw me out," exclaimed
Jimmie, grinning at sight of the boys.  "Tell
him it is all right."

"We are expecting the boy," Fremont said.
"Kindly let him alone."

"I'm ordered to throw him out of the hotel,"
roared the waiter.  "He's a tramp."

Fremont pacified the fellow with a silver
offering and, drawing Jimmie inside of the room,
closed the door.  Then the three boys, looking 
from one to the other, broke out in uproarious
laughter.  For Jimmie was a sight to behold.
His clothing was torn, and his hands and face
looked as if they had never seen water.

"How did you get down here?"  asked Fre-
mont, after a moment.  "I left you in New York,
to look after that end of the Cameron case."

"Huh!" exclaimed the boy.  "You didn't
take the railroad iron up with you when you
came down, did you?  Nor yet you didn't lock
up the side-door Pullmans.  I got fired as sec-
ond assistant to the private secretary to the
scrubwoman, 'cause she got pinched, so I came
on down here to help Uncle Sam keep the border
quiet."

"They won't let you drum," interrupted
Fatty.  "You're too short."

"I don't want to drum," was the indignant
reply.  "I want to get over into Mexico an' live
in the mountains.  Say, if you boys have any
mazuma, just pass it out.  I'm hungry enough
to eat the Statue of Liberty in the harbor."

"I'm hungry, too," said Frank Shaw.

"I knew it," observed Jimmie.  "Come on.
Let's go out and eat."

"Wait," said Frank, "there's something doing
here.  Fremont's got to get out of this room
right away and I'll go with him.  There is a
window we can climb out of.  When we get out
I'll plant Fremont somewhere and circle back
here with some provisions for you.  Under-
stand?"

"Me for the hike out of the window, too,"
said Jimmie.  "I see myself waitin' here for you
to come back with grub after you get your share.
You'll come back--not."

"Sure I'll come back," replied Frank.  "Be-
sides, some one's got to stay here.  You for the
bed, Jimmie," he added, with a sudden smile on
his face, brought out, doubtless, by the arrival
of a brilliant idea, "you for the bed, and if the
cops come here you're the boy that has the room
--see?"  And there ain't no other boy that you
know of.  That will keep them guessing.  They'll
think they've been following the wrong kid, and
we'll all get across the Rio Grande before they
wake up.  You for the bed, Jimmie."

But Jimmie held back, saying that he did not
feel in need of a bed, but did feel in need of a
square meal.  But the boys, laughing at the
wry faces and savage speeches he made, helped
him off with his clothes, turned out the lights,
and dropped out of the window into an alley
which ran, one story below, at the rear of the
hotel.

They were none too soon in concluding their
arrangements, for as they lit on the ground below
a heavy knock came on the door of the room they
had just left.  As they slipped off in the dark-
ness they heard Jimmie doing a pretty good im-
itation of a snore.

"Say," Fremont said, as they drew up on a
street corner after a short run, "they'll arrest
Jimmie.  If the cops ask the waiters, they'll
soon know that there were others in that room,
and they'll arrest him for obstructing an officer.
I wish we had brought him with us.  Poor
Jimmie!"

"He'll get out of it in some way," laughed
Frank.  "They won't hold him long if they do
pinch him.  Anyway, we want him around there
to meet Nestor when he comes back.  He'll tell
some cock-and-bull story that will put him to the
good with the cops."

But Fremont was not so sure of the resource-
fulness of Jimmie, and worried over the matter
not a little as they walked the streets, quieting
down now, for the soldiers had been called back
to camp and the citizens of the town were seek-
ing their homes and beds.  As for Frank, he was
talking most of the time of the supper he was
hoping to get before long.  The boys did not
care to enter a conspicuous restaurant, and so
they chose an obscure eating house on a side
street.

At first glance the place seemed without cus-
tomers as they entered, and the boys were glad
to have the room to themselves, but as soon as
they were seated two men came in and took seats
at a table not far away from their own.  The
men were dusky fellows, with long hair and sharp
black eyes.  They ordered sparingly, as if they
cared little for food, and, after glancing fur-
tively around the room, spent their time in
whispered conversation.

Fremont thought he saw something familiar
in one of the men, and kept his eyes on his face
until the coarse features, the sullen grin, became
associated in his mind with the Cameron build-
ing in New York.  It did not seem possible that
this could be true, yet there was a face he had
seen in the corridors of the great building, and
every moment the identification was becoming
more definite.

"Ever see that man before?" he asked of
Frank, nudging the boy and pointing with his
fork, held so low down that it could not be seen
by the others.

"I'm sure I have," was the reply.  "He
was at the hotel when I went upstairs to your
room," Frank went on.  "I remember now."

Before anything more could be said the two
men arose and approached the table where the
boys sat.  Railing at the adverse fate which had
brought him in contact with this man after a
successful flight from the New York police,
Fremont arose and darted toward the door.
He gained the doorway before the other could
seize him, and there turned to look back.

Shaw had not been so fortunate in escaping
the grasp of the Mexican, for such he appeared
to be.  When Fremont looked back the fellow
was trying his best to throw the boy to the floor,
while his companion stood by with clenched
fists.  The boy was about to turn back to the
assistance of him chum when he saw with joy that
this would not be necessary.


CHAPTER VII.
SIGNALS ON THE MOUNTAIN.

Fremont saw that Frank was putting up a
nervy battle with the man who had seized him,
and was in the act of going to his assistance
when Frank made a quick motion which seemed
to bring every muscle in his body into action,
and the Mexican shot into the air, landing,
finally, on the back of his companion, and going
to the floor with him.

The movement executed by the boy had been
so lightning-like that none of the details had
been noted, yet Fremont recognized it as a
clever ju jitsu trick he had often seen the boys of
the Black Bear Patrol practicing. Frank laughed
as the man seemed to spill off his round figure,
and before the amazed and raging Mexican
could get to his feet both boys were off like the
wind, followed at a distance by policemen who
had been called by the owner of the restaurant.

"We may as well circle back to the hotel
now," Fremont said, as they brought up on a
corner to rest and catch their breath.  "I'm
anxious about Jimmie.  We should never have
left him there alone."

"If we go back to Jimmie without a cart-
load of provisions," laughed Frank, "he'll call
the police.  Besides, I'm starving.  Here's an-
other feed shop, so we may as well load up."

Fremont did not enter the place, but waited
in a dark stairway for Frank to return with the
food that was to be taken to Jimmie. When
Frank showed up he was devouring a thick ham
sandwich.

"Now we can face the lad," the boy laughed.
"He'll be hungry, though."

When they came to within a block of the
hotel, Fremont waited for his companion to
bring him news of the situation there.  Much
to his relief, he soon saw Shaw returning, ac-
companied by both Jimmie and Nestor.  And
Jimmie was munching a great sandwich as he
drew near to the waiting boy.

"S-a-y!" Jimmie exclaimed, as the boys met
and walkied away together, apparently free of
surveillance.  "That was a fresh cop.  Wanted
to geezle me for a robber.  If Ned hadn't come
across just as he did, there'd 'a' been a scrap.
Say, Ned," he added, turning to the patrol leader,
"how did you get your stand-in with the soldiers?

Wasn't that a colonel who talked the bull cop
out of pinching both of us?"

"That was Colonel Wingate," was the reply.
"I can't tell you anything more about the matter
just now.  Anyway, we've got our work cut out
for us to-night.  We must be far from the border
by morning.  There's a train from Juarez about
midnight."

There were many questions which Fremont
wanted to ask Nestor as the boys, each busy
with his own thoughts, crossed the bridge, after
giving a password supplied by Colonel Wingate,
and took train at Juarez for San Jose, but he re-
mained silent.  He wanted, among other things,
to ask why they were going to San Jose so direct-
ly--as if the town had been the object of the
journey from the beginning.  He saw, however,
that Nestor, who was becoming a good deal of a
mystery to him, did not care to talk, and so he
held his tongue.

Long before noon on the following day, after
a comfortless ride on a bumping train, the boys
found themselves at San Jose, a scraggly town
on the west shore of beautiful Lake de Patos.
As they were both hungry and tired, they se-
cured rooms in a little hotel, ordered dinner
served there, and rested for a short time.  The
dinner was plentiful, but thoroughly Mexican.
The menu smelled of garlic, and the walls of the
room were decorated (?) with cheap colored
prints wherein matadores calmly awaited the
onslaught of maddened bulls, while women,
shrouded in mantillas and smoking cigarettes,
leaned out of their seats and applauded.

After the siesta, provisions were brought and
enclosed in neat packages convenient for carry-
ing on the back, and at dusk, after a swift row
across the lake, the boys were at the foot of a
high range of mountains which looked down
upon the lake and the town.

On their way across the lake, and on the
gentle slope of the foot of the hills, they had
frequently observed parties of roughly dressed
men, some with muskets and some without,
making their way, by boat and on foot, toward
the mountain.  Those on the water were in rude,
makeshift boats, of which there seemed to be
an insufficient quantity at hand, groups waiting
on the shore for the return of conveyances in
order that they might in turn be carried across.

There was great excitement in the little town,
and men, women and children were huddled in
the streets, looking apprehensively at the rough
men who were hurrying, for some unknown rea-
son, to the east.  Finally two men who appeared
to know something of the English language asked
Nestor for a ride in the rather swift boat he had
secured for the trip across the lake.  This request
was gladly granted, for Nestor was anxious to
talk with some one who might be able to tell
him something of the movement to the east.
He had his own suspicions of the motive of the
march, and they were not agreeable ones.

The men taken into the boat proved to be
ignorant, sullen fellows, and so little information
of the kind sought was gained from them.  Pres-
ently the boat was left behind and the boys, each
with a typical Boy Scout camping outfit on his
back--the same including provisions--were soon
making their way up the slope.

"Jere!" cried Jimmie, throwing himself on
the ground after the first steep climb.  "Let's
wait for the elevator.  What do you expect to
find up here, anyway?"

"We're looking for a place to hide a boy, for
a lost mine, and for a Mexican with one leg
shorter than the other and a withered right
hand," laughed Nestor.  "Move on."

"That description listens to me like the Mex-
ican we saw in the restaurant," said Shaw.  "He
had a withered right hand.   Say, but he got a
drop."

"He looked to me like a man I have seen in
New York," said Fremont.  "I wonder if there
is any one left in New York?" he added, with a
grin.  "It seems to me that about all the people
I ever knew there are on their way south."

"This fellow may be fascinated by our good
looks," Frank put in.  "He seems to be in need
of polite society."

"Polite society!" repeated Jimmie.  "You
give him a dump on the floor for polite society.
Is he the man who is lookin' for the mine youse
fellers have been talkin' about ever since we left
El Paso?"

"If we should follow him to the mine, "
George suggested, "and arrest him there, that
ought to end the case.  It would  end the mys-
tery, anyway, and show why the assault was
made.  I guess you have been after this man all
the way down, Nestor," he added.

"When he hasn't been after me," laughed
the patrol leader.  "But you mustn't be too cer-
tain that the arrest of this man would end the
case.  He may be after the mine, may even have
a copy of the description in Mr. Cameron's office,
and yet be entirely innocent of the crime."

"He ought to be pinched for trying to geezle
me in the eats house," grinned Frank.

The boys ascended the slope until darkness
set in, and then rested in a little valley, or dent,
between two peaks, and pitched their two small
shelter tents.  Then they built a fire of such
light wood as they could find and prepared sup-
per.  As soon as the meal was cooked they put
out the fire, fearful that the smoke might betray
their presence there.  Presently Jimmie called
attention to two columns of smoke rising high
up on the mountain.

"They're signals," he said, "because there
wouldn't be two camp-fires close together.
They're signals, all right."

"What do they mean?" asked Nestor, with
a smile.

"One column means come to camp," replied
Jimmie, "two mean that help is needed, three
mean that there is good news, and four mean
come together for a council.  They are Indian
signals, and the Boy Scouts use them in the
woods when out hunting."

"Then this means a call for help," said Fre-
mont.

"That's what," from Jimmie.

"It may mean for the man with the short leg
to come on," laughed Frank.  "I wish I had my
drum.  I could make him think he had help
coming.  You wait until I get that drum.  I'll
show you what's what."

Lights could now be seen moving on the
mountain.  It seemed clear that men were mass-
ing there for some purpose.  Soon Frank and
Jimmie were asleep.  Then Nestor asked:

"George, do you remember whether the bolt
in the corridor door of the Cameron suite turned
under your key that night?  In other words,
was the door locked?"

"I thought it was," was the reply.

"But you are not certain?"

"No, because I was dazed when I opened the
door and found the room dark and still.  I had
expected to find Mr. Cameron at his desk, as
there were lights there before I entered the build-
ing."

"You saw no one on the stairs?"

"Not a soul."

"When did you first meet Mr. Cameron?"

"Seven years ago, when I was selling news-
papers."

"He was a customer?"

"Yes, and a good one.  He talked with me
quite a lot, and finally asked me to come to live
with him and take a position in his office when I
got older."

"And you were glad to go?"

"Naturally.  My life was not a pleasant one."

"Did he ever talk to you about that old life?"

"Often.  He asked me lots of questions about
my parents."

"And what did you tell him?"

"There was noting to tell.  I could not
remember my parents.  At first there was
Mother Scanlon, who beat me as often as she
fed me, and then I was on the streets, sleeping
in alleys and stairways."

"Have you seen this Mother Scanlon lately?"
was the next question.

"Never, but why are you asking me all these
questions?  I'm no fairy prince under enchant-
ment.  Just a waif left alone in New York.
There are plenty such."

"I want you to look Mother Scanlon up when
you get back to New York" Nestor said.   He
might have given some reason for the remark,
only Jimmie and Frank awoke and called atten-
tion to signals on the mountain.

"I know that wig-wag game," the latter said.
"Keep still and I'll tell you what he says."

Four pair of eyes were instantly fixed on the
heights above, where a slender column of flame,
like a torch on fire most of its length, was plainly
to be seen.  It was not a stationary column,
however, for it moved to right and left in an arc
of ninety degrees, starting at vertical and swing-
ing back of it.  At times the point was lowered,
as if the column had been dipped to the ground
in front.

"If he is talking United States instead of
Spanish," Jimmie said, "I'll read it for you.
The Scouts use those signals.  The motion from
vertical to right is ONE, that from vertical to 
left is TWO, and that from vertical to the front
is THREE.  See!  It is United States, for there
are two left motions, meaning A.  Now there's
two twos and a one, repeated.  That means two
1's.  'All' is the word."

"That is the way I read it," said Nestor.

"Wait, said Jimmie.  "He didn't give the
signal which indicates the end of the word.

Here's one two and two ones.  That means R.
One one is I.  Two twos and two ones make G.
One one and two twos make H.  One two makes
T.  There!  He's said 'All Right, 'and in English.
Now, what are Americans doing up there?"

"That may not be the end of the message,"
suggested Fremont.

"See the three threes?" asked Jimmie.
"That means the end of the sentence.  Now,
there's double two, double two, double two,
triple three.  That means for the other fellow,
who must be down the mountain somewhere,
to quit signaling.  He's gettin' exclusive, eh?"

"I don't understand why those signals are
in English," said Nestor.  "There are plenty of
Americans mixed up in this mess, but they are
not doing the signaling, so far as I have heard.
It would seem that the wig-wag ought to be in
Spanish.  I wonder if I could get down the
mountain to the man there?  It would be easier
than climbing."

"I'll go with you," decided Frank.  "If I
fall it will be like rolling a feather bed down the
mountains.  Besides, you may need assistance."

And before the others could protest, the two
boys were on their way down the steep descent.


CHAPTER VIII.
A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.

It was weirdly lonely in the dark little dent
on the side of the mountain after the departure
of the two boys, and Jimmie drew closer to his
companion.  The wind which swept the heights
was chilly.

The two lay close together in silence for a
long time, each, doubtless, thinking of the Great
White Way and the lights which would now be
glittering there, of the bay, of the East River
with its shipping, and of the hundred things
which make New York a city, once seen, to be
remembered forever.  Then a rumble as of a
stone crashing down came to their ears and
they sprang to their feet.

"There's some one coming," whispered Jim-
mie, and they listened, but the only sound they
heard was made by a bird winging its way
through the dim upper light.  Then, in a mo-
ment, signals flashed out again.

"One, two, one," counted Jimmie,  "Now,
two, one, one, two, two, one, and then one, two.
That means come.  Now, where does he want
the other fellow to come?"

"There's a lot going on here to-night," said
Fremont.  "I wonder if they can see us from
where they are?"

"We may as well get away from the tents,"
was the reply.  "There's a good place to hide
behind that rock.  When Nestor and Frank
come we can let them know where we are."

Fremont agreed to this, and the lads were
soon hidden in a shallow gully which cut a ridge
not far from where the tents had been pitched.
For a time all was still, then came the rattling
of steel on steel, sounding threatening enough
in the darkness.

"Some one's got a gun," whispered Jimmie.

"Our fire may have been seen from above,"
Fremont ventured.

"Well, they can't find us here," consoled
Jimmie.  "Anyway, we'll lie here and listen for
a few minutes."

The boys lay quiet for a considerable time.
There were no more signals then, but they could
not banish the feeling that emissitious Mexicans
were watching them from the shadows.  Di-
rectly noises were heard at the tents and a voice
asked, in good English:

"Where are they?  You said that only two
went down the mountain."

"That was right, was the reply.  "I don't
see where the others can be."

"Do you think they are officers?" asked Jim-
mie, as the men stumbled about the tents.
"They aren't Mexicans."

I'm afraid they are officers," replied Fre-
mont, "and we must keep pretty still.  I pre-
sume these are the fellows who were wig-wag-
ging a little while ago."

The intruders were heard moving about the
tents for a time, and then they went away,
blundering along over loose stones which rattled
as they swept down the declivity.  When they
were some distance off, and still going, judging
by the sound, the boys walked back to the tents
and tried to sleep, but the excitement of the
time was too much for them, and they could
not keep their eyes closed.

After a time there came a commotion in the
valley below, from the direction Nestor and
Frank had taken.  There were shouts of rage
and then shooting.  Jimmie was on his feet in-
stantly.

"They're attacking Nestor," he cried, "and
I'm going down there to help him."

Before Fremont could protest the boy was
off, scrambling down the mountain in the dark-
ness like a goat.  At first Fremont thought of
following him, but he was very tired and sleepy
and so gave it up.

He crept back into a tent and threw himself
down on a blanket, closing his eyes only for a
moment, as he thought.

Jimmie pressed on down the slope for some
distance without discovering the source of the
disturbance, then turned back.  When, near
the tents, he turned and looked over the valley,
a torch far below was spelling out "O.K."

"There are a lot of Americans mixed up in
this," the boy thought.  "I've heard that this
revolt was being financed and executed by our
people, but I did not believe the story.  Any-
how, they are giving their signals in United
states."

As the lad approached nearer to the tents the
silence which held the little dent on the slope
sent a vague shiver of alarm through his veins.

When he came to the tents there was no one
in sight.  He whistled softly, but there was no
reply.  The moon, now peeping around a shoul-
der of the mountain, struck an object which
glistened like silver, and the boy picked it up.
It was Fremont's revolver, and the chambers
were full.  There had been no shooting.  Fre-
mont's cap lay on the ground not far from where
the weapon had been found.

Filled with apprehension, Jimmie dashed
into the tents.  They were both empty.  The
boy had disappeared, leaving his weapon and
his cap behind.  It was plain to be seen, from
marks on the rocks and the thin soil of the dent,
that there had been a struggle.

Alarmed beyond the power of words to ex-
press, Jimmie crept into the hiding place they
had used earlier in the evening and waited.  He
was angry at Nestor for going away, and angry
with himself for leaving Fremont alone.  While
the latter possessed courage and strength, he was
not as apt in such things as they were facing as
his companions.  He had been sheltered for
years in the Cameron home, and was not so
resourceful as his companions, not so ready to
take advantage of any point which might occur
in such a rough-and-tumble game as was now in
progress.

Jimmie's fear was that Fremont had been
captured by officers, and would be taken back
to New York and thrust into the Tombs to await
the action of the grand jury, based on the recov-
ery or death of Mr. Cameron.  This would be
fatal to all his hopes.  While the boy pondered
and fretted over the matter, the long roll of a
drum came around a cliff-corner, and then a file
of ragged soldiers, or what seemed to be such,
showed in the moonlight, with a diminutive
drummer-boy, pounding for dear life, not far in
the rear.

In the meantime the two who were in Jim-
mie's thoughts were making their way down the
slope with such speed and caution as they were
able to manage.

It was very rough going in the darkness, and
more than once Frank received a bump which
effectually banished all inclination to sleep.  At
last he sat down on a ledge and called out to
Nestor.

"Dig in!  Walk your head off!"

Nestor halted and looked back.

"What's doing?" he asked.

"I'm flabbergasted," was the reply.  "How
do you think you're goin' to get back up the hill?"

Nestor pointed to a point of flame a little
lower down.

"It is only a short ways now," he said.

Frank grunted and arose to his feet.

"They ought to put in elevators," he
grumbled.

The boys walked for perhaps half an hour
longer and then drew up near to the point of fire
which Nestor had pointed out.

"Now what?" demanded Frank.

"I want to see who they are.  I'm expecting
friends here," was the laughing reply.  "Re-
main here while I investigate."

"If I stand up," grumbled Shaw, "I'll fall
down; and if I sit down I'll go to sleep.  I never
was so sleepy in all me blameless life.  You
needn't hurry back."

Frank was as good as his word, although he
had spoken in jest.  No sooner was his compan-
ion out of sight than he dropped to the ground,
and in spite of his efforts to keep his eyes open,
was soon fast asleep.  When he awoke an hour
later, Nestor was pulling at his arm.

"Don't pull it off," he said.  "I may want
to use it again.  What's doing below?"

"Were you ever in the Cameron building in
New York?" Nestor asked, irrelevantly.

"Did you wake me out of me sweet dreams
to ask that?" grinned the boy.  "Why don't
you go on and tell me what's coming off down
there in that camp?"

"I've got the New York end of the Cameron
case on my mind to-night," was the reply.  "Tell
me what you know about the Cameron build-
ing and the people who work there during the
night--cleaning up, and that sort of thing."

"I don't think I was ever in the building, and
Fremont never talked with me about the workers.
You can ask Jimmie about that."

"Yes, Jimmie worked there.   I've heard him
talk about the night watchman and predict his
future home.  The boy came running into my
room on the night of the tragedy and almost
pulled me out of bed, saying that a member of
the Black Bear Patrol was in trouble."

"What do you want to know about the
building?"

"I was wondering if Sim [sic] Scoby, the night
watchman, was permitted to carry a key to the
Cameron suite.  Jimmie does not know whether
he was or not, and I thought you might have
heard Fremont talking about matters there."

"I presume Fremont can tell you all about
that.  Suppose Scoby did have a key?  What
of it?  Fremont says Mr. Cameron locked him-
self in that night, or was to do so, and that shows
that the man who did the job did not need a key.
He must have been admitted by Mr. Cameron."

"There were strange doings in that suite that
night," Nestor said, almost as if talking to him-
self.  "I can't quite get the hang of it," he added,
taking a flat steel key from his pocket, and hold-
ing it up for the inspection of the other.

Shaw took the key and held it up in the moon-
light, examining every detail of it.

"That is a key to the suite," he said.  "Fre-
mont has one like it.  Where did you get it?  It
looks new."

"It is new," Nestor went on.  "It looks as if
it had been made to order recently.  Now, who-
ever made it did not get it exactly right at first,
and was obliged to file it down.  I have known
night watchmen to make keys."

"An old trick," admitted Frank.  "Well, let
us take it for granted that Scoby was not per-
mitted to carry a key and that he had one made,
for some purpose of his own.  What does that
lead up to?"

"I found this key in front of the safe,"
Nestor continued, after a moment's deliberation.
"It was undoubtedly dropped there by one of
the men who visited the rooms that night.  I
have been wondering if it was the watchman."

"You have some other reason for supposing
it was Scoby," Frank said.  "Go one and tell me
about it."

"Yes, there is another reason." Nestor con-
tinued, smiling at the quick way Frank had
taken him up.  "I found this Grand Army but-
ton and this cloth raveling in front of the safe,
too, not far from where the key was discovered."

"Well, did the watchman wear a Grand
Army coat that night?" asked Frank.  "Lots
of unworthy people wear Grand Army coats."

"He did," was the reply.  "He wore a blue
coat with Grand Army buttons, and one of the
buttons was missing from the right sleeve when
I saw him in the corridor as I passed out.  He
probably caught his sleeve on something in the
safe and ripped the button off.  He either did
not notice the loss of the button or had no time
to pick it up."

"You're locating him in a compromising
situation, all right," Frank said.  "But you
said 'one of the men who visited the rooms that
night.'  Who were the others?"

"Wait a minute," said Nestor.  "Let me
tell you what else I found there. I have in my
pocket a piece of paper, a margin cut from a
legal document, showing the thumb and finger-
marks of a withered right hand.  I also have a
shoe heel near two inches high.  These were
taken from the Cameron suite.  What do you
make of that?

"I understand," Frank said.  "One of the
other men was this Mexican, the man with the
short right leg, the fellow who tried to geezle me
at the El Paso restaurant.  Well, that makes two
who were there that night--two who were in
front of the safe--two who had no right to be
there."

"And this Mexican was a tenant of the build-
ing," Nestor went on, "and he might have had
the key made.  At least he was there the night
the key was used, looking over papers he had no
right to touch."

"It begins to look as if the Mexican went to
the building for the purpose of robbery, and that
he found a tool in Jim Scoby," said Frank.
"Why don't you have the two of them pinched,
so Fremont won't have all this trouble on his
mind?  The Mexican is somewhere about here,
and Jim Scoby can't be far away, as the news-
papers say he ran away from New York.  Why
couldn't you have studied this out that night?"

"Don't rush conclusions," smiled Nestor.
"I said there were several people in the suite
that night.  Well, we have made sure of two of
them, though we don't know how they go in
there if Mr. Cameron had the door locked from
the inside."

"If they hadn't used their false key," Shaw
put in, "they wouldn't have had it in hand and
wouldn't have lost it."

"Very clever," said Nestor.

"Who else was in there?" asked Frank,
blushing at the compliment.

"The third man," Nestor continued, "had
business with Mr. Cameron.  He was there
earlier in the evening."

"He didn't lose anything there, did he?"
asked Frank, with a laugh.

"Yes," replied Nestor," he did.  He lost his
temper."

"You're a corker!" Frank exclaimed.  "What
else did he lose?"

"His life, possibly."

"Come, children," Frank grinned, "it is time
to wake up."


CHAPTER IX.
ABOUT THE THIRD SUSPECT.

Nestor laughed at the puzzled boy's excla-
mation and sat for some time looking down on
the dim camp-fire near the tents he had visited
a short time before.  The night was cloudless,
with a slight wind blowing from the west.
Now and then the sound of hoarse voices came
from the peaks above.

"The Mexican knocked off his heel there,"
he finally said, "and Scoby left his coat-button.
They might just as well have left their cards in
the papers they examined."

"What papers were they?"

"The Tolford estate papers."

"Yes, of course.  The Mexican wanted to
know something about the buried mine," Frank
said.  "We're getting at the motive now."

"Now, this third visitor," Nestor went on,
"as I have said, went there on business--on
business connected with a contract for the pur-
chase of firearms and ammunition.  Mr. Cam-
eron undoubtedly opened the door to admit him
after he had locked himself in.  The door might
not have been locked again that night, but that
is immaterial at present.  This third man,
whom we may as well call Don Miguel, the diplo-
mat, was not in the building when I got there.
The others were."

"Then why didn't you have them both
pinched?" demanded Frank.

"Partly because they were in the building,"
was the reply.  "If they had been possessed of
guilty consciences, they would have run away.
At least, it looks that way to me.  You see, this
Don Miguel might have struck the blow and
left the offices open and at the mercy of the
others.  Now you see how useless it is to draw
hasty conclusions."

"That's so.  He might," Frank admitted.

"No trouble to get Scoby, anyway," said
Nestor.  "He is asleep in that tent, and here
are more exhibits in the case--another Grand
Army button and another raveling.  I cut them
from Scoby's coat as he lay asleep over there."

"You never had the nerve to go into the
tent?" asked Frank.

"They are all asleep," was the reply, "so
I ran no risk in going in, and it was easy to crawl
under the canvas.  The Mexican we had been
talking about--Felix, Jimmie calls him--is also
there, with six or seven rough-looking fellows,
probably miners.  It is easy to imagine what
they are here for."

"They got the description out of the safe,
and are going to the mine," exclaimed Frank.
"I believe they attacked Mr. Cameron in order
to get the description.  The man you call Don
Miguel would have no motive in attacking him,
would he?"

"We'll see about that later on," was the reply.
"So far as I can see through it, the case stands as
it did before, with three men in the suspect row."

"Gather them in, then," advised Frank.
"Send for the soldiers and have these two
pinched.  Then go to New York, or wherever
this third man is, and have him pinched, too.
That will clear the atmosphere a little."

"I have an idea," Nestor said, "that this
Felix went to New York on purpose to get the
mine paper, or a copy of it.  He probably had
a description of his own, which would not take
him to the mine, and went to the Cameron
building hoping that he could get the one in the
estate papers, and that the two of them, his own
and the other, would enable him to reach his
goal."

"I reckon you have that right," Frank said,
"and he got Scoby to work with him."

"I'm going to let him go ahead with his
search," the patrol leader said.  "He may show
the way to the mine.  Anyway, it is a chance
worth taking.  Otherwise, I might, as you advise,
arrest him and the watchman with him.  But
here, again, this third suspect intervenes."

"You appear to think a lot of this third man,"
grinned Frank.

"Naturally," Nestor replied, "since he is the
man who brought me to Mexico."

"You're getting to be a puzzle," exclaimed
Frank.  "I thought the safety of Fremont was
the main thing, with the mine a close second."

"I might have hidden Fremont in New York,
and the mine matter could have waited."

"Is this Don Miguel here?"

"He is expected here.  I came down to meet
him."

"Hope you'll know him when he comes."

"There will be no trouble about that," was
the reply.  "I know about how the fellow looks.
And I rather think he will recognize me."

"He may see you first," suggested Frank.

"If he does, I probably won't see him at all.
Well, I must take chances on that.  I thought
this might be his camp when I came down here."

"What is he coming here for?"

"To kick up a row."

"And is he going to succeed in doing it?"

"That is more than I can say at present."

"I wish you wouldn't be so mysterious,"
cried the boy.  "You've told me all about the
other two, why not tell me about this one?"

"There are international reasons," was the
grave reply.

"Oh!" exclaimed Frank.  "That's why
you're hand-in-glove with the army, and why
you're in the code row.  Say, but you've told
me all about how the others were identified as
having been in the Cameron suite, now tell me
something about this Don Miguel, if you can.
Has he got a short leg, or a withered hand, or a
long shoe heel?  Go on and tell me how he looks
and acts, if you can."

"Well, he's a dusky, slender fellow," Nestor
laughed, "and shows culture and education.
He dined at a lobster palace that night and wore
evening clothes.  He went directly to the Cam-
eron building from the restaurant, using a taxi-
cab and speaking both French and Spanish, as
well as English, to the driver.  He is a good
dresser, and ordinarily a discreet man, yet he
left a schedule of firearms in the Cameron suite
when he left.  He should have taken that with
him."

Frank eyed his companion curiously, his face
eager in the moonlight, his right hand rubbing
his forehead, as if trying to scour away the cob-
webs.

"Quit your kidding," he said.

"It is only a question of observation and
inquiry," laughed Nestor.  "There is no Sher-
lock Holmes business about it."

"And you think this man in evening dress
will come down here and mix with these ragged
bums?"

"I think he will come down here," was the
reply.

Frank watched the small camp-fire below,
just touching with red light the tents Nestor had
so successfully entered a short time before.  The
logic of the case seemed to be sound enough.  
Any one of the three men might have committed
the crime with which Fremont was charged.

Two of the three were sleeping in that tent,
while the third one was expected.  What con-
nection could there be between the man in even-
ing dress and the sullen Scoby and the villianous
Felix?  What significance could there be in the
schedule of firearms he had left in the suite?

How were the attack on Cameron, the matter
of the hidden mine, and the matter of interna-
tional importance associated together?  These
questions and many others presented themselves
to the boy as he watched the fire die out and
waited for Nestor to go on.

"This third man is a diplomat, is he?" he
finally asked.  "Does that mean that he is in
the diplomatic service of some government, and
that he is acting here in that capacity?"

"Something like that," was the reply,
"though it might be difficult to get any govern-
ment to father the mission he is really on.  He
claims, I understand, to be acting for a junta.
At least, he has not brought any government
into the affair so far, that I know of."

"Well, what does he want?"

"His benevolent purpose is to bring on a war
between Mexico and the United States," was
the astonishing reply.

"I don't think he's next to his job as a states-
man, then," observed Frank, "unless he wants
to see Mexico cleaned out."

"However that may be, he believes that a
raid on Texas soil from this side of the river
would provoke our government to an invasion,
as it probably would."

"I should hope so."

"And he believes, too, that in such an emer-
gency the Mexican federals and insurrectos
would join hands in fighting the common enemy."

"That is quite likely.  He's got that figured
out in good form," laughed Frank.  "I guess
he isn't such a dub, after all."

"He is probably right in the supposition that
such a war would stop the fighting over here--
that is, the fighting as it is now going on.  He
seeks peace in his own land at the risk of a war
with our country."

"Then he ought to be shot," declared the
boy.

"He was negotiating with Mr. Cameron for
the purchase of firearms and ammunition,"
Nestor went on.  "His people haven't got the
guns, and Mr. Cameron dealt in them."

"I see.  Go on--faster," cried the excited boy.

"He went to the office that night hoping to
convince Mr. Cameron that he ought to sell him
the arms he wanted.  He doubtless expected to
leave the office with a signed contract for what
he wanted--arms and ammunition enough to
make the proposed raid at least formidable.  He
failed.  Mr. Cameron would not sell the arms,
knowing that they were to be used against his
own country."

"Good boy!  Hope he gets well."

"Then this diplomat probably asked for the
correspondence which had been carried on be-
tween the two men.  He doubtless feared that
Mr. Cameron would reveal the plot to the gov-
ernment, as he would have done."

"Say," cried Frank, "this is getting pretty
swift."

"It has been swift from the start," replied
the other.

"Did this diplomat get the arms of some one
else?" asked the boy, presently.

"I don't know, but it is believed that he did."

"And is coming here with them?"

"Unless they are stopped at the border."

"Then," Frank said, soberly, "I know what
all these men are gathering here for.  I know
what they are waiting for--guns."

"I'm afraid you are right."

"Does the War department know?"

"Certainly."

"You found out about it and told Washing-
ton by wire?"

Frank reached forward and seized Nestor's
hand and shook it as if he expected to keep it in
his grasp forever.

"I know you did," he said.  "You needn't
say a word."

"The War department has the letters," said
Nestor, "the letters the diplomat did not secure
from Mr. Cameron.  I don't know why he did
not get them, I'm sure.  They were in a drawer
of the big desk.  It is quite probable, however,
that he was frightened away, as the others were.
That must have been quite early in the evening,
and who it was that scared him away is what is
puzzling me."


CHAPTER X.
THE WOLF MEETS A PANTHER.

The ragged soldiers halted when they came
to where the amazed Jimmie stood, and in a
moment were joined by the drummer, a slender
boy of fourteen, who looked worn out.

When he saw Jimmie he smiled and saluted
by extending the right arm horizontally, palm
out, three fingers vertical, with the thumb and
little finger crossed on the palm.

"Where did you get that?" demanded Jim-
mie.

"Did stunts for it," was the reply.  "And
look here."

The drummer swept his left hand down his
right sleeve, tapping half a dozen badges.  These
were those worn by Boy Scouts who had passed
as Fireman, Signaller, Pioneer, Marksman,
Horseman, and Musician.  The officer in charge
of the squad looked on with an amused smile as
the drummer exhibited his honors.

"The kid is crazy over the Boy Scouts," he
said. "He's been hunting for comrades among
the Mexicans, and I reckon he found a few, at
that.  Well, I'm in favor of the organization my-
self.  It teaches, honor, manhood, self-reliance,
and has made a man of many a flat-chested,
cigarette-smoking youth.  It will be the saving of
boys in the city slums if carried out properly."

"Sure it is all to the good," cried the drum-
mer.  "A Boy Scout can find friends wherever
he goes--and friends that will stick by him, too.
We get into the game ourselves and do things,
instead of sitting on the bleachers ad smoking
cigarettes while others get the exercise."

The little fellow smiled winningly at Jim-
mie, cast his eyes up the mountain, and then
asked:

"Where did you come from?  What patrol 
do you belong to?  I'm Panther Patrol, New
York."

"New York Wolf Patrol," was the reply.

"What you doin' here with the ragged army?
Say, but they'd make a hit on a Bowery stoige,
them soldiers."

"What do you know about the Bowery?"
demanded the drummer.  "Have you been
reading about it in the Newsboy's Delight?"

"I know every inch of the Bowery," was the
indignant reply.  "When I walk down to Chat-
ham Square the lamps bow to me.  I'm hungry
for it right now."

The drummer threw out his arms in a gesture
of approval.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, then.

"I'm editing this end of a detective case,"
laughed Jimmie.

"All alone?" grinned the drummer.  "Where
are the others?"

"Lost," cried Jimmie.  "Jere!  I wish Frank
Shaw was here and had hold of that drum.
There'd be something doin'.  He came down
here to drum for Uncle Sam, but they wouldn't
have him.  They said he was too short an' fat."

"Fatty Shaw!"

The drummer held his sides with his hands
while he laughed, and then dropped down on a
convenient rock.   The officer in charge of the
file of soldiers shook him by the shoulder, though
he was laughing too.

"Get up," he said.  "What kind of a min-
strel show is this?"

"Frank Shaw!" roared the drummer, paying
no attention to the order.  "He got sore because
I told him I'd enlisted as a drummer and lit out.

His father'll be sending after him, though.  He's
a good scout.  Where is he now?"

"Lost," repeated Jimmie.  "I don't know
where he is.  Just dropped into a hole."

"Not into any small hole," observed the
drummer.  "Are those your tents?" he added,
with a longing look at the soft blankets.

"Sure," replied Jimmie.  "Want to sleep?
Go to it then.  You're welcome."

"You bet I will," said the drummer.

He started for one of the tents and then
turned back.

"Did you see the wig-wagging awhile ago?"
he asked.

"Sure I did," was the reply.

"It was brief," said the officer in charge of
the file, "but, still, long enough to convince me
that we arrived here at the right time.   There is
an army forming here, no one seems to know
what for, and renegade Americans are mixing in
the game.  The signals called for a gathering
some distance above us."

"That's the way I took it," observed Jim-
mie.  "They are calling the men together, I
reckon, and there must be Americans in charge
for they talk United States."

"When you came up," began the officer,
"did you observe the fellows near the bottom?
They seemed to me to be asking questions of
the ones up above."

"We saw no one except stragglers when we
came up," was the reply.  "After the signals
came, Ned Nestor and Frank Shaw went down
there to see who they were, and they are down
there yet, I guess.  At least, they haven't re-
turned."

The soldiers, who were now laying aside their
weapons and preparing to cook supper, late as
the hour was, observed the lad eagerly at the
mention of Nestor's name.  The lad noticed,
too, as they gathered about him with question-
ing looks, that they were not at all like Mexicans
in appearance, now that they had thrown off
their outer clothing.  Jimmie glanced from the
officer to his men.

"You don't look like Greasers to me," he
said.

The officer laughed but made no reply.

"You came in with Ned Nestor?" he asked.

"Sure I did."

"And you say he went back down the moun-
tain to see who was signaling down there?"

"That is what he said when he went away."

"What did he say about coming back?"

"Of course he'll come back," declared Jim-
mie.  "He's needed here.  Since his departure
the boy he left here with me has been geezled
by some one.  I left him alone just a minute,
and when I returned he wasn't here.  They're
all lost but me, and I'm from the Bowery, so
nobody can lose me."

"Who was it that was taken from the camp?"
asked the officer.

Jimmie hesitated, for he did not know what
reply to make.  These men might be in quest of
Fremont.  Tempted by the large reward offered
for the capture of the boy, they might have
crossed the river and followed Nestor into the
mountains.

On the other hand, if they were not in search
of Fremont, they might render valuable assist-
ance in running down the men who had taken
him away.  It was rather a hard place to put
the loyal little fellow, but he proved equal to the
occasion by reserving his decision until further
information concerning the new arrivals should
be at hand.

"His name is Smith," he replied, shortly.

"And why did these unknown people abduct
Smith?" laughed the officer, who understood
from the manner of the boy that the name was a
fictitious one.

"I don't know," was the truthful reply.

"Well, we'll look into this later on," said
the officer.  "Just now we've got to travel down
this hill and see what Ned Nestor is about."

The officer talked with his men in whispers
for some moments, and Jimmie saw that they
were all anxious about something.  Finally,
directing two of his men to remain under arms at
the tents, he set off down the mountain with the
other four.  As they disappeared Jimmie beck-
oned the drummer aside.

"What do they want of Ned Nestor?" he
asked.

"They want some information he has," was
the reply.  "They were sent here to confer with
him.  Did you think they were Greasers because
they wore the ragged clothes over their good
ones?  Huh!  They had to do that, and talk
Spanish, too, in order to get in here.  The in-
surrectos think they're new recruits."

"Who are they? asked Jimmie.  "What do
they want to see Nestor for?"

"They are United States secret service men,"
was the reply.  "They are here on a clue pro-
vided by Nestor, and they want to confer with
him, as I said before."

"Jere!" cried Jimmie.  "I didn't know that
Ned was in partnership with the United States
army.  What is it all about?"

"You'll have to ask Ned," was the unsatis-
factory reply.  "He has been keeping the wires
to Washington hot ever since he left New York,
and these men were sent here at his request.
There's something doing here, but I don't know
what it is."

"I thought they were here to arrest Fremont,"
said Jimmie.  "If I had known who they were,
I wouldn't have lied about the boy.  I said his
name was Smith."

"Oh, it is George Fremont, is it?" asked the
drummer.  "That is the boy wanted for robbery
and attempted murder in New York.  Did Nes-
tor bring him here?"

"Yes," was the reply.  "He wanted to keep 
him away from the officers until the truth is
known.   Now he's gone and left us, and Fremont
has been captured."

"Perhaps United States officers captured
him," suggested the drummer.  "If so, he is
now on his way back to New York.  I'm sorry."

"I don't believe civil officers got in here,"
said Jimmie.  "When the secret service men
come back, I'm goin' to ask them to help find
him.  I recon, now, that the Greasers caught
him.  I hope so, that is, I would rather they
would have him than the others.  We may get
him away from the Greasers, but we couldn't
get him away from officers."

A new view of the incident was now presented
by one of the secret service men, who began
questioning Jimmie about the boy he had called
Smith.  The boy thought best to tell him the
truth, and did so.

It may be all right," the secret service man
said, after hearing the story. It strikes me that 
the Greasers mistook Fremont for Nestor.  In
that case, they may release him as soon as they
discover their mistake."

"Don't you ever think that," the other man
cut in.  "They are more likely to stand him up
against a wall and shoot him.  When the lieu-
tenant comes back we'll see what can be done
about it."

"But why should the Greasers want to cap-
ture Ned Nestor?" demanded Jimmy [sic].  "You
said they might have mistaken Fremont for
Ned."

"I can imagine that the man responsible for
this gathering is interested in papers Nestor
has," was the reply.

Jimmie and the drummer were now advised
to get what sleep they could, the guards ex-
plaining that they were "expecting company,"
and that the talking might frighten the pros-
pective callers away.

It was now nearing midnight, and Jimmie
tried hard to lose himself in sleep, but, tired as
he was, this seemed to be impossible.  Fremont
might be in deadly peril, and Nestor and Shaw
were still unaccountably absent.  His idea now
was that the secret service man had advanced
the correct theory regarding the abduction of
Fremont.  He had no doubt that the boy had
been mistaken for Nestor.

Besides, the boy's mind was naturally ex-
cited over the strange revelations of the night.
The arrival of the secret service men, the an-
nouncement that Nestor was working with the
War department, the story that he had been in
communication with the government at Wash-
ington ever since leaving New York, the hint
that he held very important papers in his pos-
session, all these supplied food for thought.

Under ordinary conditions the boy would
have enjoyed himself to the limit in the moun-
tains.  He loved the forests and the wild places,
the great spaces; he loved the light of the camp-
fire and the rustle of foliage in the night.  How-
ever, he was now by far too anxious to appre-
ciate the outing he was having.

While he lay there trying to sleep he heard
the guards whispering together.  They were
speaking of the important part Nestor was play-
ing in the happenings there, and the boy was
proud of his association with the resourceful
patrol leader.

In a short time the boy heard the guards
moving about as if acting under strong excite-
ment.  There was also the rattle of arms, as if
they were preparing to meet an enemy.

Jimmie crept out of his blankets and crawled
to the opening of the little tent.  The guards
were crouching low in the shadow of a rock, with
their guns in hand, and the boy joined them.

"I thought you were asleep, kid," one of the
men whispered.  "Better go back to your tent.
There may be shooting here."

"I didn't come down here to skulk," replied
the boy, indignantly. "Are the stragglers com-
ing here again?"

"There is some one moving about," was the
reply.

"Perhaps it is Fremont, coming back," sug-
gested Jimmie, hoping with all his heart that he
had solved the riddle.

"If Fremont ever gets back here," the other
guard observed, "we will have to bring him back.
The men who took him away doubtless thought
they were getting Nestor, and they will be so
angry when they discover their mistake that the
boy will receive very little consideration," was
the discouraging explanation.

"Then we may as well be out after him,"
declared Jimmie.  ""I'm not goin' to lie in any
old tent while they are killing him.  I'm going
out to find him."

"In that case," said the guard, "we'll have
to go and find you.  Wait until the lieutenant
returns, and we'll see what can be done.  He
may bring Nestor with him, you know, and he
can assist."

Although this seemed good sense, it did not
please Jimmie at all, and he went back to his
tent resolved to get away from the guards as
soon as possible and do what he could to find
Fremont.  At the very door of the tent, how-
ever, he came to a halt, for the signals were
going again, and a great rocket flashed across
the sky.


CHAPTER XI.
BLACK BEAR AND DIPLOMAT.

"It looks to me as if there might be civil
war down here, with all these men waiting for
guns and ammunition," said Shaw, as Nestor
concluded the story of the letters which had
been forwarded to Washington.  "I didn't know
what I was getting into when I left New York.
I wish I could send that story to my father.
What a scoop he would have on the other news-
papers!"

"That is the very last thing you should think
of," declared Nestor.  "The publication of the
story now might bring about the very thing we
are trying to prevent.  There is no knowing what
the Texans would do if they learned of the plot
to invade their state.  We are here to defeat the
plot to arm these men who are waiting to cross
the river, and not to furnish newspapers with
scoops, as you call them."

"How are you going to do it?" asked the boy.

"The intention originally was to stop the
purchase of arms.  That failing, it was deter-
mined to prevent the purchases crossing the Rio
Grande.  If that cannot, or has not, been done,
then some other means must be resorted to.
That is why I am here, and that is why United
States secret service men are waiting for me
somewhere about here."

"I see," said Shaw, "and you thought your
men might be down here?  Well, if it is the
other end of the conspiracy that we find in this
camp, at least the other end of the Cameron
robbery conspiracy--anyway not your asso-
ciates--what then?"

"I am expecting the diplomat," was the
reply.  "If I can't get the arms I hope to get
him."

"Would that check the invasion of Texas?"
asked the boy.

"It might delay it until we have a strong
force on the other side of the river."

"I believe you mean to kidnap him" cried
Shaw.  "Is that right?"

"I'm going to do something to disarrange the
plans of the conspirators, if I can.  We don't
want a war with Mexico just now.  Such an
event might bring on complications with other
nations, at least with one other nation."

"You mean Japan," cried Shaw.  "I've
heard that Mexico is full of Japs, all trained and
ready to fight.  And I've heard about a secret
treaty between Mexico and Japan, too.  Let
the Japs butt in, if they want to.  We'll drive
them into the Pacific."

"I have said nothing about Japan," replied
Nestor.  "I don't believe half this sensational
stuff about Japan's warlike attitude toward the
United States that the newspapers are printing."

"Wel