THE MERCER BOYS ON
A TREASURE HUNT

By CAPWELL WYCKOFF

Author of
“The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest,” “The Mercer Boys’ Cruise in the Lassie,” “The Mercer Boys’ Mystery Case,” “The Mercer Boys on the Beach Patrol,” “The Mercer Boys in Summer Camp.”

THE
WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
Cleveland, Ohio New York City

Copyright, MCMXXIX
by
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE [I The Professor’s Letter] 3 [II The Story of the Phantom Galleon] 13 [III A Royal Invitation] 20 [IV The Professor is Attacked] 29 [V The Prowler in the Night] 41 [VI The Scene in the Moonlight] 52 [VII Sackett’s Raid] 63 [VIII The Search is Begun] 72 [IX The Ruined Castle] 81 [X The Rope in the Dungeon] 92 [XI The Underground Passage] 101 [XII The Tolling of the Bell] 109 [XIII A Forced March] 119 [XIV History Repeats] 129 [XV The Mountain Sage] 139 [XVI The Landing Party] 150 [XVII The Escape] 159 [XVIII Treasure and Treachery] 170 [XIX An Old Friend Joins the Party] 182 [XX The Tar Barrel] 191 [XXI The Cairn] 201 [XXII The Den] 211 [XXIII The Dragon’s Last Stroke] 219 [XXIV Ned Takes a New Overseer] 237

THE MERCER BOYS ON A
TREASURE HUNT

CHAPTER I
THE PROFESSOR’S LETTER

“I’d like to have a crack at that ball,” said Don Mercer, with a grin.

His brother Jim returned the grin as he said: “Let’s go out on the field and ask the kids to toss us one. They won’t mind giving us one swing at it.” The two Mercer brothers were standing at the edge of a large vacant lot near the center of their home town one morning late in June. They had been home from Woodcrest Military Institute for a week now on their summer vacation, and this particular day, having nothing more exciting to do, they had wandered around the town, coming at length to a familiar field where they had often played baseball. A number of youngsters were on the ground now, tossing and batting a discolored baseball, and the sight of them had caused the sandy haired, slightly freckled Don to express his wish.

The two boys walked across the field toward the boys and Don said: “Wonder how much further I can hit it now than I could when I played here as a kid?”

“Hard to tell,” returned Jim. “But we certainly got quite a bit of practise this spring at Woodcrest.”

The small boys looked at them as they drew nearer, but as the Mercer boys were well known the boys felt no alarm or resentment at the approach of the larger lads. Don walked over to the boy who held the bat and held out his hand.

“How about giving me one crack at the ball, Charlie?” he asked.

The boy smiled and extended the bat, a bit of embarrassment in his look. “Sure, Don. Take a couple of them,” he invited.

“I guess one will be enough,” remarked Don, as he turned to face a boy who held the ball. “Put a good one over, Tommy, will you?”

The boy addressed as Tommy grinned boyishly and turned to the youngsters who stood far afield, waiting for flies to be batted to them. “Get way out, you fellows,” he cried. “This fellow can hit ’em!”

The two fielders backed away and Tommy threw a fast ball to Don. The latter easily batted it out and one of the youngsters caught it triumphantly. Don handed the bat to Jim, who in turn cracked the ball out along the ground.

“Just one more, fellows,” begged Don, taking the bat from his brother’s hand. When the ball had been turned over to young Tommy he wound his arm up slowly and then pitched it with considerable force in Don’s direction.

“Hit that!” he cried.

It was traveling on a straight line and Don swung the bat around sharply. There was a singing crack as the wood met the ball, and the muddy spheroid sailed in a mounting curve up into the air. It passed high above the fielder’s head and made its way straight for the side window of a small house that stood on the edge of the field.

“Oh, boy!” shouted Jim. “Right through the window!”

His statement was correct. With a disconcerting crash the ball smashed the window to pieces.

Don dropped the bat and shoved his hands into his pocket. “Well, I’ll be jiggered!” he exclaimed. “How is that for bad luck? Right through Professor Scott’s window!”

“I hope the professor wasn’t at home, and in that room,” said Jim. “Guess we had better go over and see about it.”

“Right you are,” nodded Don. “Thanks for the hits, kids. Come on, Jim.”

Leaving the boys to gather and talk things over in awed tones the two Mercer brothers made their way across the field in the direction of Professor Scott’s house. The gentleman mentioned had been their history teacher while they were in grammar school, and they knew him quite well, so they had no great fears as to the outcome. No one had appeared at the window or at the doors, and Jim supposed that the professor was not at home.

“I guess not,” Don returned, “or he would surely have appeared by now. But we’ll go over and see, and if he isn’t we’ll leave a note and tell him who did it, and offer to pay for it.”

While the Mercer boys are making their way across the field something may be said as to who they were. Both boys, fine, manly chaps, were the sons of a wealthy lumber man of Bridgewater, Maine. They had lived the life of healthy young men whose interests were centered in worthwhile things. Of late they had had some adventurous events in their lives, some of which were related in the first volume of this series, The Mercer Boys’ Cruise in the Lassie, when they ran down a marine bandit gang, and later when solving a baffling mystery at the military school, details of which were related in the second volume entitled The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest. Together with their comrade, Terry Mackson, they had faced many perils and adventures, and now they were home to spend, as they thought, a comparatively dull vacation. Just how deeply mistaken they were in their thought will be found later.

They entered the front yard of Professor Scott’s house and walked around to the side, where the broken window faced toward the empty lot. There appeared to be no one at home, but when they came opposite to the window Don raised himself slightly on his toes and looked in. Then he dropped down again and looked at Jim in astonishment.

“The professor is at home,” he said, in a low tone. “He’s sitting there, reading a letter!”

“Reading a letter?” asked Jim, amazed.

“Yes,” answered his brother. “Look in.”

Jim raised himself and looked in the window. A tall man with bushy white hair and a thick iron gray beard was seated at the desk in what appeared to be a study, busily engaged in reading a letter. Near him, almost at his feet, lay the boys’ ball, and fragments of broken glass littered the floor. The professor was apparently deeply absorbed in his letter.

“Well, what do you know about that!” exclaimed Jim, softly. “Doesn’t even seem to know that the window is broken! We always knew that he was somewhat absent-minded, but I thought he was more responsible than that!”

Before Don could reply there was a stir in the room and the next minute the professor came to the window and looked down at them. He still held what appeared to be a lengthy letter in his hand, and he recognized them.

“Why, Don and Jim Mercer!” he cried, showing strong white teeth in an engaging smile. “I’m glad to see you home again. Did you come to see me?”

“I came to apologize for breaking your window, and to offer to pay for it, Professor Scott,” answered Don. “I was batting out the ball for some boys, and I hit it harder than I expected to. I hope it didn’t startle you very much?”

“I jumped a little bit,” admitted the professor. “I did notice it!”

“Notice it!” exploded Jim. “I should think that you might have! It certainly made enough noise.”

“It did make some. I felt that it was some of the boys playing ball and I was going to throw the ball back to them in a minute.” He picked the ball up and handed it to Don. “Throw it back, and then come inside, won’t you?”

Don threw the ball back to the small boys, who were watching from the field. “Are you sure we won’t be breaking in on you, professor?” he asked.

“Not as much as you did a few minutes ago!” smiled the teacher. “Come around through the back way.”

When the boys entered the professor’s study he motioned them to chairs and asked them a few questions about their school life and studies. All the time he held the letter in his hand, and when he had finished talking about their school he took the lead in the conversation.

“I guess you boys wonder what is so interesting in this letter that I hardly noticed a ball when it broke through my window,” he began. “Well, I remember how interested you boys were in history while in my classes, and I’m glad you came along when you did. This letter is from my son Ned, who lives in Lower California, and it contains one of the most fascinating stories I ever came across!”

Knowing as they did the professor’s deep interest in historic and scientific studies and discoveries the boys found themselves interested at once. The teacher went on, after a glance at the letter, “Ned owns a small farm or homestead in Lower California near the mines at San Antonio and Triunfo, where he tests the ores and carries on general scientific studies. He tells me that the ores are refractory and not easy to test, but he enjoys the work and is devoting his whole life to it. I don’t think he is quite as much interested in historic things as I am, but knowing how eager I am for relics and information of the past, he has sent me this remarkable piece of news.

“Some time ago, a steam trawler, while fishing in 130 fathoms of water, hauled up a piece of wreckage in its net. Upon examination it appeared to be the bulwark of an ancient Spanish galleon, with parts of the rigging attached. On the sides, plainly distinguishable, were designs in hand-sewn leather. Some of those big, lumbering ships were decorated quite extensively, you know, and this one was distinguished by its hand-sewn leather covering. It was evident that somewhere in the neighborhood a Spanish galleon had gone to the bottom, and it is always a safe conclusion that where there is galleon there is also a treasure. Those ships carried gold, silver and jewels from Old Mexico and Peru to Spain, and this particular ship may have been going home after a trip up the coast of California. That was the type of ship that the brave English seamen of Queen Elizabeth’s time whipped so soundly at the time of the Spanish Armada, and there were hundreds of them in service along the shores of the Americas and the Islands.

“The spot was marked in the hope that treasure would be discovered, on the presumption that it was a treasure ship, and shortly afterward active operations were started by a California diving company. But although they searched the shore under water in minute detail they found nothing. The mystery is not that they didn’t find any treasure, but that they didn’t find any more of the ship. You might think that perhaps that particular piece had been washed there from some point further out, and it is possible, but the piece, when netted, had been buried in the mud, and it looks as though it had been there for centuries, though ships haven’t a habit of sinking in sections, one part at one place and another part in a different place. However, they didn’t find a thing, and at last the whole undertaking was given up.”

“That is too bad,” said Jim, who was deeply absorbed in the story. “So it was a false hope from the first.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Don.

“That was a little over a year ago,” answered the professor. “And that leads me to the second part of my story. Ned had given up all interest in it even before the diving and salvage company had, and he thought no more about it. The piece of wreckage is a treasure in itself and was sent up to San Francisco, where it was subsequently placed in a museum. Realizing that I would be interested in it all he first wrote to me at the time it happened, and I read it and wrote for news, but as the thing died down I forgot it, too. I have planned to run out to San Francisco sometime and see the part myself, and I intend doing so soon.

“Ned told me at the time that there had been some slight changes in the coast line during the last few centuries. A number of creeks that formerly ran into the ocean have closed up and disappeared, some of them filled with shifting sand and soil. I don’t know if you were ever aware of the fact or not, but although Lower California has a dry climate and is mostly barren, there are spots where it is tropical and jungle plants and trees grow there in luxurious profusion. Although they have almost no rain, they do have violent storms, and at such times are treated to regular cloudbursts. At those periods the elements raise the old dickens and it was during these spells that some creeks and small rivers closed up.

“Maybe you wonder why I’m particular to tell you all this. I do so because I believe it has a direct bearing on the most amazing part of Ned’s letter. I believe it explains the disappearance of the Phantom Galleon!”

“The Phantom Galleon!” cried Don, while Jim stirred in eager interest. “What is that, Professor Scott?”

CHAPTER II
THE STORY OF THE PHANTOM GALLEON

“Well,” answered the professor, slowly. “Up until a very short time Ned, and others, thought that it was only a legend. He hadn’t been in the country very long before he heard it, and he put it down as one of those semi-historic tales that consist of half truth and half fancy. The tale had been handed down for centuries and always by word of mouth, and this is the story:

“On a certain evening, hundreds of years ago, a huge, lumbering Spanish galleon, loaded with treasure, fled along the coast of Lower California, pursued by three English barks. In the long run there was not a chance that the gold ship would get away, for the light English barks were much faster, and it was only a question of time before they hauled down on her and boarded. The way they were situated was this: one ship was in the rear of the Spaniard, one was coming up in front of it, and a third was moving in from the open sea. It was a regular trap, you see, and merely a matter of time.

“But fortunately—or unfortunately, I don’t know which—for the galleon, one of those rare tropical storms came up at that moment when capture seemed assured for the gold ship. There was a furious rush of the wind, the sky grew black and lowering, and finally, in one great maelstrom of confusion the three ships and the galleon were blotted out of sight. The storm only lasted for some half hour, which is unusually long for some of them, and when it lifted the galleon was nowhere to be seen. The English barks had had all they could handle and had been so busy holding their own against the elements that they hadn’t time to keep up the pursuit, and their conclusion was that the Spaniard had gone to the bottom of the sea. As it was built much higher and was much harder to handle than the lighter ships, the conclusion was justified, and the pursuers drew off and left the shore.

“As I told you, that had happened in the evening, just as dusk was coming down over the shore and the sea, and the high decked galleon, with its spread of strained canvas and yellow streamers, its lofty rigging and its ornamental work, looked like some strange phantom as it fled down the coast. I don’t know who saw it or how many saw it, but to this day the story, half legend as it is, has persisted concerning the phantom galleon. Some fantastic tales still linger about it appearing on dusky nights and sailing swiftly along the shore, but they are idle stories to which no one with intelligence pays any attention. Ned never gave the whole thing much credit until a remarkable circumstance brought it forcefully to his mind.

“Near his little ranch there is a large old estate which belongs to a once noble family of mixed Spanish and Mexican blood, and although they keep pretty much to themselves, out of a lofty sense of pride, they have been rather friendly to Ned, in their stately and exacting way. There was an old man who was head of the place, his daughter, and one or two servants. Lately the old gentleman died, and Ned kindly helped out with the funeral and the management of the ranch affairs until a permanent overseer was brought over from Mexico, and in her gratitude the young senorita allowed him to roam pretty much around the house. I suspect from his letter that he has of late become rather more than friendly with the young lady, but that doesn’t make much difference either way. It seems that she had been left with quite a library, reading being an important business in such a lonely place, and some of the volumes were pretty precious, being hand written works of early settlers and priests, who thus left interesting historic records. One of these books attracted Ned’s attention strongly.

“It had been written by a priest in the year 1571, and it described the Spanish treasure hunts, some of which were plain plundering expeditions, and this particular book related them in detail. Ned wasn’t unusually interested until he came across the part relating to a chase that the galleon had had from three English ships. According to the author they had loaded with something like 100,000 pesos and a fortune in gold and silver bars, to say nothing of jewels, and had sailed for Upper California. But near the shores of Lower California the galleon had been sighted by an English bark, which had instantly given chase. The galleon, which had a good start, fled, but its chances of escape suddenly became less as another English ship appeared before it, and another bore down on it from the open sea. It was growing dark, wrote the priest, and there was some hope that it would slip away in the darkness, but something more to the point stepped in when a tropical storm wrapped the nearby world in temporary darkness. The Don Fernando, that was the name of the galleon, slipped into a nearby creek or small river and ran hard and fast aground, the lofty masts and spars crashing down, a total ruin. The creek seems to have been far enough back for the wreck to have escaped the notice of the English, for they were not molested, and the crew, after assuring themselves that the treasure was safe, tried to make their way inland for help.

“But somehow or other—the writer does not say how—they all perished, and he alone escaped to Mexico, there to write down the story of the flight of the galleon. He affirms positively in his journal that the treasure was not touched, and he planned to raise enough men to go and get it. Whether he did or not no one knows, but if he didn’t that treasure is still somewhere in a creek, in the wreck of that galleon, perhaps buried below the level of the sand which has shifted. Ned thinks that it is nearby and that is why he has written to me.

“The tragedy of the thing is this: the priest wrote everything except the name of the creek down which the phantom galleon fled. There are several pages missing from his book, and it breaks off like this: ‘The ship with its fortune in gold and precious stones, its coin and bars, is still buried in the sand in a creek called——’ and there it unfortunately ends. If the name was only there we could tell something, for it is always probable that someone can be found who will recall the name, no matter how ancient it may be, but as the name is lost, Ned faces a blank wall. He inquired from Senorita Mercedes just where she had obtained that book, but she knew nothing outside of the fact that it had apparently always been in their house.”

“That certainly is interesting,” said Don, as the professor stopped. “Your son Ned thinks that it is somewhere near his place?”

“Yes, he believes it is somewhere within a radius of a hundred miles. The legend has it that the galleon vanished somewhere right on that very shore, and that would indicate that the galleon ran up some creek very near to his place. If no one ever did get back and take that treasure it is probably in the rotted hold of the treasure ship, buried more or less deeply in the sand, just waiting for some lucky one to discover it. Much of the land near Ned’s ranch has never been thoroughly explored, and it may be that it is nearer to him than he has any idea of.”

“Has he made any effort to find it?” inquired Jim.

“A somewhat feeble one, yes. He endeavored to enlist the aid of some nearby ranch men, some half breed Mexicans, but although they started with some enthusiasm they soon gave it up. They are the kind who would not mind sharing in the rewards if someone else does the work. So he gave it up, except that he patiently read every other book in Senorita Mercedes’ library in the hope of obtaining some clue, but the missing pages were not to be located and he is still no nearer to finding out the name of that creek than he was at first.”

“And he never did find out how that book came to be in the library of the Spanish ranch?” asked Don.

“No, but we can hazard a guess as to that. The Mercedes family have lived in Lower California for at least a hundred years, but before that they came from Mexico. It is very possible that the priest had escaped to Mexico and fallen in some way in with this ancient Spanish family, perhaps dying there and leaving the book with them. How the last few leaves of the book came to be missing no one knows. But perhaps you can see the possibilities?”

“What do you mean?” asked Jim.

“I mean that perhaps someone has already read that book, tore out the sheets with the information on them, and has already found that treasure!” was the startling answer.

CHAPTER III
A ROYAL INVITATION

They were somewhat dismayed at the professor’s reasoning but at length Don shook his head. “I don’t see that it is necessarily so,” he insisted. “Of course, there is a big chance that such is the reason, but on the other hand it may simply be that the pages have been lost. It can be taken both ways.”

“Yes,” nodded the professor. “It can. That is why I would never allow myself any false hopes.”

“Then you are going out and help Ned look for this treasure?” asked Jim.

“I’m going out more because he wants me to come than for anything else,” said Professor Scott. “And as much for the change as for anything else. I’ve been studying pretty hard of late, and I’m sure a change of air and scenery wouldn’t hurt me a bit. I haven’t any idea that Ned will ever find that legendary treasure, but the fact that he found evidence that the story of the phantom galleon is true interested me greatly.”

“But if you do go out there you will look around for it, won’t you?” inquired Don.

“Oh, yes, Ned will see to that! He has the idea that he will run across it, and nothing stops him once he gets an idea. I’ll join in with him and do some tramping around, but while he’ll be looking for gold I’ll be looking for health. I’m rather more sure of finding what I am after than he is.”

“Just the same,” murmured Jim. “It is a dandy opportunity, and I wouldn’t mind having a shot at it.”

“You boys are greatly interested,” remarked the professor, looking at them keenly.

“I suppose we are,” admitted Don, smiling. “It appeals to us, and I guess it would to any fellow. If you go, professor, we certainly wish you all kinds of luck.”

“Thanks,” said the professor. “If you went on such a trip, I suppose you’d hunt the treasure with much energy?”

“I guess we would,” nodded Jim. “If it was anywhere near I guess we would uncover it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” the professor smiled. He was silent a moment and then he asked: “Now that you boys are home for a vacation, what do you plan to do? Have you anything definite in mind?”

Don shook his head. “We might do a little sailing,” he replied. “We have a fine thirty-foot sloop, and we may sail for a ways down the coast. Last summer we did and we had a good time.”

“I know about that voyage,” the professor returned. “That was the time you ran down those marine bandits, wasn’t it? I remember reading about it.”

“That was the time,” Don answered. “We don’t expect to run down any bandits this summer, but we may take a cruise.”

“That is fine,” said the professor, somewhat absent-mindedly. “So you two boys were interested in what I told you of Ned’s letter, eh?”

“We couldn’t help being,” grinned Jim. “I guess every fellow is interested in treasure hunting.”

“I suppose that is true,” the professor returned. “Well, that is the contents of the letter which made me so interested that I paid very little attention to the ball as it broke the window.”

“I’m sorry about that, professor,” said Don. “How much is it, please? I’m very anxious to have it repaired.”

“Forget it,” said the professor.

But Don insisted, feeling that it would not rightly do to accept the professor’s generous offer to put it in himself, and at length the teacher agreed that Don should pay for the work. He rather admired Don’s spirit in insisting upon paying his own way through life, and although he knew that the Mercer brothers had plenty of ready money he allowed Don to pay for the broken glass more as a concession to his spirit of the right thing to do than for any other reason. After Don had turned over the money to the professor the boys took their leave.

“Thanks for that interesting story, Professor Scott,” said Jim, as they were leaving.

“Yes, we enjoyed it,” added Don.

“You are very welcome,” smiled the professor. “I thought you would be interested, and may—be—humph, well, let that pass for now. Good morning, boys.”

The boys left the professor and walked slowly down the shady street, discussing the letter and his story. It appealed to them greatly.

“That sure was a strange thing, that finding of the old book relating to the flight of the galleon,” mused Don. “Looks like the hand of fate, eh?”

“It surely does,” chimed in Jim. “Those fellows took that treasure centuries ago, it lays buried in the sand for years and years, and then a chance discovery points to where it is. Sort of like a dead man’s finger pointing at the treasure, isn’t it?”

“Somewhat,” admitted Don. “I rather feel that if the treasure had been found by someone else Ned Scott would not have come across that book. Now, that is my own way of looking at it. Just as the professor says, someone may have torn the valuable leaves, with the location of the creek on them, out and have found it long ago. But I somehow just can’t believe it.”

“Nor I,” said Jim. “I’d surely like to be along when Ned Scott unearths that old ship and its treasure.”

“Provided that he does,” smiled Don, as they reached their home. “There isn’t any guarantee that he will. It is always possible that the whole thing happened miles down the coast, for if I remember correctly, from my school map, Lower California is a mighty long stretch. Well, all I hope is that he’ll tell us if anything turns up. Just as soon as he comes back, if we are home from school, we’ll hunt him up and ask him all about it.”

“Surely,” agreed Jim. “If he isn’t home by the time we are ready to return to school we can see him during some vacation. Well, what do you say, old man? Shall we go down and tinker with the boat?”

“Don’t think we have time,” decided Don, looking at his watch. “That visit to the professor took up the whole morning, and mother will be waiting dinner.”

The boys entered the quiet but homelike little house which was their home and prepared for dinner. When they sat down at the table Mr. Mercer, a kindly and energetic man, was there. He worked in a local office, where he ran his vast lumber business, and was generally home for meals. Margy Mercer was also there, and the family was complete.

“Well, what have you two fellows been doing this morning?” asked Mr. Mercer, as he vigorously attacked a piece of steak.

“Don’s been breaking into people’s houses!” chuckled Jim. “This was an expensive morning for Don.”

Don related what had happened, and finding his family deeply interested in the professor’s letter, told them the story of the phantom galleon. Mr. Mercer smiled as he finished.

“I suppose you two wouldn’t mind going along on a trip like that, would you?” he asked.

“I should say not!” exclaimed Jim. “We’d go without mother’s apple pie for a month to go on that trip!”

“Hum!” said Mr. Mercer. “Score one for mother’s pie! I imagine if anything spectacular comes out of the professor’s treasure hunt the newspapers will have it.”

The two boys went for a brief sail in a small catboat during the afternoon and later worked at the bench in their boathouse, turning out the sides for some bunks which they planned to place in their little sleeping cottage at the end of the yard. They already had three beds in the little place, but lately Jim had hit upon the idea of constructing regular ships’ bunks and they were now busy making the pieces. They stuck to this job until the time of the evening meal, and after that they remained at home, listening to the radio entertainment.

Don, who was sitting near the living room window, idly looking out, suddenly uttered an exclamation and straightened up.

“What’s the matter, Don?” asked Jim, quickly.

“Here comes Professor Scott!” Don exclaimed.

“In here?” demanded Jim.

“Yes, he’s coming up the walk.” And Don got up and went to the door, to open it for the teacher.

“How do you do, Professor Scott,” he greeted. “Won’t you come in?”

“Yes, thank you,” nodded the professor. “Is your father at home?”

“Yes, he surely is,” said Don. “Come right on in.”

He showed the professor into the living room, where the Mercer family greeted him, and after a few minutes of pleasant talk Mr. Mercer guided him to his study, where they might talk in quietness and alone. Jim looked inquiringly at Don.

“What in the world do you suppose he wants with dad?” he whispered.

“Jiggered if I know,” shrugged Don.

In less than half an hours’ time the two men returned, both of them smiling, and Mr. Mercer turned off the radio. Then, as they sat down the father looked with mock sternness at his two boys.

“I want your promise to at least make an effort to keep out of trouble while you are with Professor Scott,” he said.

“With Professor Scott!” echoed Don, while Jim stared. “Where are we going with Professor Scott?”

“Out to tramp all around the sands of Lower California, I think,” Mr. Mercer returned.

“No!” shouted Don, leaping to his feet.

“No? Well, all right. I thought that you wanted to go, but as long as you don’t why——”

That was as far as he got. “Of course we want to go,” cried Jim. “By George, this is great. What made you decide to take us with you, professor?”

“It’s a protective measure,” smiled the professor, pleased at their enthusiasm. “I saw how interested you boys were when I told you about it this morning, and I was wondering if you would care to go and if I could persuade your father to allow you to go. You see, I want to go out there for a rest, and I’m afraid Ned will insist upon dragging me all over the country in search of Spanish treasure, so I’m taking you boys along as buffers, to help him in his mad adventuring.”

“Well,” smiled Mrs. Mercer. “We’ll let them go if you’ll try to keep them out of trouble, Professor Scott. They have a very bad habit of getting into plenty of it.”

“I guess Ned will keep them so busy that they won’t have time to get into any scrapes,” said the professor.

They sat and talked for another hour, the boys unable to believe their good fortune, the suddenness of which had stunned them. The professor took his leave at last, telling them that he planned to start at the end of the coming week. After he had gone they sat and talked some more, the boys excited at the prospect of their coming trip.

When at last they went up to bed it was not to sleep immediately. They discussed the event for more than an hour.

“Dad and mother say for us to keep out of trouble,” chuckled Jim. “We’ll try hard to obey orders, but I do hope we have some exciting times.”

“Don’t you worry,” chuckled Don. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if we did!”

The two boys fell asleep, worn out by the events of the day. It is doubtful if they would have slept so peacefully had they been able to foresee the events which loomed before them.

CHAPTER IV
THE PROFESSOR IS ATTACKED

After three days of preparation the boys and the professor were ready to leave for the west coast. They were to go to San Francisco and take a steamer there down to the settlements in Lower California. It was a bright Saturday morning when they waved out of the window to their friends on the station platform.

“Well,” remarked Don, as the train moved out of the station. “We are off for new scenes at last.”

The journey across the continent was uneventful. They enjoyed it thoroughly, never growing tired of the endless views which unfolded as the train sped westward. The professor, with his varied knowledge of places and people, his understanding of scientific facts and his historic incidents, proved to be a most delightful companion. In a few days they left the train at the great city of the coast and the professor hunted up a hotel.

Professor Scott had never been to California, although he had been in many other cities in the United States, and his interest was as keen as that of the boys. One of his first tasks, after they had been installed in a good hotel, was to hasten to the water front and inquire concerning a steamer to take them down the coast. When he returned he reported his findings to the boys.

“There is a steamer named the Black Star that will take us down the day after tomorrow,” he said. “I went aboard and arranged for our passage. It isn’t a passenger boat, but I didn’t have any trouble in persuading the captain to take us as passengers. The boat is a fruit steamer, but they have one or two extra cabins for our use.”

They turned in early that night and the next day took an extensive tour of the great city. A great many of the foremost buildings and places of interest were visited, and they obtained their longed-for view of the piece of wreckage of the Spanish galleon of which Ned Scott had written them. It was a huge piece, worn by the action of the waves, with studded leather on the sides and pieces of rigging still clinging to it. It occupied a prominent place in the city museum.

“If that thing could only talk,” the professor remarked, as they walked around it. “What a story it could tell!”

“I guess it would be very helpful to us, in our search,” smiled Jim.

When evening came the boys were tired, but strange to relate, the professor was not. His interest in places and men amounted to a passion with him, and he loved to study them at every opportunity. The boys were sitting around in the hotel room and the professor, after walking around restlessly, suddenly faced them.

“Are you boys too tired to do some more walking?” he asked.

“Well, I’m pretty well played out,” admitted Don. “But if you’d like us to go with you, anywhere, professor, we’ll gladly go.”

“Oh, no,” replied the professor, hastily. “I just wanted to ask you if you’d care to take a stroll down near the water front. There are some very quaint places down there, and I’d like to visit some of them. But I don’t want you boys to go out if you are tired.” He reached for his hat and went on: “I’m going down there for a stroll. I’ll be back shortly.”

“If you want us—” began Jim, but the professor cut him short.

“No, no, not at all. You boys stay here and I’ll wander a bit myself. See you later.”

“Take care of yourself, professor,” called Don, as he went out.

“I will, thanks. Don’t worry; I’ll be right back.”

Once on the street the professor struck off for the water front at a brisk pace. In the hotel room Jim looked inquiringly at Don.

“Do you suppose it is alright for him to go?” he asked.

“I guess so,” nodded Don. “He is pretty well able to take care of himself.”

The city was wrapped in darkness when the professor began his wandering, a darkness which was broken by the bright lights on the business streets and the more feeble ones on the side streets. The professor headed for the wharves, where the masts of the medley of crafts could be seen rising above the low houses which fronted the bay. Down in this section the savant found some queer crooked streets, lined with rows of box-like houses and cheap eating places. Groups of men and women sat on the doorsteps and fire escapes, children whooped and played in the streets, and scraps of music, jarring one on the other, came from phonographs and radios. Sailors and business men walked back and forth in the narrow streets, and the professor found much to study.

He strode along the docks, examining with interest the multitude of ships there, ranging from huge ocean steamers to small private boats. Liners, tramp ships, battered steam boats, sailing vessels, schooners, yachts, sloops, catboats, yawls and power cruisers lay side by side with tugs and ferries. An army of stevedores worked under blazing arc lights loading and unloading, and the air vibrated with the rattle of machinery, the hoarse cries of the men, and the thump of boxes and crates. So deeply engrossed was the professor in the scenes which he was witnessing that he forgot the passage of time.

He had wandered far down the shore line when he came at last to a street more narrow and crooked than the rest. It was in fact nothing more than an alley, flanked by tall seamen’s houses, with restaurants and pool parlors on the ground floors. The professor looked at a sign post and saw that it was named Mullys Slip.

“Mullys Slip, eh?” thought the teacher. “This is the quaintest of them all. I think I’ll stroll up it.”

Accordingly, he walked up the narrow sidewalk, looking with interest into the stores and eating houses as he passed by, listening to snatches of conversation as he passed groups who sat out taking advantage of the cool air. When he had walked to the end of the Slip he walked back, and seeing a well-lighted eating place near the dock, entered it and sat down at a round table. While he ordered a sandwich and coffee he looked around him.

It was a long, low room, the air of which was nearly obscured by tobacco smoke, half filled at the time with men who evidently came from the ships. Most of them were eating, the rest were smoking and talking, and a few slept, hanging over the tables. The professor ate his sandwich and sipped his coffee, content and easy in his mind, until, looking across from him into a narrow corner, he found the eyes of two men fixed upon him.

One of the men was a powerful individual with a heavy, unhealthy looking face, whose eyes, set close together, looked slightly crossed. The other was tall and thin, with long and dangling arms. Both of them were dressed in rough black clothing, which gave no real hint as to what business they were engaged in. They might have been sailors or stevedores, and both showed unmistakable signs of hardy, adventurous lives. They had evidently been talking about the professor, for their eyes were bent on him with earnest scrutiny, and when they observed that he had seen them they hastily resumed their conversation.

The professor paid no attention to them at first, but went on eating, looking around with keen eyes and mentally cataloguing the men in the place. But when he once more looked across at his neighbors they were bending the same intent look upon him. Vague doubt began to stir the mind of professor Scott.

“I don’t altogether like the looks of those fellows,” decided the professor, as he called a waiter and paid his small bill. “By the way they look at me I’d say they were talking about me. All in all, I’m in a pretty rough neighborhood, and perhaps the sooner I get out of it, the better.”

He went out of the place at once, casting a single look back of him as he did so, and he was not made to feel any easier as he noted that they were following him with the same steady look. He was not greatly alarmed, for he did not carry much money with him, but feeling that he would be better off on a well-lighted thoroughfare, he made his way back along the dark street. It was now growing late and the lights were being extinguished. He found his road darker than it had been when he had followed it earlier in the evening, and so he hurried on, bent on reaching the business section.

He had covered two blocks when he began to think that he was being followed. It was as much of a feeling as an actual fact, for each time he looked around he was unable to see anyone who looked as though he might be trailing him. He fancied once that he saw a shadow dart quickly into a doorway, but though he looked keenly in that direction he was unable to make sure.

“Humph, I had better get back to the hotel,” mused the teacher. “I think I’m beginning to imagine things.”

On the block beyond a number of dark alleys opened from the houses, and the professor was compelled to pass them. Either the houses were deserted or there was no one up at the time, for he saw no one as he crossed the corner. Only far ahead of him, on the opposite side of the street, a battered old car was pulled up to the edge of an empty dock, and a man sat looking out over the water at a group of three-masted coal carriers.

Just as the professor was passing a wide alley he thought he heard a step beside him. He turned his head quickly, and then gasped. Two shadows seemed to detach themselves from the passageway and bore down on him. Before he could utter any cry a powerful pair of arms was thrown around him and he was strained close to the body of a big man. At the same time, without loss of a moment, the second man dipped his hands into the professor’s trousers pockets and into his inside coat pocket.

Taken completely by surprise the old teacher for a second did not offer any kind of resistance and when he did it was rather feeble, for his arms were pinned close to his sides, and he was fairly standing on his toes. But his feet were free, and he managed to kick the man who held him a smart blow in the shin. A low, growling curse was his reward, and a blow of considerable force followed, landing on his shoulder. By a sudden twist the professor squirmed from the arms of the man who was holding him, and strengthened by his indignation, which was kindling into hot wrath, the savant punched the second man full on the mouth.

The first man, who was none other than the narrow-eyed individual of the restaurant growled in his throat. “I’ll bust your head, you old windjammer!” he roared, and swung his fist at the professor. The blow, which landed on the teacher’s neck, felled him instantly to the sidewalk.

“Grab him up,” ordered the second man, stooping over the professor, who was somewhat dazed. “We’ll dump him in the bay.”

Both men leaned down to pick up the form of the professor when there was an interruption. The young man who had been sitting in the nondescript automobile had had his attention attracted by the beginning of the struggle, and unnoticed by any of the principals he had jumped out of the car and was now upon them. Although he did not know one from the other he could see that two were against one, and noting, under the faint light from a nearby lamp-post that the lone fighter was an elderly man, threw himself without hesitation upon the two wharf-men. His active fist jarred against the jaw of the heavyset man.

“Take that, with the compliments of the lone star ranger!” he muttered. “Don’t know what it’s all about, but that’s my share.”

His blow infuriated the man, who drove at him with an angry roar, but the professor was scrambling to his feet, and the second man grasped his leader by the arm. He spoke to him in a low tone, and the two, with a slight hesitation, turned and fled up the alley. Convinced that pursuit would be useless, the young man turned to the professor.

“Are you hurt, sir?” he asked, quickly.

In the faint light the professor saw that he was a boy of twenty or thereabouts, tall and somewhat lanky, with red hair and a lean face, on which freckles had taken up a permanent home. The professor shook his head.

“No, thanks to you. Those fellows were going to throw me into the water. Were you in that car?”

“Yes,” grinned the boy. “That is my private chariot, called ‘Jumpiter,’ because of its habit of doing something very much like jumping! Have you been robbed?”

The professor felt through his pockets and nodded. “Yes, a few dollars and a letter has been taken from me. I don’t care much about the money, but the letter was from my son Ned, and I valued that somewhat. I would like to thank you sincerely for your timely arrival.”

“Don’t mention it,” begged the young man. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll drive you to wherever you want to go.”

When they entered the battered car the professor told the boy the name of the hotel at which he was staying and they rolled away. Then the teacher asked the name of his rescuer.

“Mackson is my name,” replied the boy. “Terry Mackson, from Beverley, Maine.”

“Why,” exclaimed the professor. “I come from Maine, too. I am a history teacher in Bridgewater!”

“In Bridgewater!” cried Terry as they entered the business section. “Then you must know the Mercer brothers.”

“Know them!” laughed the professor. “I have them here with me!”

“Here, with you? Well, I’ll be jiggered! They are my very best chums!” said Terry. “Last summer I was in Bridgewater, sailing with them, and we go to Woodcrest together, in fact, we room together. What are they doing here?”

“We are going down to Lower California to visit my son Ned, on his ranch, and make some scientific studies, and perhaps look up a treasure that Ned feels sure that he can find nearby. How did you come to be out here?”

“I didn’t have a thing to do this summer,” explained Terry. “My mother and sister went to visit friends in New Hampshire, and so I decided to tour the country in my car. I’ve been out here for the last two days, and I was going to head for Mexico tomorrow.”

“How very strange that we should meet,” commented the professor. “You must step up and see the boys. They will be glad to see you.”

“I won’t be a bit sorry to see them,” returned Terry, heartily. “They certainly will be surprised.”

They drove on until they were almost at the hotel, and then Terry, who had been thinking deeply, suddenly began to chuckle. Then, as the professor looked inquiringly at him, the red-headed boy spoke.

“Professor,” he said, “how would you like to help me in a little joke?”

CHAPTER V
THE PROWLER IN THE NIGHT

A few minutes later the professor entered the rooms which he and the two boys had engaged together alone. He found Don and Jim reading some magazines which the hotel management furnished.

“Hello, professor,” greeted Don. “Safely back, eh?”

“We were beginning to think that you had been lost,” smiled Jim, putting down his magazine.

“I was not lost,” returned the professor. “But I have had a most extraordinary adventure.”

“What was it?” they asked, in chorus.

“I came across a very distressing thing,” the teacher continued. “I wonder if you boys will help me? Outside, on a lonely street, I met a young man wandering, and it appears that he has amnesia!”

“Amnesia!” cried Don. “That means loss of memory, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” answered the professor, seriously. “He could not remember who he was nor where he came from. I questioned him at length, and while he answers rationally enough, he simply cannot remember a thing past a week ago.”

“That surely is tough,” murmured Don. “What did you want us to do?”

“I have the young man outside here,” replied Professor Scott. “I wondered if you two would help me question him? If we ply him with questions we may be able to suggest something that will make him remember who he is and some details of his past life.”

“We’ll be glad to help,” said Jim, heartily. “Where is he?”

“I’ll bring him in,” replied the teacher, and he left the room.

“That’s mighty hard luck,” commented Don. “I hope we can do something to help.”

A moment later the professor returned, gently leading someone with him. “Come right in here, young man,” he said, loudly and gently. “There are only friends in here, so don’t be afraid.”

“Thank you sir,” a voice replied. “Oh, if you can only do something for me!”

Professor Scott appeared in the room, leading with him a dazed-looking young man with red hair and freckled face, at the sight of whom Don and Jim sprang to their feet with a cry. The boy looked at them dully and swallowed.

“Terry Mackson!” they shouted.

“What!” cried the professor, in amazement, as he pushed the boy down into a large chair. “Do you know this boy?”

“We certainly do!” Don shot out. “This is Terry Mackson, an old chum of ours. We room with him at school.”

The professor looked down at Terry, who stared in puzzled wonder at Don. “That is very strange. He doesn’t appear to know you.”

“Perhaps he has been hit on the head,” suggested Jim, coming forward.

“This is fierce,” said Don, worry on his face. “Terry, don’t you know me?”

“‘Shoot if you must this old gray head, but I don’t remember you, she said,’” was the unexpected reply, and the corners of his mouth, which had been quivering, expanded. The professor burst into a roar of laughter.

The Mercer boys stood for a moment rooted to the spot, while Terry and the professor laughed in unrestrained glee. After the first moment of disgust their eyes narrowed and two determined chins were thrust forward.

“Jim,” said Don, quietly. “Put out the light. I don’t want the world to witness the awful thing that is going to happen here!”

“Put it out yourself!” retorted Jim. “I am due for a first class murder, and I’m late now!”

And with that the two brothers threw themselves in mock fury onto the body of their laughing friend and bore him to the floor, where they punched him soundly, finding their task an easy one, for the red-headed boy was weak from laughter. When they had tired themselves they jerked him up and pushed him into the chair, the professor enjoying it all hugely.

“That was positively the most low trick I ever saw,” declared Don disgustedly.

“I’d like to have a look at the brain that would think of such a thing,” chimed in Jim.

“Oh, boy!” laughed Terry. “If you could ever have seen the kindly, anxious looks in your eyes as you bent over me to help restore my fleeting memory! My friends, I thank you! If ever I do lose my identity I shall request that I be taken to the Mercers, who will surely restore me!”

“Oh, shut up!” said Don, beginning to smile. “We admit that we were completely sold that time. Where in the world did the professor find you?”

“I didn’t find him,” put in the teacher. “Luckily, he found me.” And he related the events of the evening to them.

“You aren’t hurt, I hope, professor?” asked Jim, anxiously.

“No, just bruised a bit. I would have been severely wet if it had not been for Terry’s timely intervention. It was while on the way over here in Terry’s—er—remarkable car that he proposed the trick that was played on you.”

“I’m surprised you would go in for such a thing, professor,” said Don. “But you can be excused because you don’t know Terry. But in the future never do anything that he suggests. If you don’t get in trouble you will be sure to lose all respect for yourself, so I advise against it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” smiled the older man. “I enjoyed that little scene in which Terry lost his mind!”

“The part we enjoyed,” returned Don, grimly, “was the thumping part.”

“You say your letter was taken from you, professor?” asked Jim.

“Yes, and I wanted that more than anything else. However, it won’t do anyone else any good, so I suppose it is not such a loss, after all.”

For the next hour they talked and Terry related his experiences during his trip across the country. He spoke of going on down into Mexico, and the professor listened, his eyes fixed on the newcomer thoughtfully. At last he spoke up.

“Terry,” he said. “Why don’t you come along with us?”

Terry grinned. “I was hoping you’d say just that,” he admitted, frankly. “I have no definite plan in mind, and I would certainly hate to miss any fun that Don and Jim are in. But on the other hand I wouldn’t want to put you out any.”

“You wouldn’t,” said the professor, heartily. “Ned has plenty of room for all of us at his ranch. I’m really taking the boys along so that I won’t have to tramp all over the country looking for Ned’s treasure, and you can come along to help in that line.”

After some talk it was agreed that Terry should store his car away until such time as they should want it again. It was late when he left them, agreeing to meet them on the following day and go to the steamer with them. The professor and the Mercers slept soundly that night and the next day were ready to begin their trip down the coast.

Meeting Terry in the morning they all went down to the steamer, a small fruit carrier, and the captain consented to add one to the party. Although the steamer was not scheduled to start until evening the friends went aboard early in the afternoon and settled themselves in their cabin, a good sized room which was plain but clean. After that they wandered over the ship, keeping out of the way of the men who were storing crates, preparatory to their cruise southward to load fruit. The smell of different grades of fruit was a permanent part of the black steamer, and it was by no means unpleasant.

In the evening, just before sailing time, Don and Jim stood out on the deck, watching the men at work. The professor and Terry were in the cabin. Just before the gangplank was hauled in a heavyset man walked confidently aboard and spoke to the mate. The captain was nowhere about at the time. Although not particularly interested the boys noted that the man had a shifty, watchful look, and that his eyes were set close together. The mate appeared to know him and engaged him in conversation, talking in low tones and looking around sharply while doing so. At the end of their short conversation, during which both men looked at the two boys, the newcomer went forward and they saw no more of him.

The steamer cast off and headed south, swinging out in a wide arc, and the voyage was on. Terry and the professor came on deck at the sound of the last whistle and together they watched the purple coast line fade from sight. Supper followed and they made a hearty meal of it, eating with the captain at a private table in sight of the main mess tables.

The evening was spent in talking in the cabin and in pacing the deck. The night was clear and calm and the sky dotted with a myriad of stars, and the steady throbbing of the huge engines made almost the only sound as they ploughed through the blue waters of the Pacific. Quite early they turned in and soon fell into a deep sleep.

It was Terry who woke up with a sense that all was not right. He was a lighter sleeper than the others, and some slight noise had awakened him. He sat up in his bunk, peering across the room at a shadow which seemed out of place there. Thinking it might be one of his chums stirring he spoke.

“Hello there! Who’s prowling around?”

His words, spoken quietly, had an effect that astonished him. Someone moved out of the shadows and for a second into the faint light which streamed in through a port hole. Instantly Terry recognized one of the men who had attacked the professor on the previous night.

The man ran to the door, jerked it open and darted along the narrow hallway that led to the companionway ladder. Terry swung his feet over the edge of his bunk.

“All hands to repel boarders!” he yelled, and without waiting to put on shoes or clothing, dashed out of the door after the fleeing man.

The others woke up instantly, to see Terry streaking down the hall. Terry ran rapidly up the ladder and saw the intruder slipping over the rail. The steamer was close into the shore, and without hesitation the man dropped over into the water and struck out for the shore, just as Terry gained the rail.

While he watched the man swimming for shore the others ran up, followed a moment later by the captain and the mate, a lean-jawed man with a hooked nose and wide mouth. To their excited inquiries Terry explained what had happened.

“No use trying to catch him with a boat,” decided the captain, seeing that the man was almost to the shore. “What did he look like?”

Terry described him, and the professor and the boys were astonished to find that it was one of the men who had attacked the professor on the previous night. The captain broke out in an exclamation.

“Sackett!” he cried.

“You know him?” asked the professor.

“Squint Sackett is one of the worst bay bandits we have,” said the captain. “He is a noted river pirate, and the police would give a whole lot to lay hands on him. Mr. Abel, how did that man get on board?”

“I don’t know, sir,” said the mate, promptly.

“You don’t know?” asked Jim, in amazement. “Why you let him on board yourself. My brother and I saw you talking to him this afternoon, just before we sailed.”

“It’s a lie,” shouted the mate, darting a bitter glance at him.

“Oh, no it isn’t,” said Don, coldly. “We saw you. After you and he talked this man Sackett went forward, and you didn’t make any effort to stop him.”

“I’ve had my suspicious of you for sometime, Mr. Abel,” growled the captain, “and now I know you are crooked. You get off my ship! The first port we come to you sling your pack and get out. I can’t prove anything on you, but I won’t have any mate of mine having relations with a man like Squint Sackett. D’you understand?”

“I’ll break these kids in two!” shouted the mate, advancing. But the captain, who was bigger than the mate, quickly barred the way, his heavy fists raised.

“You touch these boys and I’ll bust you over the rail!” he roared. “Get down below and pack up. Tomorrow you’re clearing this ship. Now get!”

Muttering angrily to himself the mate obeyed, and when he was gone the captain turned back to the party. “I’d advise you to look out for that mate,” he warned. “I’m glad you found out what you did. Did Sackett steal anything from you?”

A hasty examination of the cabin revealed that Sackett had been in the act of going through the professor’s inside coat pocket at the time he was surprised by Terry, but nothing had been taken. Putting the whole affair down as an attempt at robbery the captain left them to themselves, assuring them that no further harm would come to them.

“We’ll have to keep our eyes open for this Sackett,” said Don, as they went back to their bunks. “For the life of me, I can’t see why he should take the trouble to come aboard and try to rob us. He must have a mistaken idea that there is a lot of money in this crowd.”

“That may be it,” agreed the professor, somewhat doubtfully. “But it does seem strange that he should take such pains to follow us.”

“Wonder how he knew we were on this particular boat?” mused Jim.

“That’s not so hard,” Terry explained. “Perhaps he hangs around the docks and saw us come aboard today. But that mate must surely be one of the gang.”

“No doubt of it,” said Don, yawning sleepily. “Well, he’s gone, and we probably won’t see anything of him again.”

But if Don and the others could have even guessed at the plans which were at that moment being formulated in the evil brain of Squint Sackett they would have had much food for thought. They were destined to see him again, and not in the distant future.

CHAPTER VI
THE SCENE IN THE MOONLIGHT

The sail down the beautiful California coast was uneventful. The fruit steamer was a staunch old boat, though somewhat battered, and it kept its course steadily. After the boys and the professor had tired of exploring it from end to end and looking in on the huge engines which drove it with throbbing energy they spent most of their time on the deck watching the passing shore line, enjoying the warmth and brilliant sunshine. The nights, they found, were cold even in that particular time of the year, and they were not sorry to use blankets even in the shelter of their cabins. They became quite friendly with the captain, who told them stories of many exciting voyages and some unusual storms. Nothing further was seen of Sackett and the mate went sullenly ashore at the first port.

No storms broke the monotony of fair weather and quiet sailing, and when at last they entered Magdalena Bay and approached the settlements they were almost sorry to leave the fruit steamer. At ten o’clock one bright morning they climbed into the cutter and were pulled away to the shore, landing at length on the sandy soil of the small town of Quito.

Ned’s ranch lay several miles inland, and the only means of travel was a lumbering wagon which went to the mines. Learning that this vehicle was to start out the following morning they hunted up the driver, a Mexican, and arranged to drive with him. A small hotel provided them with a place to put up over night and after a satisfying supper they wandered around the town, seeing the sights. The steamer had gone on its voyage after a brief stop.

The population of the town was very small, and exceedingly sleepy. Terry remarked that they slept all day in order to recruit strength enough to play on guitars at night. The population was composed of Spaniards, Mexicans, and a few Americans, whose interest seemed to be chiefly centered in the inland mines, and a number of halfbreeds. Droves of dogs, whose seemingly endless variety astonished the boys, roamed the streets.

“Gosh,” exclaimed Jim, as they came around a pack of them. “I used to like pups, but I don’t know as I do after seeing these. Guess I’ll look under my bed when we get back to the hotel and see if there are any there!”

Soft lights gleamed from most of the houses when evening came on, and the sound of guitars was to be heard on every street. There were no lights along the streets, but the night was warm and bright, and the Americans had no difficulty in walking around the town. Quite early they returned to their hotel and after drinking some cold orange drink, went to bed.

Bright and early in the morning they were up, as they had been told that the mine wagon was to leave at six, and after a hearty breakfast went out and loaded their bags on the vehicle. The driver appeared shortly afterward, rolling a cigaret with amazing skill between two fingers. Terry eyed him in admiration.

“By golly!” he muttered. “I don’t smoke and don’t know as I shall, but if I did I’d give a lot to be able to roll ’em like that! I couldn’t roll one that way with both hands.”

Later on, when in the course of their journey the Spaniard yawned, Terry pretended to be enthusiastic. Without bothering to take the cigaret out of his mouth the driver yawned heartily, and the cigaret, clinging to his upper lip, simply hung suspended until he closed his lips again. Then he resumed smoking, the operation being none the worse for the act, and Terry again shook his head in envy.

“Wonderful people!” he whispered to Don. “Too lazy to do anything at all! Wonder what happens to a cup of coffee when he yawns!”

“Probably he keeps right on pouring it down and doesn’t waste any time,” chuckled Jim. “Great labor savers, these people!”

“I guess their hardest work is to keep from doing any work,” smiled Professor Scott.

The wagon was a large open affair, with two long boards like benches on the side, and the boys and the teacher sat on the seats with their baggage at their feet. The driver sat slumped forward on the front seat, smoking, yawning and dozing by turns, muttering in broken exclamations sometimes to the horses and sometimes to himself. Although they tried to talk to him they received only weary shrugs of his narrow shoulders, and they soon gave it up and talked among themselves.

The country through which they were passing led up in a gradual sweep from Magdalena Bay, and they soon drew out of sight of that broad sheet of blue water and plunged on into the more open country. The soil was somewhat sandy, with an almost tropical vegetation, and small brooks spread like silver ribbons toward the sea. As they continued to work further inland the country became more and more open, with rolling plains and afar off darker stretches marked the hills in which the mines were located.

“Ned’s place is off in that direction,” said the professor, pointing to the southwest. “He tells me that it is in a basin between two small ranges, so we’ll probably come across it all at once.”

At noontime they halted in the shade of a spreading tree which was more of an overgrown bush, a species that the professor did not know, and in which he speedily became interested. The driver immediately sat in the shade and proceeded to eat his lunch from a black box which he had, paying not the slightest attention to them. The boys, wishing to make some coffee, cut some mesquite bushes which were nearby and kindled a small fire. Jim set the coffee to boil and they ate some sandwiches which they had been wise enough to bring with them.

When the coffee was made Don took some to the Spaniard, who accepted it with a brief nod of his head. Terry poked Jim.

“That means thank you,” he said. “Too much trouble to say it!”

Immediately after the noon meal the driver toppled over silently and went to sleep, a movement that afforded Terry much amusement. On this particular occasion, however, the boys could not blame him very much. It was hot, so much so that they were glad to stretch out and nap themselves. At the end of an hour the driver got up suddenly, resumed his seat and clicked his tongue at the two horses. The wagon, with its crew, rumbled on.

It was five o’clock when they topped the final rise and looked down on the Scott ranch. As the wagon rolled down to the place they had a good opportunity to study it closely. There was the main ranch building, a single story affair, constructed of plain boards that showed up gray and sordid against the declining sun. Two large barns flanked the house and an inclosed field with some scattered patches of grass afforded a ground for a half dozen horses. In back of the ranch was another frame building, which they afterward found out was Ned’s laboratory, in which he tested metal from the mines.

Ned Scott was at home when they arrived, in fact, he had seen the wagon top the rise, and came riding out to meet them. They saw him swing carelessly onto the back of a horse and dash up, and Jim, who was used to riding a cavalry horse at school, admired the grace and ease with which he did it. Then, having greeted his father enthusiastically, Ned Scott was introduced to the boys.

He was a young man in his early thirties, broadly built, with black hair and eyes and a serious look. For some years he had lived in practically what was solitude, seeing a few white men from the mines and a good many halfbreeds and Mexicans. The sight of three boys somewhat near his own age was welcome, and he looked forward to some interesting days to come.

When greetings had been exchanged the young engineer led the way to the ranch, where the boys alighted from the mine wagon, and paid the driver. The man took the money unemotionally and drove off, having only exchanged a word in Spanish with Ned.