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“I shall be very glad to have you convince me that I did you an injustice,” said Melville. “I was led to believe that you and your friend now present were leagued together to rob us of our money and valuables. If it was not so—”

“You were not very far from right, Mr. Melville. Still it was not polite to express your suspicions so rudely. Besides, you were instrumental in defeating our plan.”

“I can't express any regret for that, Col. Warner, or Jerry Lane, as I suppose that is your real name.”

“I am Jerry Lane!” said Warner, proudly. “I may as well confess it, since it is well that you should know with whom you have to deal. When I say that I am Jerry Lane, you will understand that I mean business.”

“I do,” answered Melville, quietly.

“You know me by reputation?” said the outlaw, with a curious pride in his unenviable notoriety.

“I do.”

“What do men say of me?”

“That you are at the head of a gang of reckless assassins and outlaws, and that you have been implicated in scores of robberies and atrocities.”

This was not so satisfactory.

“Young man,” said Lane—to drop his false name—“I advise you to be careful how you talk. It may be the worse for you. Now, to come to business, how much money have you in the house?”

“Why do you ask, and by what right?”

“We propose to take it. Now answer my question.”

“Gentlemen, you will be very poorly paid for the trouble you have taken in visiting me. I have very little money.”

“Of course, you say so. We want an answer.”

“As well as I can remember I have between forty and fifty dollars in my pocketbook.”

Brown uttered an oath under his breath, and Lane looked uneasy.

“That's a lie!” said Brown, speaking first. “We were told you had five thousand dollars here.”

“Your informant was badly mistaken, then. I am not very wise, perhaps, in worldly matters, but I certainly am not such a fool as to keep so large a sum of money in a lonely cabin like this.”

“Perhaps not so much as that,” returned Lane. “I don't pretend to say how much you have. That is for you to tell us.”

George Melville drew from his pocket a wallet, and passed it to the outlaw.

“Count the money for yourself, if you wish,” he said. “You can verify my statement.”

Lane opened the wallet with avidity, and drew out the contents. It was apparent at the first glance that the sum it contained was small. It was counted, however, and proved to amount to forty-seven dollars and a few silver coins.

The two robbers looked at each other in dismay. Was it possible that this was all? If so, they would certainly be very poorly paid for their trouble.

“Do you expect us to believe, Mr. Melville,” said Jerry Lane, sternly, “that this is all the money you have?”

“In this cabin—yes.”

“We are not so easily fooled. It is probably all you carry about with you; but you have more concealed somewhere about the premises. It will be best for you to produce at once, unless you are ready to pass in your checks.”

“That means,” said Melville, growing pale in spite of himself, for he knew from report the desperate character of his guests, “that means, I suppose, that you will kill me unless I satisfy your rapacity.”

“It does,” said Lane, curtly. “Now for your answer!”

“Gentlemen, I cannot accomplish impossibilities. It is as I say. The money in your hands is all that I have by me.”

“Do you mean to deny that you are rich?” asked Lane.

“No, I do not deny it. That is not the point in question. You ask me to produce all the money I have with me. I have done so.”

“Do you believe this, Brown?” asked the captain, turning to his subordinate.

“No, I don't.”

“It is strictly true.”

“Then,” said Brown, “you deserve to die for having no more money for us.”

“True,” chimed in Lane. “Once more, will you produce your secret hoard?”

“I have none.”

“Then you must be dealt with in the usual way. Brown, have you a rope?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a convenient tree near by.”

“We'll find one.”

The two seized Melville, and, despite his resistance, dragged him violently from the cabin, and adjusted a rope about his neck. The young man was pale, and gave himself up for lost.





CHAPTER XXXVI. THE MINE IS SOLD.

While his friend was in peril, where was Herbert?

For him, too, it had been an exciting day—Deer Creek had been excited by the arrival of a capitalist from New York, whose avowed errand it was to buy a mine. Reports from Deer Creek had turned his steps thither, and all the mine owners were on the qui vive to attract the attention of the monied man. It was understood that he intended to capitalize the mine, when purchased, start a company, and work it by the new and improved methods, which had replaced the older and ruder appliances at first employed.

Mr. Compton, though not a mining expert, was a shrewd man, who weighed carefully the representations that were made to him, and reserved his opinion. It was clear that he was not a man who would readily be taken in, though there were not wanting men at Deer Creek who were ready to palm off upon him poor or worthless mines. About the only mine owners who did not seek him were the owners of the Blazing Star, both of whom were on the ground. The mine was looking up. The most recent developments were the most favorable, and the prospects were excellent. They might, indeed, “peter out” as the expression is, but it did not seem likely.

“Jack,” said Herbert, “shall we invite Mr. Compton to visit our mine?”

“No,” answered Jack Holden; “I am willing to keep it.”

“Wouldn't you sell?”

“Yes, if I could get my

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