After dinner Merry spent the evening with Mr. and Mrs. Hatch, while Arthur and Carlos retired soon to Art's room.

Finally Mr. Hatch asked Frank if he wished to retire, and Merry expressed a desire to do so.

It happened that Frank's room was not far from that of Arthur Hatch. As he followed Mr. Hatch past Art's open door, Mendoza called to him.

"Going to bed so soon, Mr. Merriwell?" he inquired. "Come in for a moment before you retire."

Having been shown to his room, Frank decided to accept Mendoza's invitation. It was a queer feeling that impelled him to do so, for Arthur had said nothing.

As he entered Art's room, he detected a quick movement on the part of young Hatch, who hastily rose to his feet, asking Frank to sit down. His face was unnaturally flushed, and there was a peculiar expression in his eyes.

Carlos was smoking a cigarette, and the air of the room was heavy with smoke. About him there was a certain air of suppressed satisfaction.

There seemed no particular reason why the boys should wish Frank to drop in before going to bed. Indeed, Arthur seemed ill at ease and talked little. He seemed to be making an effort to appear natural.

It was not long before Merry divined Mendoza's object in calling him.

The Mexican had induced Arthur to break the pledge recently made to Frank.

Although Carlos was smoking, on a little ash receiver beneath the table near which Hatch had been sitting lay a freshly lighted cigarette, from which a vapory bit of blue smoke was rising.

Arthur had been smoking and drinking with Carlos.

The young Mexican had wished Frank to see that his power over the boy was strong enough to make him break his pledge.

Having decided on this, Frank felt like seizing Mendoza and giving him a thorough shaking up. Inwardly he was angry with the fellow, but outwardly he was undisturbed.

Carlos took special delight in trying to induce his host to talk, apparently hoping Hatch would make some sort of a break.

Frank knew it would do no good to talk to Arthur Hatch then. Instead, it would almost surely anger and shame him to such an extent that he would become resentful, announce himself as his own master, and declare his perfect ability to look out for himself, without the advice or a.s.sistance of any one.

"The smoke is somewhat too thick for me here, boys," said Merry. "I think I'll turn in."

"Sorry you can't sit up with us a while longer," said Arthur, but he could not hide his relief and satisfaction.

He was glad Frank was going, and Merry knew it.

"As in other things," smiled Carlos, "you seem to have some old-fashioned ways about sleeping. I don't believe any man half lives who sleeps too much at night. Ah! New York and upper Broadway is the place! There something is doing nearly all the night."

"If the occasion demands," said Merriwell, "I can stay up with any of them; but just now I feel like bottling up a little sleep, as the expression goes."

"I hope you may enjoy your rest," said Carlos. "I hope nothing may disturb you. Good night, senor."

"Good night," said Frank. "Good night, Arthur."

In his room Merry fell to thinking of the two boys as he undressed.

"Carlos Mendoza is Arthur's evil genius," he decided. "The influence of the fellow on Hatch is wholly bad. What is the best course for me to pursue? Had I better warn his father? Is there not some other way to open Arthur's eyes? If I go to Warren Hatch, the man may become angry, and give his son a raking down that will do more harm than good."

After getting into bed, Merry continued to meditate on the matter, finding it was not easy to decide on a course.

He thought of many other things. The memory of his recent encounters with Porfias del Norte haunted him. He thought of the manner in which he had been trapped by Del Norte up in the Adirondacks, and thanked his lucky stars that O'Toole, the Irishman, out of grat.i.tude, had aided him to escape from the murderous Mexican.

"Poor O'Toole!" he murmured. "When he became my friend he was faithful unto death."

The memory of his own desperation and distress on learning that Inza Burrage had fallen into the power of Del Norte caused him to twist and turn on the bed. Only for O'Toole, he might have been baffled in following Inza's captors. Through the acquaintance and friendship of O'Toole with Red Ben, Del Norte's Indian guide, had come the rescue of Inza.

Once more Frank seemed to be standing in the depths of the Adirondack wilderness at the foot of the mountain, and again he seemed to hear the shriek of terror which escaped the lips of the Irishman as he fell from the precipice, and came crashing through the treetops to strike the ground a short distance away. Then Merry lived over once more his knife duel with Del Norte on the cliff, the escape from the cave, and the struggle to get away from the landslide, when, with superhuman efforts, he had carried Inza in his arms to a place of safety.

"Del Norte is dead," he muttered; "but he seems to be reincarnated in Felipe Jalisco. I have not seen the last of Jalisco. That man Hagan is dangerous, too. Without the backing Hagan will try to give, Jalisco would give me little trouble in regard to the mine. His claim is a forgery beyond doubt; but he seems to think it genuine. Were it not for Hagan, I might do something for the boy, if his demands were anywhere near reasonable. Hagan is determined to get his finger into the pie, and he'll want a large slice. He'll get nothing."

Finally Frank slept; but he was awakened by something that pressed sudden and hard across his throat. He tried to start up, but that thing across his throat held him helpless.

Besides that, there was a sudden weight on his breast, as of a hand that thrust him back.

Through the window of his room came a dim light, by which he discerned a dark figure that seemed crouching on the edge of the bed.

He knew instantly that some person was there. Through the gloom a pair of gleaming eyes, like those of an animal, seemed to look into his.

"Be still!" came a hissing whisper. "Make a sound and you shall die!"

By this time Frank was wide-awake, with every sense aroused.

He wondered if it was a burglar.

"Don't cry out!" again commanded his a.s.sailant. "One little cry from you will be your last! Do you feel this?"

Something keen p.r.i.c.ked Merriwell's throat.

"It is my knife," declared the unknown. "With a single stroke I can open the vein in your throat, and nothing in all the world can save you."

The situation was one to send a thrill through the strongest nerves.

"What do you want?" asked Merry, in a low tone.

"Softer than that!" hissed the fellow with the knife. "Don't speak louder than a whisper if your life to you has any value."

"What do you want?" whispered Merry.

"Ha! That is right! Now let me warn you further. There is a stout cord across your neck, and you cannot lift your head if you attempt it so much as your strength will admit. The cord is made fast to both sides of the bed beneath you. You are perfectly helpless. First it is that I want you to know. Even if the cord should not be there, with my knife I could kill you when you tried to struggle. Now should you with your hands grasp me you would be like a child to destroy."

"Having made all this plain, go ahead and tell me what you are after,"

urged Merriwell.

"Are you not afraid? I expected to hear your teeth chattering together like castanets. I expected to feel your body shaking, as if with a great chill."

There was disappointment in these whispered words.