"I've heard that name before. Didn't you have some trouble with the railroad company?" asked Hiram Duff. "About a busted-up flying machine?"

"Yes," replied Sam.

"And got the best of that skinflint lawyer, Belright Fogg?"

"We made Mr. Fogg pay for the biplane, yes."

"I know all about it," chuckled Hiram Duff. "Served Fogg right. And he lost his job with the railroad company, too." The old man pursed up his lips. "Well, if you'll give me your word that you will settle with me I won't go to the police. But I want every cent that is coming to me, understand that."

"You'll get it--if my brother took the box," answered Sam. "But listen to me. First of all I want to find my brother. I think he ought to be under a doctor's care."

"He ought to be in an asylum," responded Hiram Duff, bluntly. "It's dangerous to allow sech a feller at large."

"Maybe. We are going on a hunt for him right now," answered Sam.

"I'll come back here, or you can come to see me at Brill. And don't worry, Mr. Duff,--you'll not lose a cent," added the youth, earnestly.

Luckily Hiram Duff had heard all about the trouble the Rovers had had with the railroad lawyer, and had at the time also heard that Sam's family were wealthy and of high standing. This being so, he took matters far more calmly than would otherwise have been the case. But he wanted something in writing and Sam quickly wrote out a statement and signed it.

"Now we must get after my brother," said the youth. "Although you say you have no idea where he went?"

"No, I ain't got the least idee."

"Let us drive on towards Hoopville," suggested Songbird. "We can make inquiries along the way."

In a few minutes more the pair were on the way, Hiram Duff gazing after them anxiously.

"Don't forget to let me hear from you!" he called out.

"Songbird, this is terrible!" murmured Sam, as they drove on. "I wish d.i.c.k was here to advise me."

"He'll come as quickly as he can, don't worry about that, Sam. I only hope we catch Tom before he gets too far away."

About a mile was covered along the road leading to Hoopville, a small village, the single industry of which was the making of barrel hoops.

Then they came to another farmhouse, where they saw a boy of fifteen sitting on a horse-block, whittling a stick.

"h.e.l.lo, there!" called out Sam. "Say, I'm looking for a young fellow that pa.s.sed here yesterday. Did you see anything of him? Here is his picture."

"Sure I saw him," answered the boy, after a glance at the photograph.

"I drove him over to Morton's Junction."

"Drove him over to Morton's Junction?" repeated Sam. "When?"

"Yesterday afternoon. But we didn't git to the Junction till seven o'clock."

"Where did you go to?"

"What do you want to know for?" asked the boy, curiously.

"He is my brother and I want to find him, just as quickly as I can."

"Oh! Well, he wanted to catch a train. He just got it, too."

"What train?"

"The Western Express. He wouldn't have got it only it was about ten minutes late. He got aboard just as she started out from the depot."

Sam's heart sank at this news. Tom on the Western Express! For what place had he been bound?

"Did he say where he was going?" put in Songbird.

"To Chicago, I think. He talked to himself a good deal. Said something about Chicago and St. Paul and Seattle. I asked him if he was on business and he said he was going to pick up nuggets of gold. I guess he was poking fun at me," went on the boy, sheepishly. "But he paid me two dollars for driving him over," he added, with satisfaction.

"Did he have much money?" asked Sam. "Tell me all you know. I might as well tell tell you, that was my brother, and he is sick in his head, so that he doesn't know just what he is doing."

"Say, I thought he was queer--he had such a look out of his eyes, and talked so much to himself. He only had about ten dollars in bills.

But he said he had some gold in his pocket, in a box. He didn't show it, though. He said he was on Bill Stiger's trail."

"Bill Stiger's trail," murmured Sam, and his mind went back to the night Tom had gone to see the moving picture drama ent.i.tled "Lost in the Ice Fields of Alaska." Bill Stiger had been the name of the villain in the play--the rascal who had robbed the hero of his golden nuggets.

"He didn't have no ticket," went on the boy. "So he could get off the train anywhere."

"We must hurry to Morton's Junction and see if we can find out anything more," said Sam to his college chum. His face showed plainly how greatly he was worried.

The boy told them how to go and they made the best time possible, arriving at the Junction some time after noon. They found the depot master on the platform.

"I remember the fellow you mean," he said. "He got on the last car.

Dunkirt, the conductor, helped him up. But I don't know where he went to. Maybe Dunkirt could tell you, when he gets back here."

"When will he be back?"

"He's off to-day and he'll be here on the one-thirty train. You can talk to him when he comes in, if you want to."

"I'll do it," answered Sam.

He and Songbird had an even hour to wait, and the latter suggested that they go to the Junction Hotel for dinner.

"Might as well eat, Sam," he said, kindly "It won't help matters any to go hungry."

"I don't care much about eating, Songbird," was the answer. "But I'll go along and take a bite. I wish I knew just where Tom had gone. I might telegraph ahead for him."

"Well, let us hope that conductor can tell you something."

With nothing to do but to wait, the boys took their time over the midday meal, and while doing this they had the team fed. Then they sauntered down to the depot to await the arrival of the man they wanted to interview. Presently the train came in and the depot master pointed out the conductor.

"Excuse me, but are you Mr. Dunkirt?" asked Sam.

"That's my handle," was the prompt reply.