Read Ebook: Kjeld: Katumaalarin tarina by Blicher Clausen J Jenny Suomalainen Hilma Translator

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Ebook has 1143 lines and 31436 words, and 23 pages

"My dream was about the professor," struck in Ballard.

Merry and Clancy turned at that and gave their chum some attention.

"Come over with it, Pink," said Frank. "There's nothing in the dream, of course, but the fact that the professor figured in it proves you were fretting a little on his account yourself."

"Well, it was like this," returned Ballard, glad that the opportunity had finally come to relieve his mind. "I seemed to be back in that pile of ruins that used to be Happenchance, the played-out mining camp. From that claim of the professor's stretched a row of nuggets, clear from the Picket Post Mountains to Gold Hill. They were big nuggets, too, running all the way from one the size of my hat to a whole lot as big as a washtub--"

"Whew!" grinned Clancy. "Go on, Pink; don't mind me."

"The nuggets," proceeded Ballard, frowning at Clancy, "were arranged like stepping-stones--one here, another a few feet beyond, and another beyond that, and so on."

"Regular golden trail," laughed Clancy. "That was some dream, Pink."

"The professor," resumed Ballard, "was running along the trail, hat off, his bald head glimmering in the sun, and the tails of his long coat flying out behind. Three or four nuggets behind him, running after him as fast as they could go, were several hard-looking citizens. That's about all. For three times, now, I've seen the prof chased over that golden trail by desperadoes. I've never be able to see how the chase came out, for always, just at the critical moment, I'd wake up. What do you think of it?"

Before Frank could answer, some one appeared in the clubhouse door, across the athletic field from the grand stand, and trumpeted Merriwell's name through his hands.

"Hello!" answered Frank, getting up and shouting.

"Mr. Bradlaugh wants you on the phone," came the answer.

Without delaying, Frank leaped the rail in front of him and sprinted for the clubhouse. Ballard and Clancy followed, but at a more leisurely pace.

"That dream of yours, Pink," averred Clancy, on the way across the field, "was a 'happenchance'--like the old, played-out town we found in the Picket Posts."

Ballard merely grunted. It was plain that he had his own ideas on the subject of that dream.

On reaching the clubhouse the two lads found Merry just coming away from the telephone. His face was clouded, and there was an anxious light in his eyes.

"What's wrong, Chip?" inquired Clancy.

"Borrodaile isn't in Gold Hill," was the answer. "He left the Bristow Hotel three days ago, and hasn't been seen since."

THE TELEGRAM FROM BLOOMFIELD.

Professor Phineas Borrodaile had for years been an instructor in an academy in the middle West. His health failing, he was ordered to Arizona. The dry, invigorating climate had worked wonders in thousands of cases similar to the professor's, and there was every reason to believe that the professor would be greatly benefited, if not entirely cured of his malady.

At the last moment before starting Borrodaile had happened to think of an old letter from a nephew of his who had been engaged in the mining business in a camp called Happenchance, in southern Arizona. The professor looked up the letter. The writer of it had died years before, and the camp of Happenchance had had its day and was now deserted and lost among the Picket Post Mountains. What made the letter of especial interest to the professor was the fact that it gave the location of a ledge of gold, not far from the old Happenchance placerings.

A bee began buzzing in the professor's bonnet. It was this: He would get out of the world; in the old, lost camp he would recover his health by living the primitive life. Also, being next of kin to his late nephew, he would find and possess himself of the ledge of gold.

Some months after Professor Borrodaile had put his plan into execution, young Merriwell received a letter from his father, in Bloomfield, rather mysteriously requesting him to pay a visit to the lost town of the Picket Posts and to report at length upon anything he might find in the only habitable building of the camp. Aided by a prospector named Nick Porter, Frank and his chums visited Happenchance and there found the professor. They had adventures in helping the professor get his location notice on file, and only Merry's fleetness of foot and good judgment saved a prospective bonanza mine for Borrodaile.

Very strangely the professor had left Ophir for Gold Hill not many hours after he had come with Frank and his friends from Gold Hill to Ophir. The youngsters were not his guardians, however, and did not feel authorized to interfere too much in his affairs. Merry thought it best to go slow in the matter until a reply had been received to the report which he had sent to his father. Six days or a week would be required in forwarding a letter to Bloomfield and receiving a letter in reply. Meanwhile four days had elapsed, and Borrodaile had dropped completely out of sight.

Knowing the professor to be inexperienced in business affairs, Merriwell had begun to worry about him. There were unscrupulous men in plenty who would not hesitate to take advantage of him with the idea of securing his very valuable mining claim. The telephone message from Mr. Bradlaugh, therefore, was quite disturbing.

"Ah, ha!" exclaimed Ballard, when Merriwell reported the professor missing from Gold Hill, "so you think there's nothing in that dream of mine, eh? This news from Gold Hill shows that it amounts to something."

"What the mischief do you think is going on, Chip?" asked Clancy.

"I'm up in the air and haven't an idea," replied Frank.

"Mr. Bradlaugh asked me to come over to his office in town for a conference."

"We'll have to hit the golden trail," declared Ballard, "and run it out to a finish. We've got to be mighty quick about it, too, or there's no telling what will happen to the old prof."

"Show us your nuggets as big as washtubs, Pink," grinned Clancy, "and I'm willing to begin to sprint."

"The dream was only a warning. It didn't suggest what we were to do, or how we're to go about it, but just gives us a hunch that Borrodaile needs help."

"That's the trouble with dreams--there's too much guesswork about 'em. If you have one, and something happens that seems to tally with it, why, you're apt to take it for granted that you had a hunch. I'll bet you've had thousands of dreams about things that never happened, and yet here you're picking out one that appears to jibe with the prof's absence from Gold hill, and trying to make us think it's a warning. Stuff!"

"You're too free with your snap judgments, Red," said Ballard solemnly, "but wait a while and you'll change your tune."

Merriwell was already on his way out of the clubhouse, Clancy and Ballard gave up their discussion and hurried after him. The clubhouse and athletic field were less than a mile from the town of Ophir, and the three friends were soon jogging along through the sand on their way to Mr. Bradlaugh's office.

Bradlaugh was president of the O. A. C., and Western representative of the syndicate that owned the big mine and stamp mill to the south of town. It was the mine that had made the straggling settlement of Ophir a possibility.

"It will be at least two days more before I can hear from dad," Merry remarked, just as they struck into the main street of the "camp," "and before we interfere too much with the professor I think we ought to learn from headquarters just how far we ought to go."

"Oh, bother that!" exclaimed Clancy. "If the old boy's in danger, Chip, we can't hang back waiting to hear from Bloomfield."

"Sure we can't. We're making a guess, though, when we figure that he is in any sort of trouble. Just because he can't be located is no sign he's shooting the trouble chutes."

"Yes, it is!" averred Ballard stoutly. "That dream I--"

"Oh, cut out the dreams and forebodings, Pink," broke in Frank, "We're dealing with facts now and not with a lot of bunk superstitions."

That dream had become Ballard's hobby, and he was in a fair way of riding it to death. Although he was easy going, and rather lazy when circumstances gave him the chance to be, yet he straightened suddenly at Frank's sharp fling at his delusion, and was on the point of flashing a keen retort. Before he could speak, however, Frank had turned in at Bradlaugh's office.

Mr. Bradlaugh sat at his desk, smoking a cigar. He welcomed the lads cordially and waved them to chair.

"What do you think about Borrodaile, Frank?" he asked, coming right down to the main subject.

"I think," was the prompt answer, "that he has a head that's stuffed with knowledge--but it's not the sort of knowledge that will help him hang on to that bonanza mining claim of his."

"My motion to a t, y, ty. He can go back to Caesar's time and tell you how the old Romans used to do business, but he's as innocent as a babe in arms about the way business is done in this day and age of the world. He needs looking after, or some one will get that claim of his for a song--and then forget the singing part. Have you any idea why he went back to Gold Hill after he had just come from there."

"No, sir. That was the night"--and a flicker of a smile crossed Merry's face--"when I went out to the Bar Z Ranch, and before I had left I didn't know he had gone."

"Hum!" Mr. Bradlaugh sat back in his chair and peered into the vapor that floated above his head. "Boys," said he, when he finally lowered his eyes, "I have a feeling that some one is trying to victimize this professor of yours; in other words, that evil forces are at work to swindle him out of his claim, or, perhaps, to get it in some way even more desperate. I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily, but it's the part of wisdom to consider this matter in the worst light possible, and then to go to work alon g that line. If we're mistaken in our conclusions, well and good. Better that, you know, than to think nothing is wrong, to let matters drift, and then to find that the professor has been swindled or"--he hesitated--"or that he has disappeared, never to return."

All three of the boys at that gave a jump of consternation.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Clancy, "you don't have any idea that the harmless old fossil has been put out of the way?"

"No," was the reply; "and yet there are people who would put him out of the way, if, by so doing, they could show up with a quitclaim deed to that wonderfully rich gold mine. If the professor were gone for good, you see, no one would appear to question the validity of the legal document. Such things have been done. I mention it in this case merely as a possibility. Then, again, we have to consider it as a case of mere swindling The professor, I think, could easily he victimized. My most hopeful view is this: that Borradaile has simply gone off somewhere, without any plotters tagging to his heel, and that he will present himself in due course with the claim still in his possession. It is best, though, to put the worst construction on his absence; then, if my last theory proves correct, we shall all be happily disappointed."

Frank drew a deep breath.

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