“Why the deuce did Lenning and Shoup come in this direction?” asked Ballard, in a puzzled tone. “If they’d done anything crooked on the trail from Ophir to Gold Hill, they would be getting away from company instead of hunting for it.”
“It looks as though Blunt was barking up the wrong tree,” put in Clancy. “He had a revolver in his belt, under his coat, when he came out of the hotel, and started on the warpath, Chip. Didn’t see that, did you?”
“Is that straight, Clan?” Merry demanded, staring at his chum with grave concern.
“Straight as a die.”
“I didn’t see it,” said Ballard.
“Well, I did. His coat flew back as he climbed into the saddle, and for just a second I saw the gun.”
“Why didn’t you say something about it before?” asked Frank sharply.
“It would only have got you all stirred up, Chip, without doing any good. You ought to know Barzy Blunt by this time, I should think.”
They were inside the tent where the three visitors were to have their sleeping quarters. Merry, Clancy, and Ballard had flung themselves down on a pile of blankets. Bleeker had started to leave, but the conversation of Frank and his chums filled him with sudden interest, and he turned back.
“What are you chinning about?” he asked. “If Blunt had a gun, it isn’t the first time he has gone ‘heeled,’ by
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 a long chalk. A cowboy, as a rule, knows how to shoot. I’ve heard that Blunt is particularly good on the trigger. What are you stewing about, Chip?”
“First,” said Merriwell, “I wish you’d tell me what excuse Lenning and Shoup gave for coming here—that is, if they gave any.”
“Lenning was after money.”
“Money? How did he expect to get money here?”
“Why, he claimed that some of the fellows in camp owed him money they had borrowed. I reckon he was right about it, but none of us brought any coin to speak of out here. So those who owed Lenning couldn’t pay him back if they wanted to. You know what a hold Lenning had on Colonel Hawtrey before the colonel cast him adrift. Lenning was always well supplied with funds. He was generally a tightwad, too, but he’d loosen up now and then, just to get some of the boys in debt to him, so he could boss them around. It must seem kind of queer to Lenning to be ‘strapped’ and have to go around collecting on the I O Us.”
“Queer, he was so hard pressed,” mused Frank, “when, if our suspicions are correct, he and Shoup should have been flush.”
“What are your suspicions?”
Frank told about Mrs. Boorland’s loss on the trail from Gold Hill, and how Barzy Blunt had “gone on the warpath” to recover the money. Bleeker gave a long whistle.
“Blunt is sure a crazy cowboy when he gets his mad up,” said he, “but he’s not so crazy as to use a gun on anybody. He might make a grand-stand play with it, but that’s as far as he’d go. He’s right, I think. Shoup took the bank roll, and Lenning must have known about it. Jode Lenning is going to the dogs as fast as he can.”
“If those fellows got the money,” queried Merriwell,
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 “why in thunder were they here, trying to get some more?”
“Probably two hundred wasn’t enough.”
“Don’t forget, Chip,” spoke up Ballard, “what Dolliver said. He told us, you know, that Shoup flashed a roll ‘big enough to choke a dog.’”
“That’s right,” said Frank. “They certainly had money, and yet they came here and made a play for more. I’ll be hanged if I can understand it.”
“The Gold Hill crowd was camped right in this place, a couple of weeks ago,” went on Bleeker, “and Jode got mad at Hotch and me and made us leave the camp. I’m on top myself, just now, and am back in the athletic club, and have been elected to Jode’s place as captain of the football team. It did me good to turn on the skunk and order him off, just as he had done to me. He was backward about going, too, and said he and Shoup would have to have something to eat. We gave them some provisions, and then drove them away. They made their threats that they’d get even with us, and, as I said, last night, one of our canoes was stolen. That’s how they got even, I reckon. This is the only stretch of water in this section, where a canoe can be used, so if we hunt long enough we’re bound to get back our lost property.”
“Lenning is getting pretty mild in the way he settles his scores,” remarked Ballard. “When he’s worked up, he can be rather desperate.”
“I’m betting,” said Bleeker, “that with Shoup to nag him on, he’ll go farther than he ever went before. That Shoup is a hard case.”
“Only thing in the way of that theory,” chimed in Clancy, “is that Lenning lacks nerve. He’s got a white feather in every pocket, and he shows it every time any one gives him a chance.”
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“I wouldn’t come down too hard on Jode Lenning,” suggested Merriwell. “Dad has told me, a good many times, that he never saw a fellow so tough there wasn’t some good in him.”
“Lenning’s the exception,” declared Bleeker. “He’s a schemer, through and through, and he’d be out-and-out bad if he had the courage.”
Frank shook his head. “Lenning has had a hard lesson,” said he, “and maybe he’ll show you Gold Hill fellows, some day, that he has profited by it.”
Bleeker laughed incredulously.
“Chip,” he declared, “your heart’s running away with your head. Lenning’s lawlessness was born in him.”
“Oh, splash!” grunted Merry. “That sort of talk makes me tired. A man’s born with the same chance every one else has to make something out of himself. If he goes wrong, he can’t sneak behind his pedigree and whine about it; and if he does anything worth while, why, he’s entitled to the credit.”
“Gee,” grinned Bleeker, “I reckon I’ve started something. Let’s change the subject. What are Blunt’s chances for overhauling Lenning and Bleeker?”
“Not very good—if we can get at those fellows first,” said Frank.
“Going on the warpath yourself, Chip?” inquired Ballard.
“Right after dinner. If Lenning and Shoup have Mrs. Boorland’s money, and if they’re anywhere in the vicinity of this gulch, we ought to be able to find them and get back that two hundred. Blunt is probably on the wrong trail, and we may be the means of saving him a little trouble. While we’re looking for the money, Bleek,” he added, “you can come along and hunt for the canoe.”
“I’ll go with you, Chip,” answered Bleeker heartily. “But
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 we’re not going to waste all the afternoon on Lenning and Shoup. We’re going to have a canoe race around the Point, before sundown. I’m anxious to take a fall out of you on the water. From here to the broken pine around the Point is half a mile. I’ll pick a fellow to paddle with me, and you can take either Pink or Red. I’ve got a notion, old chap, that we Gold Hillers can show you a trick or two with the paddles.”
“I hope you can, Bleek,” laughed Merriwell. “We haven’t touched a paddle since we were up in the Wyoming country.”
“And that seems like a year ago,” sighed Clancy. “Say, I’m just honing for a paddle! Are you going to take Pink or Little Reddy, Chip?”
“We’ll settle that later,” said Frank.
“Go on!” cried Ballard, with mock indignation. “I can paddle circles all around Clancy.”
“That’s a joke,” said Clancy. “You’re too lazy to paddle circles around anybody.”
“I’m not too lazy to knock a chip off your shoulder, you red-headed chump!”
“Yah!” taunted Clancy, hunting around for a chip. “Chips are scarce,” he added finally, picking a pebble out of the sand. “How’ll this do?”
The pebble went flying from Clancy’s shoulder, and the two chums laughed and came together. While they were kicking and rolling among the blankets, a voice from outside announced “grub pile.”
“If you fellows would rather fight than eat,” said Merriwell, “stay right here and keep it up. Come on, Bleek, I’m hungry enough to eat a pair of boots.”
It was a fish dinner the campers had that day, and a good one. Half an hour before the fish was served, they had been swimming up and down the gulch. From the
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 water to the frying pan was a quick shift—and the quicker the shift the better, when it comes to fish.
There were ten Gold Hillers in camp, and the coming of Frank and his chums brought the total number up to a baker’s dozen. The ten from Gold Hill all belonged to the athletic club, and were a splendid lot of fellows. They were hungry, too, for the morning had been full of exercise.
“Pass the spuds, there, Hotch!” “Trying to hog all the canned oleo, Ming?” “A little more of the planked shad, if you please!” “Where’s my fork?” “Confound it, Bleek, the first thing you know the company will find out we didn’t have forks enough to go around, and that we’re using one between us.” “If you can’t be real polite, then for Heaven’s sake be as polite as you can.” “I’ve got a bone in my throat!” wailed Hotchkiss. “Hit him on the back,” said Bleeker; “everybody hit Hotch on the back.”
Everybody took a slam at Hotchkiss, and when they got through with him he had been pounded to a frazzle—but he had got rid of the bone.
“That’ll do!” he cried. “I’m no punching bag—let up.”
“Where’s the bone?” asked Bleeker severely.
“Gone! It’s not bothering me half so much, now, as you fellows are.”
“Prove it’s gone.”
“How?”
“Sing. Go on, Hotch.”
“I’ve eaten too much—I can’t sing.”
“Try it!” clamored the others.
“Shucks,” deprecated Hotch, “I’ve got a voice like a foghorn. But here goes.”
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He threw back his head and went at it.
“I once knew a girl in the year of eighty-nine—
A handsome young thing by the name of Emmaline—
I never could persuade her for to leave me be,
And she went and she took and she married me-e-e!”
A chorus of groans greeted Hotchkiss’ attempt.
“That’s a ranch song, Hotch,” said Bleeker sternly, “and it is not in good taste. Try again. We——”
But Hotchkiss did not get a chance to try again. Bleeker’s words were cut short by the clear, yet distant, note of a firearm.
The fun stopped as though by magic. All the boys cast startled glances at each other.
“That may be the fellows who stole our canoe!” cried Hotch, jumping to his feet. “Come on, fellows! Here’s a chance to nail ’em!”
He started up the gulch bank at a run, Bleeker and Merriwell tight at his heels.