course; but still, I think that it is a clew well worth following. If I
were you, chief, I’d assign a detective to watch that garage, in the
hope that Hawley may come for the wheel.”

Hodgins nodded. “That’s not a half bad idea, young feller,” he
graciously declared. “I can see that you’re your father’s son, all
right. Cleverness surely does run in the Gale family. I am going to do
as you suggest.”

So instead of going to the city hall, Hodgins turned about and went to
police headquarters. Picking out two of his best detectives, he assigned
them to watch the Invincible Garage, on Main Street, and to shadow
whoever came there to claim a certain motor cycle. If it was Hawley
himself who came for the wheel, the detectives were instructed to grab
him, and notify Chief Hodgins immediately.

Several hours later, the chief had good cause to congratulate himself
upon this move, for one of the detectives called up on the telephone,
and informed him that they had captured the Camera Chap.

“He came for the motor cycle himself,” the detective explained over the
wire. “The chump walked right into our hands, boss. Mike is holding him
now, while I’m telephoning.”

“All right; I’ll be right over,” said Hodgins. “Hold him tight until I
get there. If you let him get away it will cost both of you your
shields.”

That the Camera Chap had been captured was indeed true. After lingering
in the _Bulletin_ office for several hours after the visit of the chief
of police, he had gone to the garage with the intention of taking his
motor cycle and returning to his host’s mountain retreat.

He realized that he ran some danger of being recognized as he walked
along Main Street, but the distance from the _Bulletin_ office to the
Invincible Garage was so short that he thought he could safely risk it.

The possibility of the place being watched by some of Hodgins’ men, in
expectation of his coming, did not enter his mind, and, therefore, when
he reached the garage without being challenged, he considered himself
out of danger.

It was a great shock to him when, just as he was wheeling the motor
cycle out to the street, the two detectives pounced upon him, and told
him fiercely that if he preferred a whole skin to a broken one he had
better keep very still, and give them no trouble.

Those men were big and brawny, and they were so sore at their captive
for the injury he had done Oldham’s police force that they would have
been well pleased if he had offered resistance so they would have had
justification for using violence. But Hawley disappointed them in this
respect. He accepted the situation with a rueful smile. He fully
believed that he was booked for jail, and the prospect was not pleasant,
but he saw no use in making a fuss about it.

Chief Hodgins arrived at the garage a few minutes later, and took
personal charge of the prisoner.

Greatly to the latter’s astonishment, he was not taken to police
headquarters. He was marched to the city hall, and conducted by Hodgins
into the private office of the mayor.

And what astonished him still more was the fact that the mayor received
him with a pleasant smile.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A CHAT WITH THE MAYOR.

So friendly was the mayor’s greeting that the Camera Chap thought, at
first, that his honor could not be aware of the identity of his visitor.
Surely the head of Oldham’s government could have no reason for feeling
kindly disposed toward the chap who had given that government such a
severe jolt.

Great, then, was Hawley’s amazement when Mayor Henkle, after beaming
beatifically upon him, turned to Chief Hodgins and said pleasantly:

“So this is the young man whose snapshots in this morning’s _Bulletin_
have created such a stir in town?”

The chief of police scowled. “Yes, this is the--er--this is the young
man.” He had intended to end the sentence differently, but a warning
glance from his honor caused him to modify his words.

Mayor Henkle leaned forward in his chair, and extended a huge hand, the
back of which was as hairy as a gorilla’s paw, toward the Camera Chap.

“Mr. Hawley, let me congratulate you upon that achievement,” he said.
“Those pictures are great--simply immense.”

“Glad you liked them, Mr. Mayor,” said Hawley, as he grasped the
outstretched hand. To himself he said: “Now, I wonder what the deuce can
be the meaning of this taffy?”

The Camera Chap was not the only person whose curiosity was aroused by
the Honorable Martin Henkle’s demeanor. Chief Hodgins’ eyes opened wide
with wonder as he heard his boss congratulating the author of those
snapshots. Hodgins knew that the mayor, though a gruff, bullying type of
man, could be as smooth and urbane as a courtier when it suited his
purpose to be so; but the chief was at a loss to imagine what the
mayor’s purpose could be in the present instance.

It looked as if his curiosity would have to go unsatisfied, however, for
he was not permitted to hear the rest of the conversation.

“I guess we won’t detain you any longer, chief,” said the mayor, waving
his hand toward the door. “I realize that your time is valuable;
besides, Mr. Hawley and I wish to have a little confidential chat
together.”

Hodgins saluted stiffly, and started to withdraw, but as he neared the
doorway he thought of something which caused him to hesitate.

“Aren’t you going--don’t you wish me to take charge of this--er--young
man when you get through with him?” he inquired anxiously.

“Certainly not,” replied his honor indignantly. “Mr. Hawley is not a
prisoner. He is here as my guest. When this interview is over, he will
be free to depart, and I’ll make it hot for anybody that interferes with
him. I thought that I had thoroughly impressed that fact upon your mind,
chief.”

“Now, I wonder what the deuce can be the meaning of this?” said the
Camera Chap to himself once more. “It certainly sounds too good to be
true.”

“Yes, Mr. Hawley, those pictures in this morning’s _Bulletin_ were a
remarkably clever piece of work,” Mayor Henkle declared, as the door
closed behind the chief of police. “As soon as I saw them I made up my
mind that I was going to send for the man who took them, and tell him
what I thought of them. I can appreciate pluck and skill, Mr. Hawley,
even when they are directed against myself. The fact that those
snapshots of yours are somewhat of a black eye to my administration,
doesn’t prevent me from being glad to shake hands with you.”

“You are certainly broad-minded, Mr. Mayor,” the Camera Chap said
politely.

“Well, yes; I guess I am,” the Honorable Martin Henkle admitted. “A man
has got to be broad-minded, I guess, in order to get along in public
life. By the way, Mr. Hawley, how long do you intend to honor us with
your presence in Oldham?”

“I can’t say exactly,” the Camera Chap answered, somewhat astonished at
the abruptness of the question. “It all depends.”

“Depends upon what?” the mayor inquired eagerly.

“Upon how long a leave of absence I can get from my managing editor. I
am on the staff of the New York _Sentinel_, you know. I am here merely
on a vacation. I came here originally with the intention of staying only
a few days, but I am thinking of writing to Mr. Paxton--he’s the
managing editor of the _Sentinel_--to ask if he won’t let me remain for
several weeks longer.”

“Humph! And what is your reason for wanting to remain?”

“Oh, there are several reasons, Mr. Mayor. For one thing, I like the
climate. I took this vacation on account of my health, you know, and
this bracing air does me a world of good.”

The mayor frowned. “Give me another reason.”

“Well, to be quite candid with you, I want to stay and help my friend
Fred Carroll get out the _Bulletin_,” the Camera Chap replied.

The frown upon the mayor’s face deepened. “You haven’t written that
letter to your managing editor yet, have you, Mr. Hawley?” he inquired.

“Not yet. I intend to write it this evening.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Mayor Henkle replied slowly, “even if your editor is willing
to extend your leave of absence, you’re not going to stay here. You’re
going back to New York immediately, Mr. Hawley.”

The Camera Chap grinned. “You mean you’re going to banish me from
Oldham, Mr. Mayor?”

“That’s an ugly way of putting it,” protested his honor, with a
deprecating smile. “We won’t call it being banished. I am going to ask
you, as a favor to me, to cut your vacation short, and return to New
York.”

“And suppose I refuse to go?”

“You won’t refuse,” was the grim reply. “You impress me as being a
sensible young man. I suppose you realize, Mr. Hawley, that we can send
you to jail, right now, for taking those snapshots without a license. We
have a clear case against you.”

The Camera Chap nodded. “Yes, I suppose you have.”

“But I don’t want to send you to jail,” the mayor continued. “I like
you, and, as I said before, I admire the pluck and cleverness you
displayed in getting those pictures. I think it would be a great pity to
put such a talented man behind bars. So I am giving you this chance.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It is just four p. m. There is a
train for New York at seven. I guess you ought to be able to get ready
in three hours. Will you promise me to leave on that train, Mr. Hawley?”

The Camera Chap smiled ruefully.

“I suppose I have no choice in the matter. I hate to leave Oldham, but,
of course, I’d rather do that than go to jail.”

There was a long pause. The mayor seemed to be turning something over in
his mind. His keen gaze was fixed searchingly upon the Camera Chap’s
face, and twice his lips moved, as though he were about to speak, but
each time the words remained unspoken.

Then, with sudden decision, he leaned forward in his chair, and said
quietly:

“There is one other alternative, Mr. Hawley. An idea has just presented
itself to me which seems to me a vast improvement on my original plan of
forcing you to leave town. If you wish, you can remain in
Oldham--without going to jail--and earn fifty dollars besides.”

“That sounds much more agreeable,” declared the Camera Chap laughingly.
“What have I got to do to earn that alluring sum?”

“Something very easy. You will merely have to make a short affidavit.”

“To what effect?”

“That those snapshots which the _Bulletin_ published this morning were
fakes.”

Hawley arched his eyebrows. “Fakes? I don’t quite get you, Mr. Mayor.
How could those pictures be fakes?”

“I don’t know how they could be,” was the mayor’s reply. “I don’t
understand much about photography. But I feel confident that an expert
like yourself will be able to dope out an explanation which will sound
convincing. I shall leave the details of the affidavit entirely to you.”

Hawley grinned. “I guess I get you now, Mr. Mayor. May I inquire what
you intend to do with this affidavit, provided you get it?”

“I intend to publish it on the front page of to-morrow’s _Bulletin_.”

The start of surprise which the Camera Chap gave at this answer was
genuine.

“The _Bulletin_? You mean the _Chronicle_, don’t you, Mr. Mayor?” he
inquired.

“I mean the _Bulletin_. It will be published in the _Chronicle_, also--I
want it to have as much publicity as possible--but to get it on the
front page of the _Bulletin_ is the main thing. I want everybody who saw
those pictures to-day to learn that they are fakes when they see the
paper to-morrow.”

Hawley was so amused by this amazing proposal that he forgot to be
indignant. “And may I ask how you propose to get it into the _Bulletin_,
Mr. Mayor?” he inquired, with an ironical smile. “Are you going to
request my friend Carroll to print it as a personal favor to you?”

“Yes, I am,” was the astonishing reply. “And I guess your friend Carroll
will be ready enough to do me the favor when he hears my proposition.
I’m going to offer to bury the hatchet. He’s gone pretty far with that
confounded sheet of his. There are some things he’s done that lots of
men in public life would never forgive or forget. But, as you have
remarked, Mr. Hawley, I’m broad-minded. I’m willing to let bygones be
bygones. You can go and tell Carroll that if he wants to come over to
the city hall and shake hands with me, he’ll find me ready.”

“I’ll tell him,” said the Camera Chap dryly, “but I doubt very much if
he’ll come, Mr. Mayor. My friend Carroll is a peculiar fellow.”

“Oh, he’ll come, all right!” the Honorable Martin Henkle declared
confidently. “You just whisper in his ear that as soon as the _Bulletin_
makes itself right with the administration, that bunch of advertising
goes back into its columns, and I’ll bet my bank roll he’ll hurry over.
You can tell him, too, that as soon as we’re friends, the _Bulletin_
will get all the news at police headquarters and the other public
departments, same as it used to before the scrap.”

“All right; I’ll tell him,” said the Camera Chap, taking a step toward
the door. “But I still doubt very much if he’ll come, Mr. Mayor. The
_Bulletin_ is going to have so very much big advertising that he
probably wouldn’t be able to find room for that piker bunch of ads you
caused to be taken out, and which you are now offering to put back
again.

“And as for the news at police headquarters, and the other public
departments,” Hawley went on, taking another step toward the door, “why,
I’m afraid he won’t have much room for that, either. You see, Mr. Mayor,
the _Bulletin’s_ columns are going to be so taken up the next few
months booming the People’s Party candidate for mayor, that there won’t
be space for much else.”

Mayor Henkle frowned. “The People’s Party candidate for mayor, eh? Who
is he?”

“Fred Carroll,” Hawley answered solemnly. “After much persuasion, my
friend Carroll has consented to run at the coming election. He is going
to announce it in to-morrow’s _Bulletin_.”

The mayor’s frown changed into a derisive sneer. “The People’s Party!”
he sneered. “Who are they? I never heard of ’em before.”

“To be quite frank with you, Mr. Mayor,” the Camera Chap replied, with a
smile, “neither did I. The party hasn’t been formed yet. Carroll is
going to organize it himself out of the _Bulletin’s_ readers.”

Martin Henkle shrugged his shoulders. “If Carroll wants to make an idiot
of himself, I can’t stop him, of course,” he growled. “But if he’s got
an ounce of sense he’ll accept my proposition, and turn that lean,
hungry paper of his into a profitable sheet. You put it up to him, Mr.
Hawley, and see what he thinks about it.”

“Very well, Mr. Mayor,” said the Camera Chap politely. “I’ll make it a
point to see him before I take the seven o’clock train to New York.”

The latter part of this answer seemed to astonish the mayor. “But you’re
not going to take the seven o’clock train to New York,” he protested.
“You’re going to stay in Oldham and earn that fifty dollars by making
the affidavit.”

“I think not,” the Camera Chap rejoined quietly.

“Suppose we make it a hundred dollars instead of fifty?”

Hawley shook his head. “Not if you were to make it a hundred thousand
dollars, Mr. Mayor!” he declared.

The tone in which he said it ought to have convinced Martin Henkle that
it was useless to attempt to alter his decision, but the latter did not
quite give up hope of getting that affidavit. He knew that newspaper
photographers were poorly paid, as a rule, and, not supposing that
Hawley was any exception to that rule, he thought that a hundred dollars
must look like a lot of money to him. Even though he refused it now, he
no doubt would change his mind after he had had a little time to
consider the many things he could do with that sum.

“Well, think it over, Mr. Hawley,” the mayor said. “No use deciding
hastily. If you change your mind before the New York train leaves, drop
in here again and let me know. I’ll be at the city hall until then.
Remember, you get that hundred just as soon as you put your signature to
the affidavit.”

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE RIVAL CANDIDATE.

Fred Carroll’s joy over the success of the _Bulletin’s_ police exposé
was marred by the thought that the girl he loved was likely to suffer
for the part she had played in it.

If it had not been for Melba, the _Bulletin_ could not have published
the snapshots which had created such a great stir in Oldham. No doubt
Melba’s uncle and cousin, realizing this fact, would do their utmost to
make the girl regret the devoted service which she had rendered their
enemy.

This thought worried Carroll exceedingly. So anxious was he concerning
her that, at length, he decided to send a messenger to her with a note,
urging her to let him know immediately how things were going with her at
home.

He would have called up the Gale residence on the telephone, but Melba
had cautioned him that such a proceeding was dangerous, as the telephone
at the house was a double one, and Martha, her uncle’s shrewish old
housekeeper, was in the habit of listening at the extension instrument
upstairs whenever she, Melba, spoke over the wire downstairs. Such
conversations Martha always reported in detail to her master when he
came home.

Carroll thought that it would be safe to risk sending a note to the
house. He intended to make Miggsy its bearer, and that youngster had on
several occasions demonstrated his ability to deliver notes to Miss Gale
without running foul of the housekeeper’s sharp old eyes.

However, the missive was never sent; for, just as he was writing it,
Melba entered the _Bulletin’s_ editorial room, and, unannounced, stepped
up to his desk.

“Congratulations, Fred!” she exclaimed brightly. “Your editorial and Mr.
Hawley’s snapshots have certainly made a great hit. They’re the talk of
the town. The word _Bulletin_ was on the lips of every second person I
passed on my way here.”

Carroll was greatly relieved to see that she was smiling, and apparently
quite at ease. Evidently she had not as yet been visited with her
uncle’s and cousin’s displeasure; or, if she had, at least she didn’t
seem to be any the worse for it.

“Yes,” he responded, as he dragged a chair toward her, “I guess we’ve
stirred the town up some; and, what’s more important, we’re reaping the
harvest. Our circulation department has been doing a land-office
business; our entire edition is completely sold out, and I’ve got a
bunch of new subscriptions. Several ads have come in to-day, too.
They’re only small ones, but they’re ready money. The outlook begins to
look encouraging. And I owe it all to you, little girl. If it hadn’t
been for your pluck and cleverness in getting those films away from----”

“Hush!” she interrupted laughingly, putting her gloved hand over his
mouth. “If you’re going to talk like that, Fred, I’m going right out. I
thought I’d drop in to congratulate you, and tell you a piece of
news--two pieces of news, in fact--but I won’t stay if you say another
word in that strain.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” he insisted, looking at her fondly. “Tell me how
your uncle and cousin have been treating you since they found out how
you beat them at their own game. I’ve been so anxious about you that I
was just writing you a note.”

“They didn’t say a word to me about it--not even a gentle reproach from
either of them,” Melba answered.

“That’s queer!” Carroll exclaimed in astonishment. “Can it be possible
that they don’t know that it was you who got the films away from their
photo-engraving room? If so, isn’t it highly imprudent of you to come
here now, Melba? If they should learn about this visit, they might
possibly put two and two together, you know.”

“Oh, they must know of the trick I played them,” the girl declared.
“They couldn’t help finding it out. The man up in their photo-engraving
room knew me, and he must have told them what happened.”

“And yet you say they didn’t raise a fuss?” Carroll’s tone was almost
incredulous.

“Not the slightest, Fred. Isn’t it odd? On the contrary, my uncle’s
manner to me last night and this morning was unusually kind and gentle;
and as for my cousin--well, that’s one of the startling items of news
that I’ve come to tell you.” Melba laughed softly, “Would it be a shock
to you, Freddie, to learn that you have a rival?”

“A rival?” he repeated questioningly.

“Yes; a rival in love. My cousin asked me to marry him last night,
Fred.”

“What!” Carroll was so astonished that he fairly shouted the
monosyllable.

“It’s a fact, Fred,” said Melba, smiling at his vehemence; “and he
appeared to be very much in earnest, too.”

“But I thought you told me the other day that he hated you?” Carroll
reminded her.

“He has always given me that impression. He and I never got along well
together, even as children. He has never taken any pains to conceal his
dislike for me. Since his return from New York, his attitude toward me
has been particularly mean--until last night.”

Carroll scowled. “Well, if that’s the case, what on earth made him
propose to you?”

“That’s what I’m anxious to know,” Melba answered. “The more I think of
the incident, Fred, the more it puzzles me. I was in hopes you might be
able to suggest a reason for his sudden change. Ah! Here’s some one who
may be able to help us.”

She pointed, as she spoke, toward Hawley, who came in at that moment to
tell Carroll of his experience at the city hall.

“We want your advice, Mr. Hawley,” the girl said, as the Camera Chap
stepped up. “My cousin has asked me to marry him. Can you imagine a
reason?”

“I can imagine a hundred reasons,” the Camera Chap replied gallantly.
“If you’ll glance in a mirror, Miss Gale, you’ll discover a lot of them
for yourself. With all his faults, your cousin is human, you know--and
he isn’t blind.”

“Thank you!” said Melba, laughing and blushing. “But I am really
serious, Mr. Hawley. I am quite sure that my cousin isn’t in love with
me--in fact, as I was just saying to Fred, he cordially dislikes me.
Besides, I happen to know that he’s in love with another girl--an
actress in New York. He’s got her picture tacked on the wall in his
room, and he writes to her every day. Now, what can be his object in
proposing to me?”

“Oh, I guess that’s easily explained,” Hawley answered. “No doubt spite
is his motive. He wants to win you away from Fred.”

Carroll nodded. “Yes; that’s it, of course. Wasn’t our engagement
mentioned during the conversation, girlie?”

“Not a word about it,” Melba replied. “He didn’t even mention your name,
Fred. When I told him that it was quite out of the question for me to
marry him, he merely said that he was sorry I felt that way about it,
but that he was going to keep on trying until he persuaded me to change
my mind.”

Carroll was not at all pleased to hear this. “I suppose that means that
he’ll keep annoying you by forcing his attentions upon you,” he said
grimly.

“I suppose so,” said Melba. “And, being under the same roof with him,
that’s going to be decidedly unpleasant. I almost think I’d prefer to
have him treat me in his usual disagreeable manner. Probably my uncle,
too, will pester me with arguments why I should marry his son. I can see
myself having a pleasant time.”

“If only I could afford to marry you now, and take you away from such
distasteful surroundings!” Carroll said wistfully. “It’s the dickens to
be poor!”

Melba laughed heartily. “Never mind, Fred,” she said soothingly. “Things
will be coming our way soon. Judging from the hit your paper has made,
you’re not going to be poor much longer, is he, Mr. Hawley?”

“I hope not,” the Camera Chap replied. “By the way, Fred, I’ve got a
proposition to put up to you. It’s from your friend Mayor Henkle. If
you’re tired of being poor, maybe you’ll be glad to accept the offer
that he makes.”

With a twinkle in his eye, he proceeded to narrate his experience at the
city hall, and Carroll received the news with great joy.

“So he wants to call off the fight, does he?” he chuckled. “I’m mighty
glad to hear that, Frank. This is indeed good tidings.”

“Why, Fred!” cried Melba in a shocked tone. “Surely you’re not thinking
of accepting that offer? I wouldn’t believe----”

“Accepting it! I should say not!” was the indignant reply. “What do you
take me for? All the money in the world couldn’t make the _Bulletin_
stop fighting Henkle and his gang. But I’m mighty glad to hear the news
which Frank has brought. It shows that we’ve got that grafter worried.
He must be dead scared, or he wouldn’t have made these overtures of
peace.”

The Camera Chap nodded. “Yes, it certainly looks as if he has begun to
see ‘the writing on the wall.’ He realizes that the power of the
_Bulletin_ is growing, and that it means the finish of him and his gang
unless he can swing us over to his side.”

“By the way, Fred,” he added, with a chuckle. “I’ve launched your boom
as candidate for the mayoralty of Oldham.”

“Who--what?” exclaimed Carroll in great astonishment.

“Yes; I told Henkle that you intend to be his successor in the city
hall.”

The proprietor of the _Bulletin_ stared at him dazedly.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” he ejaculated. “What on earth put such an idea
into your head?”

“I don’t know,” the Camera Chap replied, with a grin. “It came to me
like a flash. I wanted to get his goat, and it seemed to me that would
be a good way of going about it. I wasn’t wrong, either. He certainly
appeared somewhat jarred by my announcement.”

“Oh, I see,” said Carroll. “It was merely a joke?”

“Not at all,” the Camera Chap rejoined. “Now that I’ve launched your
boom, Fred, you’ve got to run. Just think what a fine thing it would be
for the _Bulletin_ if its proprietor were the mayor of the town!”

“Nonsense!” Carroll protested. “Don’t talk like an idiot, Frank. It’s
quite out of the question.”

It was at this point that Melba suddenly recollected something. “Oh,
that reminds me, Fred, of the other piece of news I have to tell you!”
she exclaimed. “You know, I said I had two pieces of news to
communicate. My uncle announced at the supper table last night that he
expects to be the next mayor of Oldham.”

“Your uncle!” cried Hawley and Carroll in a chorus of astonishment.

“Yes; he said that Mayor Henkle promised to make him his successor. Mr.
Henkle has decided not to be a candidate for reëlection, and he thinks
that Uncle Delancey’s faithful services to the party entitle him to the
place. My uncle is tickled pink. He has already made plans of what he is
going to do when he gets into the city hall.”

The Camera Chap looked at Carroll, and chuckled. There was a flash in
the latter’s eyes, and his lower jaw was thrust forward aggressively.

“Frank,” he cried, “you’re a true prophet! I am going to announce my
candidacy in the next issue of the _Bulletin_, in the largest type we’ve
got in the shop.”

CHAPTER XXX.

A MYSTERY SOLVED.

When the seven o’clock train for New York steamed out of Oldham, Chief
of Police Hodgins stood on the station platform. He was there by order
of the mayor. He saw Hawley get on the train, and, after waiting until
the train was under way, to make sure that the Camera Chap did not get
off again, he went to the city hall to report to his honor.

Mayor Henkle was bitterly disappointed. Until the last minute he had
been hopeful that the Camera Chap would fall for the lure of that
hundred-dollar bill. In fact, he had stayed at the city hall long after
his usual hour in expectation that Hawley would return to make that
much-desired affidavit.

The mayor was greatly disappointed, too, because Carroll did not come
over to the city hall to shake hands with him and accept his terms of
peace. Had the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ responded to his overtures,
the Honorable Martin Henkle had in mind a nifty little plan, which, when
put in operation, would have come as a great shock to that editor. In
fact, his honor had intended to hand Carroll a nice juicy lemon. He had
no more intention of making friends with the _Bulletin_ than he had of
making friends with his neighbor’s cat--and the mayor hated cats.

His idea was to beguile Carroll and Hawley into confessing that those
police snapshots were fakes; then, as soon as that humiliating
confession was published in the _Bulletin_, he intended to declare war
once more on that newspaper. He figured that Carroll would be so
discredited in the eyes of the public that he would have nothing more to
fear from him or his newspaper. Therefore, the Honorable Martin Henkle
was exceedingly chagrined that neither Hawley nor Carroll had fallen for
his little game.

Still, he derived some satisfaction from Chief Hodgins’ report that the
Camera Chap had left town on the seven o’clock train for New York. He
realized that had the Camera Chap refused to go voluntarily he would
have had no legal right to force him to leave Oldham. In that event, he
would have had to carry out his threat to send Hawley to jail, for he
was determined to get rid of him; but he was strongly opposed to taking
that step, for fear of the adverse public sentiment which it was likely
to arouse.

With the Camera Chap out of the way, the mayor felt confident that he
would soon be able to put the _Bulletin_ out of business. The sudden
spurt of success displayed by Carroll’s newspaper he attributed entirely
to the aid which Hawley had given with his camera. Now that the Camera
Chap had gone back to New York, the _Bulletin’s_ circulation would soon
dwindle.

Possibly his honor would not have felt so confident if he had overheard
Hawley’s words as he took leave of his friend Carroll.

“I have promised to leave on the seven o’clock train,” the Camera Chap
said, with a smile, “and, of course, I shall keep that promise. I have
some business to attend to in New York, anyway, Fred, so the time
consumed by the trip will not be wasted.”

“But,” he added, with a chuckle, “I have not promised my friend the
mayor that I would not come back. Very careless of him to overlook that
point, wasn’t it? I shall stop in New York only a few hours; then I
shall return to resume my job as staff photographer of the _Bulletin_.”

As it turned out, the Camera Chap had cause to feel very grateful to
Mayor Henkle for sending him back to New York on the seven o’clock
train. For on that train he made the acquaintance of a man who was a
friend of the younger Gale. As a result of this, Hawley was enabled to
solve the mystery of Gale’s sudden desire to marry his Cousin Melba.

His meeting with this man was not quite accidental, although the Camera
Chap took pains to make it appear so. It came about in this manner: Just
as the train was about to pull out of the station, two men came down the
platform and stopped at the coach in which Hawley sat. One was Gale. The
other was a tall blond man, whose face was exceedingly flushed, and who
walked somewhat unsteadily. The Camera Chap’s attention was attracted to
the pair by the voice of Gale’s companion, which was pitched far above
its normal register. He was taking leave of Gale, who evidently had come
there merely to see him off.

“Well, s’long, old scout!” he shouted, shaking Gale’s hand vigorously.
“See yer again next time I hit this little old town. Hope by that time
you’ll be married to----”

He didn’t finish the sentence, for Gale hastily cut him short by saying
something to him in a tone so low that Hawley could not catch the words.
Then Gale and a guard assisted the wabbly young man aboard the coach,
and the train started.

The Camera Chap had heard enough to cause him to desire to learn more.
The sentence which had been cut short so abruptly caused him to think of
what Melba Gale had told him regarding her cousin’s proposal. He
wondered if it was to her that the man with the flushed face had been
about to refer when Gale checked his noisy speech. Determined to find
this out, if possible, he decided to become acquainted with Gale’s
friend.

The latter had taken a seat at the other end of the coach. Hawley waited
until the train had been under way a short time, then changed his seat
for one beside that of the man, taking care not to betray any special
interest in his neighbor.

The latter stared at him for a while; then, being in a conversational
mood, he began to talk.

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “Where’d you get on the train?”

Hawley answered that he had got on at Oldham.

“Oldham? Tha’s funny. Tha’s where I got on myself,” the man with the
flushed face exclaimed, as excited as though this coincidence were the
most amazing thing that had ever happened. “Great little old town,
isn’t it? Know anybody there?”

“A few people.”

“Happen to know my frien’ Gale?”

“Do I?” exclaimed Hawley in a tone which implied that he and Gale had
shared the same feeding bottle as infants.

“Tha’s funny--tha’s awful funny. Gale’s great frien’ mine, too. Shake
hands! Any frien’ of a frien’ of mine is a frien’ of mine, too. So you
know good old Gale, eh?”

“Oh, sure,” Hawley responded, with an enthusiasm that was well feigned.
“By the way, old man, I suppose you’ve heard that he’s going to be
married?”

The man with the flushed face looked at him in astonishment. “I thought
it was a secret.”

The Camera Chap laughed noncommittally. “Nice girl, isn’t she?” he said
lightly.

“Nice? She’s regular peach!” The man winked at Hawley. “And rich,
too--that’s more important than being nice. My frien’ Gale’s lucky
fellow.”

The Camera Chap was amazed to hear this. Evidently, then, the girl to
whom his talkative neighbor referred was not Melba. But the other’s next
utterance caused him to change his mind.

“Don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t marry her, if she is his cousin,”
the man exclaimed. “Nothing wrong in cousins marrying--especially when
girl’s so rich.”

Hawley’s face was a complete mask to his emotions.

“Yes, I guess she’s rich, all right,” he remarked casually. “Let’s see;
how much do they say she’s worth?”

The young man looked at him in amazement. “Watcher talkin’ about? She
ain’t worth anything now, of course. She won’t get the money until old
Leggett’s death. Guess you mean how much is she mentioned for in the
will, eh?”

“Sure,” the Camera Chap assented. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

“Well, tha’s funny--tha’s awful funny!” the man muttered, regarding
Hawley with sudden suspicion. “How the deuce do you know anything about
that will? I thought I was the only one who was wise to it--and I
haven’t told anybody in Oldham a word about it, ’cept my friend Gale.
Old Sam Leggett’s got her down in his will for fifty thousand dollars.
Pretty soft for our friend Gale, eh?”

Hawley had difficulty in concealing his astonishment. So Fred Carroll’s
fiancée, instead of being a penniless orphan, was really an heiress.
Here was good news, indeed. The Camera Chap was glad that he had set out
on this trip to New York. He had already learned enough to enable him to
understand Gale’s motive for suddenly desiring to marry his cousin. But
there were several things he still wanted to know. By adroit
questioning, he succeeded in eliciting these details from his babbling
acquaintance.

Samuel Leggett, a New York merchant, he learned, was a distant relative
of Melba Gale on her mother’s side. The old man was worth millions, and,
having no near kin, had made a will leaving most of his money to various
charities and institutions in which he was interested. Remembering the
existence of his young kinswoman, however, he had mentioned her in his
will to the extent of fifty thousand dollars. It was a small amount
compared with some of the other bequests, but old Leggett had not been
on particularly good terms with that branch of the family from which
Melba was descended; otherwise she would have been heiress to millions
instead of thousands.

Fifty thousand dollars, however, was a big enough fortune to appeal to
the cupidity of old Delancey Gale and his son. They had learned about
his legacy from the man with the flushed face, who was a clerk in the
office of the lawyer who had drawn up Leggett’s will, and who had thus
had a chance to see that document.

Happening to be in Oldham on some business for his employer, this man
had called on his friend Gale, whom he had known when the latter was a
reporter on the New York _Daily News_, and had told him of Melba’s
prospective good fortune.

Gale had been greatly interested, and had urged him not to talk about
the will to his Cousin Melba, nor to anybody else in Oldham. Gale had
confided to him that he and Melba were secretly engaged--so the
garrulous law clerk informed the Camera Chap--and had explained with
seeming ingenuousness that if the girl learned that she was an heiress
to fifty thousand dollars she might get an idea into her head that
he--Gale--was not good enough for her.

“Modest fellow, our friend Gale, isn’t he?” remarked the law clerk to
Hawley, at this point in the narrative.

“Oh, very!” the Camera Chap agreed dryly. “Just one more question, old
man: Is Mr. Leggett in good health?”

The law clerk grinned. “You bet he is! He’s as hard as nails, and,
although he’s past seventy, is as spry as a man of forty. Comes of a
long-lived family, too, I understand. His father was nearly ninety
before he cashed in. Poor Gale may have to wait a long time, after all,
before he gets his hands on that money.”

“I’ve an idea that he’ll have to wait a very long time,” the Camera Chap
answered grimly.

CHAPTER XXXI.

RISING FORTUNES.

A day after the arrival of the Camera Chap in New York, a middle-aged
man of exceedingly prosperous appearance entered the _Bulletin_ office,
and handed a card to Fred Carroll, on which was printed:

“Mr. Oliver Cheston, the National Advertising Agency, New York, Chicago,
San Francisco.”

Carroll wondered that a man of Mr. Cheston’s evident standing in the
business world should have such a cheap-looking card, for the pasteboard
was printed instead of being engraved, and it looked as if the job had
been hastily done, some of the letters being blurred.

Nevertheless, the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ received his visitor with
great politeness. He was enough of a philosopher to realize that a man
is not always to be judged by the quality of his stationery.

Mr. Oliver Cheston’s first words took Carroll’s breath away.

“I have come to see you about placing some advertising in your
newspaper,” he announced quietly; “about five thousand dollars’ worth.”

“Five thousand dollars’ worth!” the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ gasped.
“Is this a joke?”

The representative of the National Advertising Agency frowned. “Why
should you doubt my seriousness, sir?” he demanded, with great dignity.
“My firm is one of the largest agencies in the world. Surely you must
have heard of us? We represent most of the big advertisers in the United
States, and our specialty is placing ads in small-town newspapers such
as yours.”

He drew from his pocket several sheets of paper pinned together. “Here
is the copy of the ads which I wish to insert in the _Bulletin_. They
are to appear regularly in each issue until further notice. Each ad is
to occupy half a page. If you will have the contracts drawn up, I will
sign them now.”

Carroll glanced at the pages which his visitor had thrust into his hand.
Each sheet was a typewritten draft of an advertisement of some product
of world-wide reputation. One was a brand of bottled beer, which, so its
manufacturers boasted, had made a certain town famous; another was a
breakfast food, the name of which, by dint of persistent advertising,
had become a household word throughout the world; a third was a tooth
powder which millions of people were using.

Still Carroll was incredulous. This stroke of fortune seemed much too
good to be true. He was strongly inclined to ask Mr. Cheston why he had
selected the _Bulletin_ as a medium for this advertising, but he
realized that such a question would be exceedingly undiplomatic, so he
refrained from putting it.

“Very well, sir,” he said. “How about payment? It is----”

Before he could go any further, the representative of the National
Advertising Agency broke in:

“Payment will be in advance, Mr. Carroll. I shall hand you our check now
for five thousand dollars. That will carry us for quite a few issues at
your usual rates, I think. By the time that money is used up, we shall
be able to judge by the results whether it will be to our advantage to
continue to run the ads in the _Bulletin_.”

Carroll was even more strongly inclined to suspect now that the
proposition was a hoax. This liberal way of doing business, to his mind,
looked decidedly fishy.

However, he proceeded to draw up the contracts, and when Mr. Cheston had
departed, leaving a check for five thousand dollars behind him, he took
the check over to his bank, although he felt so sure that it was
worthless that he was almost ashamed to deposit it.

Great was his amazement and joy when he called at the bank the next day,
and was told by the cashier that the check had put through the clearing
house, and was perfectly good.

It was not long before Carroll’s enemies in the _Chronicle_ office and
at the city hall heard about this windfall which had come to the
_Bulletin_.

The Gales could not understand it at all. They thought it very queer
that Mr. Oliver Cheston had not come to them with a view to placing his
business in their newspaper. Surely as an advertising expert, he must
have known that the _Chronicle’s_ circulation was far in advance of that
of the _Bulletin_.

It worried them, and it worried Mayor Henkle, too, to see Carroll get
that five thousand dollars. They had figured on his lack of finances as
the strongest factor in the downfall of the _Bulletin_. Now that he had
so unexpectedly come into funds, they realized that his newspaper would
have a new lease of life, which, from their standpoint, was very
annoying.

What worried the Gales and the Honorable Martin Henkle even more was the
manner in which Carroll’s announcement that he would be a candidate for
mayor at the next election had been received by the people of Oldham.

Carroll had published that announcement in large type on the front page
of the _Bulletin_. In a ringing editorial, double-leaded, and three
columns wide, he explained his reasons for taking this step, and urged
the taxpayers of Oldham to rally to his standard, and help in the good
work of turning the rascals out of office.

On the front page of that issue, and each succeeding issue, was printed
a coupon, which the reader was requested to fill out and bring or mail
to the _Bulletin_ office. By signing this coupon, the reader enrolled
himself as a member of the new “People’s Party.”

The response to this appeal was very gratifying--to Carroll and his
friends. The coupons, properly filled out, came pouring into the
_Bulletin_ office. Committees of taxpayers called in person to
congratulate Carroll upon his decision to run for mayor, and to pledge
their enthusiastic support.

Day by day the _Bulletin’s_ circulation grew larger and larger.
Carroll’s editorials on the subject of his candidacy were the most
brilliant his pen had ever turned out. Lots of people bought the
_Bulletin_ just to read his roasts of the Honorable Martin Henkle and
his gang. Many others bought the paper because of the spirited snapshots
which appeared each day upon its front page. For the Camera Chap had
come back to Oldham, as he had promised to do, and was once more busy
with his kodak and in dodging Chief of Police Hodgins and his minions.

It was this fact which worried Mayor Henkle and the Gales most of all,
for they soon learned that Hawley had returned, and was responsible for
the daring half tones which the _Bulletin_ was publishing, and which
were causing so much amusement in Oldham.

Then one day, about a week after the Camera Chap’s return from New York,
old Delancey Gale and his son received another great shock. An
Associated Press dispatch from New York came to the _Chronicle_ office,
announcing the death of Mr. Samuel Leggett, a prominent merchant and
philanthropist.

“I guess it’s all up now, governor,” said the younger Gale morsely to
his father. “Melba will come into that fifty thousand dollars, and
she’ll marry Carroll right away--confound him! With all that money to
spend, he’s sure to beat you at the polls at the coming election.”

Old Delancey Gale nodded gloomily. “Yes, my son, it certainly looks
bad,” he admitted. “It seems to me that the situation calls for
desperate measure. I have set my heart on being the mayor of this town,
and I am not going to let that young ruffian beat me if there is any way
of preventing it.”

For a full hour, father and son sat in the former’s private office,
putting their heads together in search of some plan which would bring
about the undoing of Carroll.

Suddenly the younger Gale had an inspiration. He explained the scheme to
his parent, who gave it his enthusiastic approval. They determined to
put it into operation immediately.

                           TO BE CONTINUED.

                       THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Smallest Knife in the World.

What is in all probability the smallest knife in the world has just been
completed by M. A. Kaufman, an employee of a jewelry store of Altoona,
Pa. It measures five-thirty-seconds of an inch long, has a blade less
than two-sixteenths of an inch in length, and weighs a third of a grain.
The handle is of solid gold, while the blade and spring are of tempered
steel.

Recalls Indian Battle Back in Summer of ’65.

George L. Wilcox, O. O. Ferbrache, and others are locating the
long-forgotten, neglected, and obliterated graves of Captain William D.
Fouts and his men, Philip G. Alden, Edward McMahan, and Richard Gregor,
who lost their lives a half century ago in the battle of Horse Creek,
fought near Scottsbluff, Neb.

The work is undertaken under orders from Captain Ray B. Harper, of the
quartermaster’s corps of Omaha, and the remains are to be sealed in lead
caskets and removed to the military cemetery at Cottonwood Cañon, a
little east of North Platte.

The graves now lie under a field of alfalfa about four miles west of the
city of Scottsbluff, close by the old ruin of Fort Mitchell. This fort
was first built by Bruce Husband, of the American Fur Company, and was
named Fort Fontenelle, but was later named Fort Mitchell, after General
Mitchell. At the time of the interment of Captain Fouts and his
companions, it was called Camp Shuman, and was a substation of Fort
Laramie.

It would be impossible to find these graves now, were it not for the
memory of old-timers, who, thirty years ago, came into the valley,
riding the range, or looking for homesteads.

During the winter of 1864-5 there were around Fort Laramie about 2,000
Indians, who professed to be friendly, and said that the war tribes had
made it dangerous for them to pursue their usual vocation of hunting and
trapping. Under orders they were fed and sustained through the cold
winter, but the officials at the fort had good reason to believe that
there were a number that were carrying word to the war braves. Every
movement of the soldiers seemed to be transmitted almost instantly into
the enemy’s camp.

It was therefore deemed advisable to remove the friendlies from this
central scene of hostilities, and consequently, on July 11, 1865, a
company of 135 soldiers, under Captain Fouts, were commissioned to act
as an escort for the friendlies, who, in the number of 15,000, including
squaws and papooses, were inclined to go. They were to be taken to
Julesburg, and part of them to Kearney.

Captain Fouts proceeded carefully down the river on the south side, and,
lest a nervous finger should press a trigger prematurely, most of the
guns were unloaded. There was nothing of a suspicious note occurring
except occasionally signal fires on the hills bordering the Rawhide and
Sheep Creek, and occasionally a fire arrow lost itself in the dark vault
of the sky.

These weird manifestations of an undercurrent of hostility was
naturally trying to the nerves of the families of Captain Fouts and
Lieutenant Triggs, which accompanied the party, and especially so
because Mrs. Eubanks and daughter, and Miss Laura Roper, recently
captured from the Indians, and whose six months in captivity had
familiarized them somewhat with Indian signs and their meaning,
expressed grave apprehension.

On the night of June 13th, they went into camp on Horse Creek, the
Indians on the west side and the soldiers on the east side of the creek.
The Indians proceeded to give a dog feast, and the officers were unable
to discover what was in the air.

Three hundred and eighty warriors went into council, and the outcome was
a tremendous fury at certain of the white soldiers who had taken young
Sioux squaws into their tents and kept them there for hours.

On the morning of the fourteenth the advance guard started with the
wagons at five o’clock, the intention being to cover the eighteen miles
to Camp Shuman, where they would camp in the luscious meadows adjacent
and near by. The wagons were strung out for a mile or more when rapid
firing was heard in the rear. Captain Fouts’ zeal for peace was the
direct cause of his death.

The delay incident to loading and distributing ammunition gave the
Indians an advantage. The captain had gone back across Horse Creek to
hurry the Indians, and they had killed, stripped, and mutilated him, and
had fled three miles toward the river and were making warlike
demonstrations, while the squaws and papooses were crossing the river,
riding, or swimming beside their swimming ponies.

The rear guard had at first run toward the front, but the front guard
met them halfway, and together they charged after the Indians. When near
at hand, Charles Elston was sent forward to offer those who would accept
it and come forward peacefully, immunity from punishment. They met his
offer with a shriek of defiance and charged furiously.

The Indians numbered more than five hundred warriors, and, when at a
distance of about three hundred yards, they commenced firing, and it was
answered in telling effect by the military. While those in front were
checked by the fire of the Gallagher rifles, both flanks of the Indians
advanced as if to hem them in and cut them off.

Over the hills from the west side of Horse Creek poured dozens and
hundreds of the shrieking demons, and an orderly retreat was taken to
the wagons, which, in the meantime, had been drawn up in a defensive
circle, and hastily constructed rifle pits made.

The Indians then ceased their firing and withdrew. Seeing that they were
indisposed to press their attack while the soldiers were behind
defenses, and wishing to keep them engaged and at hand until
reënforcements came, the officers in charge took fifty of the best
mounted men and sallied out.

When out about three miles they saw a large force of Indians coming
around the hills on the west side of Horse Creek with the evident
intention of cutting them off. Again the military retired to their
intrenchments.

About nine o’clock Captain Shuman arrived with a force from Camp Shuman
or Fort Mitchell, and, thus reënforced, another attack was made upon the
Indians, but it was a little late. The squaws and papooses had all
succeeded in crossing the river, and the warriors had followed.

The military could not follow, for it would be impractical, and perhaps
impossible to cross the river at its high stage, in the face of a
superior number of Indians.

A message had been sent to Fort Laramie, and Colonel Moonlight, well
known for his recent summary execution of three renegade Indians, had
started from the fort with two hundred and forty well-mounted men, when
he met another courier with the information that the Indians had crossed
the river, whereupon he crossed at the fort and took up the pursuit.

This constitutes another story, and the finish of the battle of Horse
Creek, the dead being the four named in the beginning of this article,
and four others were wounded. The dead were taken to Camp Shuman, the
ruins of which are still distinguishable, about three hundred feet south
of the west end of the Platte River Bridge, west of this city. And out
southwest thereof about a quarter of a mile they were laid to rest, and
there have rested for this half a century ending the middle of June. And
now, from their obliterated graves, they will be removed to join their
fellows, the other early guardians of the great Overland Trail, in the
cemetery set aside for their honor by the national government.

Finds War Signs on Wheat and Oat Leaves.

The report in some papers that the letter W appears on wheat leaves this
year and the letter B on oat leaves has set some of the farmers in the
vicinity of Charlotte, Mich., to investigating. The result is that oat
leaves have been found on which the letter B does seem to be quite
visible, but the wheat leaves are too ripe and shriveled by rust to give
an exhibit of the letter W.

It is claimed by some of the older residents that these letters appeared
on the wheat and oat leaves in 1860, the year before the breaking out of
the great Civil War, and they believe they indicate now a “bloody war,”
in which the United States will be engaged.

These letters, it is averred, have never appeared preceding a small war,
such as the Spanish-American War.

Another interpretation of these letters has been advanced to the effect
they indicate that Wilson and Bryan will be contestants for the
nomination for president in 1916.

This Dog is a Fire Fan.

Assistant Fire Chief Tom Davis, of Sharon, Pa., is the owner of an
English bulldog whose sole diversion is running to fires. The faithful
animal, now nine years old, has been absent from one alarm during his
career, a record probably not equaled by any fireman in the country. The
one absent mark credited against him was when he was out of the city.

The dog’s name is Peter. Chief Davis obtained him when a puppy. The
animal began following his master to fires, and when he was a year old
he became such a fire fiend that he didn’t even bother to wait for his
owner. In the days of the horse-drawn apparatus Pete was always first at
the fires. His love of the smoke and flames keeps him in the midst of
the blaze while it lasts. Pete is now afflicted with troubles incident
to old age. When not answering an alarm, he excites the pity of
everybody by the manner in which he painfully moves about. But let the
fire bell sound, and the dog is off in a flash, distancing any dog that
tries to keep after him.

And if an alarm should be sounded at night, Pete goes to the fire just
the same. His owner runs a hotel, but sleep becomes impossible until
Pete is released from the building. Chief Davis has on several occasions
given orders that the dog is to be kept in the hotel when the bell
rings. Docile as a lamb on every other occasion, Pete shows great anger
when an effort is made to keep him away from a fire call. If perchance
the hotel doors are closed, the visitor who allows Pete to get outside
has made himself forever “solid” with the faithful animal. One time when
penned in alone, Pete made his way from the building by going through a
closed window.

Pete’s principal duty in the days of horse-drawn apparatus was to
protect the horses from annoyance by strange dogs. And he always
performed the duty faithfully. During the last few years of the horse
apparatus the dog population seemed to know Pete’s duty, and it was only
the puppy who wanted to bark at the horses’ heads. The older canines
knew better. They had learned by experience that Pete meant business
when he started for a dog that happened to be annoying the horses.

The advent of the motor machinery was mourned by no one more than Pete.
He was unable to lead the machinery because it traveled so much faster
than the horses. Several narrow escapes have taught him to remain on one
side of the street. On two occasions the fire truck has felt the tear of
the emergency brakes to keep from running down the dog, for he is as
dear to the firemen as though he was their own. Age is telling on the
animal, and he generally returns from an alarm riding on the machine. He
remains at the department until the machinery is cleaned up and ready
for another alarm, and then he makes his way painfully to his home.

Some years ago the fire bell began ringing at seven a. m. and seven p.
m. Pete was fooled a few times, but he soon got wise. The same is true
of the curfew bell. To prove the almost human intelligence of the
animal, an alarm was sounded one night at nine o’clock. Pete never moved
from his favorite chair in the hotel until the bell had tapped more than
nine strokes. Then he was off like a flash. On this particular occasion
pedestrians who have learned to make a clear path when Pete comes along
thought he was on his way to the fire. Pete sent one young man sprawling
on the ground by diving between his legs and he frightened a woman half
to death by a leap over her baby carriage which barred his path.

A hitch in the ringing of the bell may send the human fire fiends
scurrying in the wrong direction. Not so with Pete. He seems to have a
sixth sense, and he gets to the scene by the shortest way possible, many
times taking an altogether different course from that of the firemen.

On one particular occasion the firemen were called to Sharpsville, four
miles away. No alarm was sounded, and Chief Davis was not aroused,
because he is a volunteer and the fire happened at midnight. But Pete
sensed that something was wrong. He began barking, and finally jerked
the covers from his owner’s bed. Davis was at a loss to account for the
excitement. Pete kept getting more boisterous and refused to be quieted.
Davis pulled on his clothes to let the animal outside. Opening a door,
he met a policeman who spoke of the fire. Davis went to the scene in his
automobile, and Pete was soon left behind. But the dog wasn’t lost. He
arrived at the fire as the firemen were prepared to return home. The
faithful animal was so weak from his run that he had to be lifted to the
truck to be carried home.

Sharon firemen answer an average of seventy-five alarms of fire a year,
therefore Chief Davis and all the firemen agree that Pete is entitled to
credit for his record. Council has taken recognition of the animal, and
he is possibly the only dog in the United States who is exonerated from
wearing a license tag.

Motor Trucks Used on Mail Routes.

Motor trucks are fast taking the place of wagon stages on the inland
mail lines in the sparsely settled districts of the Northwest where
there are villages still distant fifty, seventy-five, and even one
hundred miles from the railroad. The drivers of the trucks in making
their trips over the lonely prairies--miles from towns--have a variety
of experiences, as does also Uncle Sam’s mail.

Sixteen pouches of mail, including several sacks of women’s hats, lay
out on the prairie during the night following the burning of the truck
that carries the mail between Williston, N. D., and Watford, a distance
of forty-five miles.

It was past midnight, the car was ten miles out of Watford, and the mail
ten hours overdue, when, in cranking up, the engine fired back and the
car caught fire. The mail was barely saved.

The driver walked in ten miles, carrying the locked pouch of registered
mail and leaving the rest on the prairie for the night.

This Lake is Abode of Evil Spirits.

The most singular body of water in the United States is that of a small
lake in the western portion of the State of Washington, known by the
Chinook Indians as “Nao Skookum”--meaning “no good.” To the inhabitants
of the Indian villages this lake is a great mystery as well as a source
of great fear, for they believe the underground crevices that feed the
lake are full of “evil spirits.”

The lake covers perhaps fifty acres of ground, and fish and waterfowl
are more than plentiful--for about nine months of the year. North of the
lake towers Mount Olympus, of the Olympic range, while to the south and
west are the coast range of great hills.

In western Washington the “rainy season” usually lasts something like
nine months, and a week or so after the rain sets in, “Nao Skookum” Lake
grows very much in circumference and in depth, but, after a week’s dry
weather, its waters vanish, taking with them the fish and, so the
Chinooks declare, the waterfowl, too. When the rain stops, all the
Indians in the neighborhood gather on the shore of the lake in order to
get as much fish as possible while there is yet time.

Hour after hour the waters sink lower and lower, until the last of it
drains down the great holes and crevices at the bottom of the lake.
Underground openings of immeasurable length, and as yet untraced by
human eye, take the water from the lake, till what was once the bottom
of a deep body of water is open to the sky. Then and there the
superstitious Indians desert the vicinity of the lake, nor will they
again go near it until the rain again comes and the waters return with a
rush and fill almost to overflowing what scientists claim was once the
crater of a volcano. When it is empty, the Indians declare that
thunderous roars and groans issue from the great crevices in the lake’s
bottom, and they will not venture near it, for “it is the voice of the
evil spirits,” they declare.

They again return to fish when the rain sets in and the waters surge
quickly up the subterranean openings, throwing up fish and great waves
and--so the ignorant Indians claim--the waterfowl. In from thirty to
forty hours, where had been a great bed of mud, all is deep water, and
the lake of Nao Skookum is again sparkling in the sunlight.

Scientists explain this most singular occurrence by stating that the
lake is connected by means of its underground openings with great bodies
of water, some on a higher level, under the great, snow-capped peaks of
the mountain ranges near by, others on a lower level than itself, and
that the ducks and other waterfowl come and go from the Pacific and
Puget Sound. But no one can convince a Chinook of anything but that they
are thrown up with the fish and the rushing waters.

American Munitions Small Potatoes.

“In my judgment, less than one million charges of artillery ammunition
has been sent from this country to all the belligerents in Europe since
the war broke out. This would not run any single army in Europe through
a two days’ battle in which one thousand guns were used.”

This statement was made here by one of the best ordnance experts in the
United States. He had before him the official figures of the department
of commerce on exports of cartridges, gunpowder, and high explosives
covering the eleven months of commerce up to June 1st. He declared that,
in his opinion, not all of this ammunition has yet reached the front in
Europe, for the reason that the belligerents themselves have been making
their own supply and gathering a reserve wherever they could find it,
instead of sending ammunition manufactured outside of their own country
directly to the front. The reason for this is that artillery ammunition
is not assembled when shipped, and has to be loaded and adjusted on
arrival abroad, before it can be sent to the front.

Officials in Washington do not hesitate to say that much of the
controversy over the question of shipments of war munitions to Europe
comes from newspaper publications of large orders for arms and
ammunition which are being placed in this country for future delivery.
In many cases it is necessary for the American manufacturers to erect a
brand-new plant to produce the goods, and in practically all such
instances delivery is months, if not a year, away.

                        The Nick Carter Stories

          ISSUED EVERY SATURDAY      BEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS

When it comes to detective stories worth while, the =Nick Carter Stories=
contain the only ones that should be considered. They are not overdrawn
tales of bloodshed. They rather show the working of one of the finest
minds ever conceived by a writer. The name of Nick Carter is familiar
all over the world, for the stories of his adventures may be read in
twenty languages. No other stories have withstood the severe test of
time so well as those contained in the =Nick Carter Stories=. It proves
conclusively that they are the best. We give herewith a list of some of
the back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer order them, or
they will be sent direct by the publishers to any address upon receipt
of the price in money or postage stamps.

730--The Torn Card.
731--Under Desperation’s Spur.
732--The Connecting Link.
733--The Abduction Syndicate.
738--A Plot Within a Plot.
739--The Dead Accomplice.
746--The Secret Entrance.
747--The Cavern Mystery.
748--The Disappearing Fortune.
749--A Voice from the Past.
752--The Spider’s Web.
753--The Man With a Crutch.
754--The Rajah’s Regalia.
755--Saved from Death.
756--The Man Inside.
757--Out for Vengeance.
758--The Poisons of Exill.
759--The Antique Vial.
760--The House of Slumber.
761--A Double Identity.
762--“The Mocker’s” Stratagem.
763--The Man that Came Back.
764--The Tracks in the Snow.
765--The Babbington Case.
766--The Masters of Millions.
767--The Blue Stain.
768--The Lost Clew.
770--The Turn of a Card.
771--A Message in the Dust.
772--A Royal Flush.
774--The Great Buddha Beryl.
775--The Vanishing Heiress.
776--The Unfinished Letter.
777--A Difficult Trail.
782--A Woman’s Stratagem.
783--The Cliff Castle Affair.
784--A Prisoner of the Tomb.
785--A Resourceful Foe.
789--The Great Hotel Tragedies.
795--Zanoni, the Transfigured.
796--The Lure of Gold.
797--The Man With a Chest.
798--A Shadowed Life.
799--The Secret Agent.
800--A Plot for a Crown.
801--The Red Button.
802--Up Against It.
803--The Gold Certificate.
804--Jack Wise’s Hurry Call.
805--Nick Carter’s Ocean Chase.
807--Nick Carter’s Advertisement.
808--The Kregoff Necklace.
811--Nick Carter and the Nihilists.
812--Nick Carter and the Convict Gang.
813--Nick Carter and the Guilty Governor.
814--The Triangled Coin.
815--Ninety-nine--and One.
816--Coin Number 77.

NEW SERIES

NICK CARTER STORIES

1--The Man from Nowhere.
2--The Face at the Window.
3--A Fight for a Million.
4--Nick Carter’s Land Office.
5--Nick Carter and the Professor.
6--Nick Carter as a Mill Hand.
7--A Single Clew.
8--The Emerald Snake.
9--The Currie Outfit.
10--Nick Carter and the Kidnapped Heiress.
11--Nick Carter Strikes Oil.
12--Nick Carter’s Hunt for a Treasure.
13--A Mystery of the Highway.
14--The Silent Passenger.
15--Jack Dreen’s Secret.
16--Nick Carter’s Pipe Line Case.
17--Nick Carter and the Gold Thieves.
18--Nick Carter’s Auto Chase.
19--The Corrigan Inheritance.
20--The Keen Eye of Denton.
21--The Spider’s Parlor.
22--Nick Carter’s Quick Guess.
23--Nick Carter and the Murderess.
24--Nick Carter and the Pay Car.
25--The Stolen Antique.
26--The Crook League.
27--An English Cracksman.
28--Nick Carter’s Still Hunt.
29--Nick Carter’s Electric Shock.
30--Nick Carter and the Stolen Duchess.
31--The Purple Spot.
32--The Stolen Groom.
33--The Inverted Cross.
34--Nick Carter and Keno McCall.
35--Nick Carter’s Death Trap.
36--Nick Carter’s Siamese Puzzle.
37--The Man Outside.
38--The Death Chamber.
39--The Wind and the Wire.
40--Nick Carter’s Three Cornered Chase.
41--Dazaar, the Arch-Fiend.
42--The Queen of the Seven.
43--Crossed Wires.
44--A Crimson Clew.
45--The Third Man.
46--The Sign of the Dagger.
47--The Devil Worshipers.
48--The Cross of Daggers.
49--At Risk of Life.
50--The Deeper Game.
51--The Code Message.
52--The Last of the Seven.
53--Ten-Ichi, the Wonderful.
54--The Secret Order of Associated Crooks.
55--The Golden Hair Clew.
56--Back From the Dead.
57--Through Dark Ways.
58--When Aces Were Trumps.
59--The Gambler’s Last Hand.
60--The Murder at Linden Fells.
61--A Game for Millions.
62--Under Cover.
63--The Last Call.
64--Mercedes Danton’s Double.
65--The Millionaire’s Nemesis.
66--A Princess of the Underworld.
67--The Crook’s Blind.
68--The Fatal Hour.
69--Blood Money.
70--A Queen of Her Kind.
71--Isabel Benton’s Trump Card.
72--A Princess of Hades.
73--A Prince of Plotters.
74--The Crook’s Double.
75--For Life and Honor.
76--A Compact With Dazaar.
77--In the Shadow of Dazaar.
78--The Crime of a Money King.
79--Birds of Prey.
80--The Unknown Dead.
81--The Severed Hand.
82--The Terrible Game of Millions.
83--A Dead Man’s Power.
84--The Secrets of an Old House.
85--The Wolf Within.
86--The Yellow Coupon.
87--In the Toils.
88--The Stolen Radium.
89--A Crime in Paradise.
90--Behind Prison Bars.
91--The Blind Man’s Daughter.
92--On the Brink of Ruin.
93--Letter of Fire.
94--The $100,000 Kiss.
95--Outlaws of the Militia.
96--The Opium-Runners.
97--In Record Time.
98--The Wag-Nuk Clew.
99--The Middle Link.
100--The Crystal Maze.
101--A New Serpent in Eden.
102--The Auburn Sensation.
103--A Dying Chance.
104--The Gargoni Girdle.
105--Twice in Jeopardy.
106--The Ghost Launch.
107--Up in the Air.
108--The Girl Prisoner.
109--The Red Plague.
110--The Arson Trust.
111--The King of the Firebugs.
112--“Lifter’s” of the Lofts.
113--French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves.
114--The Death Plot.
115--The Evil Formula.
116--The Blue Button.
117--The Deadly Parallel.
118--The Vivisectionists.
119--The Stolen Brain.
120--An Uncanny Revenge.
121--The Call of Death.
122--The Suicide.
123--Half a Million Ransom.
124--The Girl Kidnapper.
125--The Pirate Yacht.
126--The Crime of the White Hand.
127--Found in the Jungle.
128--Six Men in a Loop.
129--The Jewels of Wat Chang.
130--The Crime in the Tower.
131--The Fatal Message.
132--Broken Bars.
133--Won by Magic.
134--The Secret of Shangore.
135--Straight to the Goal.
136--The Man They Held Back.
137--The Seal of Gijon.
138--The Traitors of the Tropics.
139--The Pressing Peril.
140--The Melting-Pot.
141--The Duplicate Night.
142--The Edge of a Crime.
143--The Sultan’s Pearls.
144--The Clew of the White Collar.
145--An Unsolved Mystery.
146--Paying the Price.
147--On Death’s Trail.
148--The Mark of Cain.
        Dated July 17th, 1915.
149--A Network of Crime.
        Dated July 24th, 1915.
150--The House of Fear.
        Dated July 31st, 1915.
151--The Mystery of the Crossed Needles.
        Dated August 7th, 1915.
152--The Forced Crime.
        Dated August 14th, 1915.
153--The Doom of Sang Tu.
        Dated August 21st, 1915.
154--The Mask of Death.
        Dated August 28th, 1915.
155--The Gordon Elopement.
        Dated Sept. 4th, 1915.
156--Blood Will Tell.

=PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY.= If you want any back numbers of our
weeklies and cannot procure them from your news dealer, they can be
obtained direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as
money.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., NEW YORK CITY