Frank Merriwell, Juniors, Golden Trail | Page 4

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