Frank Merriwell, Juniors, Golden Trail | Page 6

"but after he got it he seems to have delayed going into the hills. Next day after you lads got back from Happenchance, Porter went to Gold Hill. The spree he had there on that fifty has been the talk of the town. He's a disreputable old chap when in his cups, and I'm wondering if he knows anything about Borrodaile's disappearance."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Merry. "I wouldn't put it past him any. He was with us when we came back from Happenchance, and I remember now just how he looked when he saw a sample of the wire-gold ore."
"He was ready to throw a fit," said Ballard, "because he had been all through the Picket Post range and had never found any gold there. I'll bet a farm you can nail this thing to Nick Porter."
"Don't be hasty about that," warned Bradlaugh. "It's only a theory, and I believe every man ought to be considered as honest until he proves himself otherwise. Porter is merely a subject for investigation, that's all."
"Then," said Frank promptly, "we'll go over to Gold Hill this very night and begin investigating him."
"You won't have to go to Gold Hill. I've heard from our super at the mine that Porter returned here this afternoon, looking a good deal the worse for wear. After supper you can visit the mine and have a talk with the prospector. You'll know what angle to give your investigations, Merriwell."
"But he may pull out for the hills while we're delaying here in town!"
"He'll have to get money for another grubstake before he goes any more prospecting. Even if he has the money--which is hardly possible--the super, on my orders, will delay him if he tries to leave."
Here was a sample of Mr. Bradlaugh's thoughtfulness which Merry deeply appreciated.
"We'll be at the mine this evening, Mr. Bradlaugh," said he, "and if Porter knows anything about the professor's absence, we'll do our best to find out what it is."
"My car would be at your disposal, but just now it's in the repair shop," went on Mr. Bradlaugh. "There are a couple of motor cycles at the mine, though, if you find it necessary to go anywhere in a hurry. Pardo, the super, will be glad to let you take the machines."
Frank thanked Mr. Bradlaugh for the offer, and started to leave.
"Just a moment," said the older man. "How did the boys shape up in the practice game?"
"Fine!" Merriwell answered.
"I suppose after you have located the professor and extricated him from any troubles he may have fallen into, you'll do your best to give us an eleven that will make the Gold Hillers eat crow instead of turkey for Thanksgiving?"
There was a twinkle in Mr. Bradlaugh's eyes as he spoke.
"I'll do what I can, Mr. Bradlaugh," Merry answered; "you may depend on that."
"I am depending on it. It seems to me that the son of the greatest baseball pitcher and football half back Yale ever produced is well qualified to give Ophir a winning eleven. Good luck to you and your friends, Merriwell. Wind tip this business of the professor's as soon as you can and then get back on the football job. If I can help you in any way, call on me."
As Frank, after murmuring further thanks, was about to step through the office door, Woo Sing, roustabout Chinaman at the Ophir House, stepped up on the porch with a yellow envelope in his hand.
"Whoosh!" gabbled Woo Sing, his parchmentlike face splitting in a wide grin, "my lookee fo' you, Missul Melliwell."
"Is that telegram for me?" demanded Frank.
"Allee same," answered the Chinaman, passing it over.
Frank tore open the envelope and read the message then, with a long whistle, he returned to put it in Mr. Bradlaugh's hands. Mr. Bradlaugh read as follows:
"FRANK MERRIWELL, JUNIOR, Care Ophir House, Ophir, Ariz., via Gold Hill:
"Good work! Watch Borradaile carefully. Don't let him out of your sight. Important. Letter on the way.
"YOUR FATHER."
Mr. Bradlaugh also gave a long whistle as he sank back in his chair thoughtfully and with the message in his hand.
CHAPTER III.
PORTER SHOWS HIS TEETH.
It was eight o'clock in the evening when Merry, Clancy, and Ballard reached the mine and went hunting for the office of Pardo, the superintendent.
The surface activities of a big gold mine, in full operation at night, are as weird as they are interesting. The boys were deeply impressed as they looked down into the valley where the mining, milling, and cyaniding were going on.
The stamp mill, where the ore was pounded to powder and robbed of its gold, was a huge, ramshackle structure. Although it had a framework of heavy timbers, yet the strong skeleton was but loosely covered with boards. Through wide cracks and many gaps in the sides of the building a flood of light poured