Frank Merriwell Down South | Page 9

now?"

"In a cave."
"Where is the cave?"
"That I cannot tell, for I was blindfolded all the time, except while in
the cave where my boy is kept."
"It is near Mendoza?"
"It must be within fifty miles of here."
"Perhaps it is nearer?"
"Possibly."
"But you have no means of knowing in which direction it lies?"
"No."
"Your only hope is to raise the five hundred dollars?"
"That is my only hope, and that can scarcely be called a hope, for I
must have the money within a day or two, or my boy will be dead."
"Hum! hum!" coughed the professor. "This is a very unfortunate
affair--very unfortunate. I am not a wealthy man, but I----"
"You will aid me?" shouted the old man, joyously. "Heaven will bless
you, sir--Heaven will bless you!"
"I have not said so--I have not said I would aid you," Scotch hastily
said. "I am going to consider the matter--I'll think it over."
"Then I have no hope."
"Why not?"
"If your heart is not opened now, it will never open. My poor boy is
lost, and I am ready for death!"

The old man seemed to break down and sob like a child, burying his
face in his hands, his body shaking convulsively.
Frank made a quick gesture to the others, pressing a finger to his lips as
a warning for silence.
In a moment the old man lifted his face, which seemed wet with tears.
"My last hope is gone!" he sighed. "And you are travelers--you are
rich!"
He turned to Frank, to whom, with an appealing gesture, he extended a
hand that was shaking as if with the palsy.
"You--surely you will have sympathy with me! I can see by your face
and your bearing that you are one of fortune's favorites--you are rich. A
few dollars----"
"My dear man," said Frank, quite calmly, "I should be more than
delighted to aid you, if you had told the truth."
The old man fell back. He was standing fairly in the light which shone
from the window.
"What do you mean?" he hoarsely asked. "Do you think I have been
lying to you--do you fancy such a thing?"
"I fancy nothing; I know you have lied!"
"Frank!" cried Professor Scotch, in amazement.
"Shimminy Gristmas!" gurgled Hans Dunnerwust, in a dazed way.
The manner of the old man changed in a twinkling.
"You are insolent, boy! You had better be careful!"
"Now you threaten," laughed Frank. "Well, I expected as much from a
beggar, a fraud, and a scoundrel!"

Professor Scotch and Hans fell into each other's arms, overcome with
excitement and wonder.
Frank was calm and deliberate, and he did not lift his voice above the
tone used in ordinary conversation.
Still another step did the man fall back, and then a grating snarl broke
from his lips, and he seemed overcome with rage. He leaned forward,
hissing:
"You insulting puppy!"
"The truth must always seem like an insult to a scoundrel."
"Do you dare?"
"What is there to fear?"
"Much."
Frank snapped his fingers.
"Your tune has changed in the twinkling of an eye. You are no longer
the heart-broken father, begging for his boy; but you have flung aside
some of the mask, and exposed your true nature."
Professor Scotch saw this was true, and he was quaking with fear of
what might follow this remarkable change.
As for Hans, it took some time for ideas to work their way through his
brain, and he was still in a bewildered condition.
For a moment the stranger was silent, seeming to choke back words
which rose in his throat. Finally, he cried:
"Oh, very well! I did not expect to get anything out of you; but it would
have been far better for you if I had. Now----"
"What?"

Frank asked the question, as the speaker faltered.
"You shall soon learn what. I am going to leave you, but we shall see
more of each other, don't forget that."
"Wait--do not be in a hurry. I am not satisfied till I--see your face!"
With the final words, Frank made a leap and a sweep of his hand,
clutching the white beard the man wore, and tearing it from his face!
The beard was false!
The face exposed was smoothly shaven and weather-tanned.
"Ha!" cried Frank, triumphantly. "I thought so! This poor old man is
Carlos Merriwell, my villainous cousin!"
CHAPTER V.
KIDNAPED.
As our old readers know, Carlos Merriwell was Frank's deadly enemy,
although they were blood cousins.
Carlos was the son of Asher Merriwell, the brother of Frank's father.
At the time of his death, Asher Merriwell was supposed to be a crusty
old bachelor, a man who had never cared for women and had never
married. But he had not been