Frank Merriwells Bravery | Page 5

that paper," said Walker.
"I am," was the curt return, and the boy continued reading.

"You are not much of a talker."
"You are."
"H'm! Ha! I am; I am very sociable."
"So I observed."
"I have been wondering what we would do if a band of robbers was to
hold up this train."
"I am sure I cannot tell what I would do. I scarcely think any person
can tell what he would do in such a case till he meets the emergency."
"I presume you go armed?"
"In the West--yes."
Walker's thin nose seemed to resemble a wedge which he was driving
deeper and deeper with each question.
"Would you mind permitting me to look at your revolver?"
"Yes."
The boy uttered that word, and remained silent, without offering to take
the weapon out.
Walker coughed.
"H'm! Ha! I think you misunderstood me."
"I think not."
"I asked you if you would mind letting me look at your revolver."
"And I said I would mind."
"Oh!"

The Jew's voice sounded in Walker's ear.
"I haf a revolfer vat I vill sell you sheep. Id vas a recular taisy,
selluf-cocker, und dirty-dwo caliber. Here id vas, meester. Id vas loated,
so handle id vid care. Vat you gif vor dat peautiful revolfer, meester?"
Walker took the weapon, glanced into the cylinder, to see that it was
actually loaded, and then suddenly thrust it against the head of Frank,
crying, sharply:
"Hands up, Black Harry! You are my prisoner!"
CHAPTER III.
A THRILLING ACCUSATION.
The words rang through the car, startling the passengers, and causing
them to stare in astonishment at the man and the boy.
The man with the revolver was quivering with excitement, while Frank,
at whose head the weapon was held, seemed strangely calm.
Exclamations were heard on all sides.
"Black Harry!"
"Is it possible?"
"Not that beardless boy!"
"It's a mistake!"
"If that's Black Harry, his Braves are near, and there is liable to be
some shooting before long."
"Sufferin' Moses!" came from the Jew, who owned the revolver. "Ish
dat der ropper vat ve read apout der baper in? Stop der cars! I vant to
ged off!"

"What do you mean by this crazy act?" calmly demanded Frank,
looking straight into Mr. Walker's eyes.
"I mean business, and I am not going to fool with a fellow of your
reputation a minute! If you don't put up your hands, I'll send a bullet
through your head immediately!"
"Then I shall put up my hands, for I have no fancy for having the top of
my head blown off."
Up went the boy's empty hands.
"That's where you are sensible," declared the man with the foxy face. "I
have dealt with your kind before, and I know better than to let 'em
monkey with me. I am a man with a reputation for catching criminals.
At the sound of my name, the professional crooks in the East tremble."
"Walker does not seem to be such a very terrible name."
"Walker--bah! That's not my name!"
"No?"
"Not much!"
"Pray, what is your name, then?"
"I am Burchel Jones, the famous detective," declared the owner of the
gimlet eyes, swelling with importance. "Out in this country the fools
call me a tenderfoot, but I will show them the kind of stuff I am made
of. When they want to catch their desperadoes and robbers, they should
send for a tenderfoot detective."
The boy laughed outright.
"You are more sport than a barrel of monkeys," he said, merrily. "What
do you think you have done, anyway?"
"I have captured Black Harry, the terrible desperado, who has been

giving them so much trouble out here of late."
"You think I am Black Harry?"
"I do not think anything about it--I know it."
"How do you know it?"
"By your face."
"Have you ever seen Black Harry?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Last night."
"Where?"
"On the northbound Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific express."
"You were on that train?"
"I was, and I saw Black Harry's face when he was unmasked by Robert
Dawson--saw it distinctly. You are Black Harry!"
"You were never more deceived in all your life. My name is Frank
Merriwell, as I can easily prove."
"Your real name may be Frank Merriwell, but you are the boy
desperado who is known as Black Harry, and you are the chap who
shot Mr. Robert Dawson."
The detective spoke with conviction, and it was plain that he really
believed what he said. The boy began to look grave, as the situation
was not exactly pleasant.
"You came from Elreno to Oklahoma City on the first train this

morning, did you?" asked the youth.
"I did."
"How did it happen that you took this train back?"
"I spotted you. The moment I saw your face I knew you,