think you'll be laid up very long with that wound. You're not at all seriously injured. It must have been fired from some one below you. Was he shooting at a deer?"

"Yes, señor," was the answer.

"Very strange," said the physician. "This is a thirty-two-calibre bullet, and it's not like the kind used to shoot deer. Most remarkable."

He hastened to cleanse and dress the wound, again bandaging the man's head.

"You are certain, señor, that this injury is not serious?" questioned the wounded man, when everything had been done.

"I see no reason why it should be," was the answer. "It is not liable to give serious trouble to a man of your stamina, endurance, and nerve."

The doctor's bill was paid, and then they sought a hotel, where they found accommodations, and the wounded one was put into bed. Ere getting into bed he shook hands with his two companions and said:

"It's not easy, señors, to kill one in whose veins runs the blood of old Guerrero. They thought me dead, but the dog that fired the shot shall pay the penalty of his treachery, and I swear I will yet crush Frank Merriwell as the panther crushes the doe. That's the oath of Porfias del Norte!"

CHAPTER II.

THE TERROR OF O'TOOLE.

Watson Scott, familiarly known as Old Gripper, was a man of great hardihood and endurance, and, therefore, for all of his recent experience with Frank Merriwell's enemies, for all that he had been imprisoned by his captors in a natural well and had stood for hours in water up to his hips, he rapidly recovered after arriving once more at the cottage of his friend and business associate, Warren Hatch, on Lake Placid.

But Old Gripper had been aroused, and he was determined to make it hot for his recent captors, who, led by Porfias del Norte, had gone to desperate lengths to obtain valuable papers which were the basis of a business combination that threatened the interests of Del Norte and his associates.

"Unless they move on the jump I'll have the bunch of them nipped before long," Old Gripper declared.

To his vexation he found it was impossible to properly swear out a warrant for the arrest of Del Norte's companions without making the journey to Saranac Lake.

"I'll do that the first thing in the morning," he said.

In the morning, however, he found himself stiff and lame, and he was induced to delay until noon.

During the forenoon he decided to return without further delay to New York. Having settled on this, he sent a message to Saranac Lake, stating his charges against Porfias del Norte's band of desperadoes, and asking that the warrant be drawn up and brought to him at the station as he was passing through. He also gave instructions that officers should be on hand to immediately take up the work of running the gang down.

Before noon Belmont Bland, Old Gripper's private secretary, was apparently taken ill, and when the time came for Scott to depart Bland seemed unable to travel. He asserted that it was one of his usual nervous attacks, and declared he would be all right by the next day. Therefore it was arranged that he should remain at Lake Placid.

Frank Merriwell had given in to the urging of Warren Hatch, who almost begged him to stay over another day and fish again in the morning.

"It's not often I strike a fisherman after my own heart," said Hatch. "When I do I don't like to let him slip through my fingers. Stay over until to-morrow at least, Merriwell. There is no reason why you should tear away in such a hurry."

"You can stay, Merriwell," declared Scott. "We have settled the railroad deal right here. Bragg and I will get things to moving in the city. Leave that to us."

"I'm very willing to leave it to you," laughed Frank. "I'll stay one more day, Mr. Hatch."

"If we can have another good morning to fish—ah, we won't do a thing!" chuckled Hatch, ending with a cough.

"You ought to stay up here for the next month," declared Old Gripper. "That cough of yours——"

"Oh, it's nothing! I've had it for a year, and it's not serious in any way—only annoying."

At Saranac Lake Scott saw that the warrant for Del Norte was placed in the proper hands and the machinery of the law set in motion.

When Frank and Warren Hatch returned to the cottage of the latter they were surprised to find the place locked, the shutters closed, and an air of desertion hanging over everything.

But it was not deserted.

While Hatch was fumbling on the door they heard a stir within and a voice shouted:

"Be afther getting away from there, ye divvils, ur Oi'll blow yez full av lead! It's arrmed Oi am to th' tathe!"

It was the voice of Pat O'Toole, an Irishman who had been one of Del Norte's gang, but out of gratitude, had saved Frank's life and had been actively concerned in the rescue of Old Gripper.

"O'Toole!" cried Frank; "why the dickens have you locked yourself up this way?"

"Is it you, Misther Merriwell?" cried O'Toole, joyously. "It's a great relafe to hear your foine, musical voice wance more! Wait a minute unthil Oi open th' dure."

The door was unlocked and thrown open. O'Toole stood with a rifle in his hands, looking pale and agitated. Around his waist was a belt holding a pair, of pistols and a knife.

"What's the matter, man?" asked Hatch. "You look like a walking arsenal?"

"It's me loife Oi'm ready to defind to th' larrust gasp," declared the Irishman.

"Your life? Why, what——"

"Oi'm in danger of bein' murthered."

"In danger?"

"Ivery minute av me ixistence."

"What makes you think that?"

"Oi don't think it; Oi know it. Afther ye wint away to th' shtation Oi sat on th' verandy shmokin' me poipe an' thinkin'. The longer Oi thought th' more froightened Oi became. It wur Porrfeeus dil Noort thot paid me well to assist him in a litthle schame to trap a certain young gintleman named Frank Merriwell. Oi took his money and promised to rinder me best assistance. Oi know this parrut av th' counthry well, an' so Oi was valuable to Dil Noort. Oi towld him about th' owld hut in th' valley an' th' natural well. Oi towld him a man dhropped inther thot well moight shtay there an' rot widout ivver bein' found. That wur pwhere he meant to dispose av you, Misther Merriwell. Afther that it was yersilf thot saved me loife at Sarrynack Lake. Thin Oi says, says Oi, 'O'Toole, ye miserable divvil, av ye don't git aven wid thot foine young gint, ye ought to be hanged fer a shnake.' Oi knew ye would be thrapped thot same noight, Misther Merriwell, an' Oi rode loike th' ould bhoy to cut yez off an' get me finger in the poie. You remimber pwhat happened."

"I remember that you aided me to escape from the hands of Del Norte and his paid desperadoes," nodded Frank.

"An' got mesilf disloiked fer it. Oi knew Dil Noort would be ready to cut me throat on soight. Oi thought th' safest thing wur to hilp capture Dil Noort, an' thot's pwhat took me here, pwhere Oi arrived just in toime to hilp in the search fer Misther Shcott."

"And help us you certainly did," nodded Merry. "Aided by you, we lost no time in finding the valley and the well in which Mr. Scott was imprisoned."

"But it's th' divvil's own doin's there was before thot," said O'Toole. "Oi wur in a bad shcrape whin Oi run inther th' hands av Bantry Hagan an' he marruched me to thot old hut, where Oi was bound hand an' foot. Nivver a bit did Oi drame th' drunk aslape on th' flure av th' hut an' shnorin' away wur yersilf, Misther Merriwell. Aven whin Oi