“I know the clerk,” said Bradner. “I’ll ask him about your friend.” And before Dick could stop him he had pushed his way to the desk and was talking in a low tone to the clerk. Dick tried to catch what was said, but was unable to do so.
“You are in luck,” said Bradner, on coming back. “The clerk says Jack Wumble has gone off for the day, but said he would be back by to-night sure.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Tom, and he and his brothers felt much relieved.
“The clerk cautioned me to keep quiet about Wumble,” went on Bradner confidentially. “It seems Wumble and another man had a row over a game of cards, and Wumble wants the other man to clear out before he shows up again. The other man is booked for Denver on the afternoon train.”
As this statement about cards fitted in with what Mr. Rover had said concerning Jack Wumble, the boys swallowed it without hesitation, and they were inclined to believe that Henry Bradner was all right, after all.
“Will you register here?” went on the man.
“No, I don’t like the looks of the place,” answered Dick promptly. “We are not of the drinking kind,” he added.
The burly man looked dark and disappointed.
“It’s a good hotel, when once you get used to it,” he said.
But Dick shook his head and said he would go elsewhere, and motioning to Tom and Sam he led the way to the sidewalk once more. Henry Bradner followed them.
“If I see Wumble shall I get him to wait for you?” he said.
“If you wish. We will be around to-night and also to-morrow morning to see him.”
“All right.”
The boys walked off and around the corner into the street where the cars were running.
“I don’t like him at all,” exclaimed Dick. “I believe he is tip to some game.”
“Oh, you may be too suspicious,” declared Sam. “What game can he be up to? He was kind enough to help us hunt up this Jack Wumble.”
“I don’t care—his manner doesn’t suit me at all. He’s a sneak, if ever there was one.”
The boys walked on for a distance of several blocks, and then coming to a nice-looking restaurant went in for dinner.
While they were eating Dick happened to glance out of the show window of the place and gave a low cry.
“What is it, Dick?” asked Tom.
“I thought as much. That man is watching us.”
Sam and Tom gave a look, but by this time Henry Bradner had disappeared from view.
“You are sure that you saw him, Dick?” asked Sam.
“I am positive. Boys, do you know what I think? I think he is a sharper, and imagines he has three green country boys with money to deal with.”
“Well, if he thinks that he is much mistaken,” was Tom’s comment. “In the first place we are not so very green, and in the second our cash account is rather limited.”
“We spoke about a mine, and he may imagine that we carry several thousands of dollars with us.”
“If he’s a sharper why did he try to find Wumble for us?” asked Sam.
This was a poser and Dick did not pretend to answer it.
The dinner finished, they walked forth once more and down into the heart of the city.
They soon found what looked to be a fairly good hotel, and engaged a large room with two beds for the night.
“Now we can take a look around,” said Tom.
The best part of the afternoon was spent in sight-seeing, and the boys visited Lincoln Park, Jackson Park, the museum, menagerie, Masonic Temple, and numerous other points of interest.
They were returning to the hotel at which they had registered for the night when suddenly Tom caught his brothers by the arm.
“Well, I never!” he gasped. “What do you think of that?”
They saw he was gazing across the way, and looking in the direction saw an elegant hotel, over the broad doorway of which was stretched the sign:
WESTERN PALACE
GEORGE LAVELLE, Proprietor.
Established 1871.
“By jinks! That Bradner deceived us!” gasped Dick. “This must be the hotel father mentioned.”
“But what about Jack Wumble?” began Sam. “He was registered at the other place.”
“Did you see the register?” demanded Dick.
“No, but—”
“We’ll soon learn the truth,” went on the elder Rover. “Come on.” And he made his way through the mass of moving wagons and trucks to the opposite side of the thoroughfare.
All entered the broad hallway together. The floor was of marble, and big mirrors lined every wall. Certainly the place was in sharp contrast to that known as the “Palace of the West.”
Walking up to the office counter Dick inspected the register. On the third page from the last written upon he found the entry:
Jack Wumble, Denver; Room 144.
“There, what do you think of that?” he demanded, as he showed his brothers the entry.
Both were dumfounded, and for the moment knew not what to say. Dick turned to one of the clerks.
“Is Mr. Jack Wumble in?” he asked.
The clerk looked at the row of keys behind him.
“No, sir; he’s out.”
“Have you any idea when he will be back?”
“I have not. Perhaps he is back already and over in the smoking room.”
“I don’t know him personally, but I am very anxious to see him.”
“I’ll have a boy look for him,” returned the clerk, and called up a bell-boy, who took Dick’s card and went off with it to the smoking room and the dining hall, calling softly as he passed one man and another, “Number 144! Number 144!”
Presently the bell-boy came back, followed by a tall, thin, and pleasant-faced man of sixty, wearing a light-checked suit and a broad-brimmed slouch hat.
“This is the gentleman, sir,” he said to Dick.
“Are you Mr. Jack Wumble?” asked Dick curiously.
“That’s my handle, lad,” was the answer, in a broad, musical voice. “And I see your card reads Richard Rover. Any relation to Andy Rover, as used to be a mining expert?”
“I am his son.”
“Well, well! His son, eh? Glad to know you, downright glad!” And Jack Wumble nearly wrung Dick’s hand off. Then Tom and Dick were introduced, and more handshaking followed, and the boys felt that they had found a true friend beyond a doubt.
CHAPTER XIX
THE BURLY STRANGER’S LITTLE GAME
“I’m more than glad to have met you as we did,” said Dick, a little later, after Jack Wumble had asked the boys about their father. “I think it has saved us from getting into a lot of trouble.”
And he related the particulars of the meeting with Henry Bradner, and what the stranger had said and done concerning Wumble.
“The snake!” ejaculated the old miner passionately. “He’s a sharp, true as you are born! Why, I never put up at the Palace of the West in my life.”
“I wish I knew what his game was,” went on Dick.
“You will know Dick—if I can get my hands on him. Do you reckon as how he is over to that other hotel now?”
“More than likely.”
“Unless he shadowed us to here,” burst out Tom. “If he did that he must know his game is up, and you can be sure he will keep out of sight.”
The matter was talked over, and it was decided that Jack Wumble and the boys should go to the other hotel without delay.
On the way Dick told the old miner what had brought them to the West. Jack Wumble took a deep interest in all mining schemes, and listened closely to all the youth had to say.
“Yes, I remember about the Eclipse Mine,” he said. “And I remember this Arnold Baxter, too. He was a bad one, and if I and some others had our say he would have
dangled from a tree for his stealings, for, you see, we didn’t have no jails in those days, and stealing was a capital crime.”
“It will you help us to locate the mine before Arnold Baxter or his confederates can get on the ground? We will pay you for your trouble.”
“Certainly, I’ll do what I can. But I—don’t want any of Anderson Rover’s pile—not me. Why, your father nursed me through the worst case o’ fever a miner ever had—an’ I ain’t forgittin’ it, lads. I’ll stick to ye to the end.” And the old miner put out his hand and gave another squeeze that made Dick wince.
The Palace of the West reached, Wumble pushed his way into the smoke-laden office and to the desk.
“Say, is there a man named Jack Wumble stopping here?” he demanded.
“Jack Wumble,” repeated the clerk slowly.
“That’s what I said.”
“There is a Jack Wimple stopping here—but he is out—gone to St. Louis.”
“Jack Wimple? He’s not the man,” and the old miner fell back and repeated what had been said to the three boys.
“Perhaps Bradner made a mistake,” suggested Tom. “But I don’t believe it.”
“He tried to make us believe this hotel and the Western Palace were one and the same,” put in Sam.
“He’s sharp, I tell you,” declared Jack Wumble. “Just wait till I get on his trail, I’ll make him tell us the truth. More than likely he wanted to clean you boys out.”
They waited around for the best part of an hour, but Henry Bradner failed to return, and at last they gave up looking for him, and the boys went back to where they had hired a room for the night, promising to rejoin Jack Wumble early in the morning, when the whole party would take a train for Denver, where Wumble wished to transact a little business before starting out for Larkspur Creek.
The boys had not slept very well on the train, so they were thoroughly tired out. They were on the point of retiring when a bell-boy came up stating that their friend wished to see Dick for a few minutes.
“Wumble must have forgotten something,” said Dick. “I’ll see what it is,” and he took the elevator to the ground floor.
To his surprise it was not Wumble who wished to see him, but Henry Bradner.
“What, you!” cried the youth. “I thought you had skipped out.”
“Skipped out?” queried the burly man in pretended surprise. “Why should I skip out?”
“Don’t you know that we have found you out?”
“Found me out? You are talking in riddles, young man.” And the stranger drew himself up proudly.
“We have found Mr. Jack Wumble, and he tells us that he never stopped at the Palace of the West in his life.”
“Mr. Jack Wimple, you mean. Why, he is certainly at the hotel—or was.”
“We were looking for Mr. Wumble—and you know it. I care nothing for your Mr. Wimple. And besides, you told us that the Western Palace and the Palace of the West were one and the same. That was a deliberate falsehood.”
Bradner turned pale, and looked as if he wished to catch Dick by the throat. “Have a care, young man!” he hissed. “I am not a man to be trifled with. I tried to do you a good turn, but I see I have put my foot into it. Henceforth you can take care of yourself.”
So speaking, Henry Bradner turned on his heel and strode off, a look of baffled rage in his eyes. Instantly Dick turned to a bell-boy.
“Run up to room 233 and tell Tom Rover to come down at once and follow his brother,” he said hurriedly. “I can’t go up—I want to watch that man, for he’s a crook.”
The boy seemed to understand, and flew for the stairs, the elevator being out of sight. Dick ran to the door, to behold Bradner standing on the sidewalk as if undecided which way to pursue his course. But presently he walked slowly up the street. Dick followed him, and had gone less than half a block when Tom joined him, all out of breath with running.
“What is it, Dick?”
“It was Bradner, who came to smooth matters over. I am following him to see if I can’t get on to his game.”
“Oh, what nerve! I should think he would have been afraid to come near us.”
“He’s a bold one, Tom, and we must look out that we don’t get bit by him.”
Henry Bradner covered half a dozen blocks of the street upon which the hotel was located, and then turned into a narrow thoroughfare running toward the Chicago river.
Here were a number of low drinking places, and in front of one of these he stopped. Instead of entering the resort by the main door he went in through a side hallway, which led to a rear room.
“Perhaps he is stopping here,” suggested Tom, as the two lads came to a halt.
“Well, if that is so we had better remember the place,” answered Dick.
There was an alleyway alongside of the house, and looking into this the boys saw a light shining out of several windows near the rear of the resort.
“Let us take a peep into the windows,” suggested Dick, and led the way.
To let out some of the tobacco smoke the windows were pulled down partly from the top. The bottom sashes were covered with half-curtains of imitation lace, but so flimsy that the boys saw through them without difficulty.
Bradner had just entered this rear room, and was gazing around inquiringly. Now he stalked over to a table near one of the windows, and dropped heavily into a chair.
“I’m afraid the jig is up,” he said, addressing somebody on the opposite side of the table.
“What has happened,” asked the other person, and now the two Rover boys were amazed to learn that the party was Dan Baxter. The bully had changed his dress and also the style of wearing his hair, and was sporting a pair of nose glasses.
“They have met the real Jack Wumble, and found out that I was fooling them about the hotel.”
“That’s too bad,” cried Dan Baxter. “You must have made a bad break of it, Bradner.”
“I did my best, but I couldn’t keep them from looking around, although I offered to conduct them. You can bet if I had had them under my care they wouldn’t have got near the Western Palace, nor Jack Wumble either.”
“Did you have a man ready to play the part of Wumble?” questioned Dan Baxter, after the burly one had ordered drinks for the two.
“Yes, I had Bill Noxton all cocked and primed. But now our cake is dough—and after all the trouble I’ve taken for your father, too!” And Henry Bradner uttered a snort of disgust.
“Did you warn this Noxton?”
“Oh, yes, and I put a flea into the ear of the hotel clerk, too. But the thing is, what do you suppose your father will want done next?”
“Don’t ask me,” answered Dan Baxter recklessly. “He don’t half trust me any more. He says I’m only good to sponge on him,” and the former bully of Putnam Hall gave a bitter laugh.
“Well, I haven’t followed these Rovers all the way from Valley Brook farm to here for nothing,” went on Henry Bradner. “Your father wanted ‘em watched, and I’ve watched ‘em ever since they came home from that boarding academy. It was a big job, too.”
“Didn’t they suspect you?”
“One of ‘em said he thought he had seen me before.” And Bradner laughed. “It was at the Valley Brook Church. I followed them to the church just to keep my word to your father.”
“And you are certain Mr. Rover isn’t coming West?”
“No, he’s laid up with a game leg, and won’t move for a month. I got that straight from the hired man.” There was a pause. “What do you reckon I had best do next?”
“Telegraph to my father at Denver—you know his assumed name, and let him advise you. I suppose the boys and that Wumble will go straight through to the mining district now.”
“More than likely.”
“Then father and Roebuck will have to stop them out there, although how it’s t
o be done I don’t know.”
At this juncture a waiter came forward, and closed down the window, and the balance of the conversation was lost to the two Rover boys.
CHAPTER XX
JUST A LITTLE TOO LATE
“What do you think of that?” whispered Dick, as he led the way back to the sidewalk.
“It’s all as plain as day,” replied his brother. “This Bradner was set to watch the house immediately after the robbery occurred. More than likely he was around at the time of the robbery.”
“Do you suppose he is the man who helped Arnold Baxter to escape from prison on that forged pardon?”
“Creation! It may be so!” ejaculated Tom. “I’ll tell you one thing: we ought to have them both arrested at once.”
“I don’t know about that,” mused the elder Rover. “If we do that then how are we to find out where Arnold Baxter is, or this fellow they called Roebuck?”
“But they may slip through our fingers if we don’t have them locked up.”
The two brothers talked the matter ever, and then decided, late as it was, to call upon Jack Wumble for advice.
“You can go for him,” said Dick. “I’ll continue to watch this place. If they leave I’ll throw bits of paper on the sidewalk and you can follow the trail just as if we were playing a game of hare and hounds.”
Tom made off at top speed, carefully noting the street and number, so that he would not miss his way when returning.
Left to himself Dick went into the alleyway again and looked through the window as before.
Dan Baxter and Bradner were still conversing, but the youth could not hear what was said.
Presently the pair at the table arose, settled for their drinks and came out of the place.
They walked up the street and around a corner, and Dick followed, scattering bits of an old letter as he went along. When the letter was used up, he tore to bits some handbills which he found in the street.
Eight squares were covered before Dan Baxter and Bradner reached a dingy looking hotel which went by the name of Lakeman’s Rest.
It was set in the middle of the block, with brick houses on either side of it.
They entered a narrow hallway, and by the light above the door Dick saw them ascend the stairs to the second floor.
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