TEN days passed. It was now towards the close of a hot and sultry August. Nothing more had been heard of Nelson Floyd, and the sensation due to his mysterious absence had, to some extent, subsided. That Mayhew knew of his whereabouts few persons doubted, for it was noticeable that the old man had put his shoulder to the wheel and was attending to business with less fear and nervousness. It was the opinion of Mrs. Snodgrass that he knew exactly where Floyd was, and expected him to return sooner or later. In fact, it was known to many that Mayhew had suddenly ceased to make inquiry through detectives and the police, and that meant something. The information that Floyd had been back in secret to his home would have startled the community from centre to outer edge, but that was discreetly kept to themselves by the few who knew of it.

Pole Baker was the first to meet Floyd again. It was in Atlanta. Standing in the main entrance of the Kimball House one afternoon, Pole saw Floyd on the opposite side of the street. He was walking rapidly, his head up. He was neatly dressed, cleanshaven, and had a clear, healthful complexion, as if he were in good physical condition.

“Thank God! thar he goes,” Pole exclaimed, “an' I'll bet a hoss he's quit drinkin'.” Quickly darting across the street, he followed Floyd the best he could on the crowded sidewalk. He had pursued him thus for several blocks when Floyd suddenly entered one of the large wholesale dry-goods stores. Reaching the door and looking in, Pole saw his friend just disappearing in the glass-enclosed office in the rear of the big room. Pole entered and stood waiting amid the stacks of cotton and woollen goods which, in rolls and bolts, were heaped as high as his shoulders over the whole floor. Salesmen were busy with customers in different parts of the room, and porters and “stock men” hurried by with big baskets on wheels, and little notice was taken of the mountaineer.

Presently Floyd emerged and came rapidly down one of the aisles towards the door. Pole stepped directly in front of him.

“Why, hello!” Floyd exclaimed, flushing suddenly as he cordially extended his hand. “I wasn't looking for you, Pole.”

“Well, you differ from me,” said Baker; “that's just what I was doin'. I was lookin' fer you, Nelson. I begun yesterday an' kept it up till I seed you go by the Kimball jest now like you was shot out of a gun, an' I bent to the trail, an' here I am. Yes, I want to see you. I've got a favor to ax, old friend.”

“Well, you can have anything I've got.” Floyd smiled rather sheepishly as he laid his hand on Pole's shoulder. “The only trouble right now is that I'm pressed for time. A lot depends on what may take place in the next two hours, and I'm afraid to think of anything else. When do you go back?”

“Oh, I kin take a train any time. I'm in no big hurry, Nelson. All I want is to get to talk to you a few minutes.”

“Then I'll tell you what to do,” Floyd proposed. “Take this key to my room at the Kimball House. I've got a bed to spare up there. And, more than that, Pole, go in and take your supper in my place. It will be all right. I registered on the American plan. Then I'll meet you in the room about eight o'clock. You see, it's this way: I've brought a fellow with me from Birmingham, and he's back there in the office now. He and I are on a trade for all my iron lands in Alabama. A thing like this is a big, exciting game with me; it drives out all other thoughts, and, the Lord knows, right now I need some diversion. He and I are going to the house of a friend of his in the country and take early supper there. I'll be back by eight, sure, Pole.”

“That'll suit me all right,” said Pole, as he took the key and looked at the number on the brass tag. “I'll be there, Nelson. I wouldn't let you stand for my expenses, but if your bill's paid anyway, that's different.”

“Yes, it won't cost me a cent extra,” said Floyd. “Here comes my man now. I'd introduce you, but we are in a devil of a hurry.”

“Are you ready?” a middle-aged man in a linen suit and straw hat asked, as he walked up hastily. “I'll make the driver strike a brisk gait.”

“Yes, I'm ready,” Floyd said, and he turned to Baker. “Don't forget, Pole.” As he was walking away, he threw back: “I'll meet you at eight or before, sure. I don't want to miss you.”