THE KETTLE CONTINUES TO BOIL.

Sercomb came up-stairs and stepped into the room. Daylight was just coming in through the windows, and the gray of the morning and the yellow of the lamplight gave Sercomb's face a ghastly look. Nevertheless, it was a frank and open face—as always.

"Now, Dick," cried Sercomb, "what in the world has been going on here? Do you mean to say that some one came into this room and attacked you?"

"That's the how of it, old ship," answered Ferral, repressing his real feelings admirably. "As near as we can figure out, there were two of them. It was so dark, though, we couldn't see our own fists, so there may have been more than two."

"Some of the gang who dropped in here while I was away, I'll bet," said Sercomb.

"I'm thinking the same thing, Ralph," returned Ferral, with a meaning look at Matt. "They were handy, too, but not handy enough. They left us all at once, and how they ever did it beats me. We boxed the compass for 'em, though, and when we'd worked around the card they thought they had enough—and ducked."

"Where did they go?"

"Didn't you hear them go out the front door?"

"Not I, Dick! If I had, I'd have taken a part in the scrimmage myself."

"You were slow hearing the racket, Ralph. It was all over when you piped up."

"I heard it quick enough, but I was sound asleep when it aroused me. Being a little bewildered, I went out into the kitchen."

Something like loathing swept over Matt as he watched Sercomb's face and listened to his smooth misstatement.

"Wonder how Uncle Jack managed to hang on in such a lawless country as this," said Ferral.

"No one ever bothered him. He was pretty well liked by the scattered settlers."

"Everybody liked the old chap! I thought no end of him myself."

"Too bad you didn't show it, Dick, while he was alive," said Sercomb.

There wasn't any sarcasm in his voice—only a dry, expressionless statement of what Ferral knew were the cold facts. Nevertheless, there was a gratuitous slur in the words. Ferral bristled at once, but a look from Matt caused him to curb his temper.

"Belay a bit on that, Ralph," said Ferral mildly. "I know it well without your say-so to round it off. From now on, though, I'll do my best to show Uncle Jack what I think of him."

Sercomb looked a little puzzled.

"His will shows everybody what he thought of you—at the last," said he.

It looked as though Sercomb was deliberately trying to force a quarrel, but Ferral, still with Matt's glances to admonish him, did not fall into the trap.

"I'll go down and get breakfast," observed Sercomb, after waiting in vain for a response from Ferral. "Some Denver friends are coming up from Lamy to make me a little visit, and we may be a bit crowded here. There are three of them."

It was a broad hint for Dick Ferral to take his two friends and leave, as soon after breakfast as he could make it convenient. Ferral fired up at that. Matt and Carl had served him well, and he was not the one to put up with any back-handed slaps from his cousin Ralph.

"By the seven holy spiritsails, Sercomb!" he cried, "I'll have you know that I and my friends have as much right under Uncle Jack's roof as you and yours. We'll be here to breakfast, and as long as we want to stay."

"Now, don't fly off at a tangent, Dick," returned Sercomb, with a distressed look. "I didn't mean anything like that, and why do you go out of your way to take me in any such fashion? I'll go down and get the meal for all of us—if you can put up with my cooking."

"Go and help, Carl," said Matt. "We don't want to make Mr. Sercomb any extra trouble. We won't be here very long, anyhow."

"Dot's me," said Carl, as cheerfully as he could.

He hated to be associated with Sercomb, but the idea of a meal always struck a mellow note in Carl's get-up.

"You understand, don't you, Mr. King?" said Sercomb, in a whining tone, turning to Matt and jerking his head toward Ferral.

"Perfectly," smiled Matt.

Carl and Sercomb went out. When they were going down the stairs Ferral shook his fist.

"Shamming the griffin!" he growled; "the putty-faced shark, I'd like to lay him on his beam-ends! Do you wonder I've had a grouch at him all these years, Matt?"

"No, I don't," said Matt frankly; "but stick it out. I've a hunch, Dick, that you're soon going to be done with your cousin for good and all. He's playing a game here that's going to get him into hot water."

Matt stretched himself out on the bed.

"I'm going to lie here," said he, "and you can talk to me. Carl will keep an eye on Sercomb. Tell me more about your uncle."

"He was no end of a toff in London," replied Ferral, taking a chair and casting a look at the portrait. "His wife died, and that broke him up; then his daughter died, and that was about the finish. He bucked up, though, and crossed the pond. When he was in Hamilton he said he wanted to go some place where there wasn't so many people. Then he came here."

"This last move of his," said Matt, "looks like a strange one to me."

"He was full of his crochets, Uncle Jack was, but there was always a good bit of sense down at the bottom of them. Sercomb would have gone down on his knees and licked his boots, knowing Uncle Jack had money, and nobody but him and me to leave it to. There's another cut to my jib, though. I wouldn't go around where he was because I was afraid he'd think the same of me. I've got a notion, Matt, and it just came to me."

"What is it?"

"I'll bet that, when Uncle Jack left, he hid that will, and that he signed it and left blank the place where his heir's name was to be. The one that was shrewd enough to find it, you know, could put in his own name."

"Why should he do that?"

"Just to see whether Sercomb or I was the smarter."

"But you overlook what your uncle said about being found wherever the will was discovered."

"Right-o. I'm always overlooking things. You see, I'm taken all aback with this game of Sercomb's. If I knew what his lay was, or what he's trying to accomplish, I'd have my turn-to in short order. Still, as you say, he's going to get his what-for no matter which way the wind blows."

"There's a lot of things happened that are mighty mysterious," mused Matt; "little by little, though, they're clearing up. That clue I hooked onto last night makes several things clear. Did Sercomb know you were coming?"

"The Lamy lawyer must have told him he'd found out where I was, and had written to me. One thing I did do, and that was to sling my fist to a letter for Uncle Jack, once a month, anyhow. So he knew I was down in the Panhandle."

"When you pounded on the door last night, Sercomb must have suspected it was you. If he hadn't, he'd have let you in."

"He'd have let me in anyhow, only he didn't want me to see those other three swabs. And then for him to play-off like he did, and say he was calling at a neighbor's! It would have done me a lot of good to blow the gaff, when he came in on us a spell ago, and let him understand just where he gets off."

"That wouldn't have helped any, and it might have spoiled our chances for finding out what he's up to."

What answer Ferral made to this Matt did not hear. The young motorist had put in a strenuous night, and he was worn out. Ferral's words died to a mumble, and before Matt knew it he was sound asleep.

Some one shook him, and he opened his eyes and started up.

"Dozed off, did I?" he laughed. "Sorry, old man, but I didn't sleep any last night, you know. You were saying——"

An odor of boiling coffee and sizzling bacon floated up from down-stairs.

"What I was saying, mate," answered Ferral, "was some sort of a while ago. I've had my jaw-tackle stowed for an hour, letting you do the shut-eye trick. But now it's about mess-time, I reckon; and, anyhow, those friends of Sercomb's are here from Lamy. Listen!"

The chug of a motor on the low gear came to Matt. Getting up, he looked out of a window that commanded the front of the house.

A car was coming slowly along the blind trail from the road, following the same course the Red Flier had taken the night before.

As the automobile drew closer, Matt gave a startled exclamation.

"Some new kink in the yarn, Matt?" queried Ferral.

"I should say so!" answered Matt. "That's the same car that was in the road last night——"

"What?" demanded Ferral, grabbing Matt's arm.

"There's no doubt of it, Dick," said Matt; "and the three in the car are the same ones Sercomb met and talked with. Two of them, of course, are the handy-boys who blew in here and roughed things up with you and Carl."

The car came to a stop in front. Just then the front door opened and Sercomb rushed out.

"Hello, fellows!" he called. "Mighty glad to see you. Pile out and clean up for the grub-pile——"

Matt heard that much, and just then had to turn around to look after Ferral. With an angry growl, Ferral had broken away and started down the stairs.

"Dick!" called Matt, running after him.

But Ferral gave no heed to the call. He was down the stairs and out of the door like a shot. Matt was close on his heels, but he was not close enough to keep him from trouble.

"You two-faced crimp!" Matt heard him yell. "You'll down me in Lamy and take my money, will you, and then show up here! Now, strike me lucky if I don't play evens!"