The following morning the campers on Sandy Point were astir at an early hour. Browning did not carry a mark of the conflict, but Merriwell and Hodge showed slight bruises.

Diamond was thoroughly ashamed of having been found in such a gang. Naturally distant toward strangers, it was difficult for him to explain how he had been led into the trap. Seeing this, Frank did not press him for an explanation. The real truth was, however, that, overcome by mortification because of the poor showing he had made in the canoe race, the Virginian had decided to take a drink. Being in a prohibition State, he had found it difficult to obtain anything. However, he had found an individual who claimed to know where there was something, and Jack had been led to the cottage up the shore. After taking two or three drinks, the Virginian did not notice that the party that gathered was composed of persons who seemed to have a secret understanding, one with another. Jack was looking for excitement, and a game of poker promised to provide what he sought. Thus he was drawn into the game. After it began Welch appeared and was taken in. Then came Bunker. The reader knows what followed.

Dunnerwust turned out early and built a fire. Then he wandered away from the cottage, going out to the shore.

Twenty minutes later, he came panting and stumbling into the cottage, showing symptoms of great excitement.

“Kvick!” he gurgled. “Somepody gone oudt und drife him avay!”

“What’s the matter, Hans?” asked Frank.

“He vill got avay uf you don’d hurry oop!” spluttered the Dutch boy.

“Who will get away? What’s the matter with you?”

“Der man mit der viskers.”

“What man?”

“Der one vot seen me ad der gottage vere der vight peen last nighd. I shust seen him oudt here.”

“The man with the whiskers?” repeated Frank. “There was but one man with whiskers at the cottage last night. That was Bunker. He can’t be here.”

“Yaw; he vos oudt there.”

“Then he is up to some crookedness!” exclaimed Merry, leaping to his feet and catching up a shotgun. “Where is he, Hans?”

“Oudt towart der ganoes.”

Frank sprang through the doorway, and Diamond followed. Seeing this, Hans ran after them, directing them by shouting loudly, much to Merriwell’s disgust.

“If there’s anybody out here, he’ll know we are coming,” thought Frank.

Straight out toward the beach on which the canoes lay Frank ran. He was not long in coming in sight of the shore. When he did so, he saw something that made his blood leap in his veins.

Bill Bunker was pushing off from the shore in one of the single canoes. The man could hear the voice of Hans, and it was plain he knew some one was coming, for he started to paddle away as swiftly as possible.

Frank broke out of the woods and ran down to the very water’s edge. Then he threw the gun to his shoulder and took aim toward the man in the canoe, shouting:

“Stop! Come back here, or I will shoot!”

Bunker cast a look over his shoulder and saw Merriwell. He hesitated, with the paddle poised in the air. It was plain that he was in doubt.

“I mean business!” declared Frank. “You are stealing one of our canoes, and I shall be justified in shooting you. As true as there is a gun in my hand, I’ll shoot if you do not turn about at once and paddle back here!”

No one could doubt his earnestness. Bunker did not hesitate longer, but promptly turned about and sullenly paddled to the shore.

“What were you doing with that canoe?” asked Frank.

“Well,” said the man, “I did mean to take all of them as payment for the guns you lost for Welch and I yesterday morning, but I heard you coming before I was ready to take them in tow. You will have to pay for those guns before I am done with you.”

“So that was your trick? Well, it was just what I should expect from you.”

“Well, I don’t know as I want your old canoes, anyway.”

Bunker turned to walk away, but Frank stopped him.

“Not so fast,” said Merry, grimly. “I am not through with you.”

“What do you want?”

Again Frank covered the man with the muzzle of the shotgun.

“Up with your hands!” he commanded.

Bunker turned pale.

“What for?” he asked.

“Because I command you to put them up. Be lively about it! I know I am dealing with a desperado, and I shall not hesitate to shoot if you try to fool with me.”

The man tried to palaver, but that did not go with Frank, and he was forced to obey. He held his hands above his head, and then Merry directed Diamond to search and disarm him. This Jack did, taking a revolver and knife from the man.

Following this, the painter was taken from one of the canoes, and the man’s hands were bound behind his back, despite his protestations and threats. Then he was marched to the cottage.

Browning and Hodge were just coming out to see what was going on when the trio appeared with the prisoner.

“He was stealing one of our canoes,” explained Frank.

“Well, what are you going to do with him?” asked Bruce.

“Don’t know yet. I’ll decide on that point later.”

Bunker was marched into the cottage, and then Frank observed:

“There is one little point I mean to settle without delay. There is a certain mystery about this gentleman. If I am not mistaken, it does not require a razor to give him a clean shave.”

Then he took hold of the captive’s whiskers and gave them a sharp jerk. They came off in his hands, showing they were false.

“Just what I thought!” exclaimed Merry, triumphantly. “Now, how about this long hair?”

It did not take long to establish the fact that Bunker wore a wig and his face was stained with paint that made it look coarse and repulsive.

“Fellows,” cried Merriwell, “see that scar under his ear! I have made a big catch this morning, for this is the gentleman Ben Bowers, the sheriff, wants to see. This is Joe Tweed, who robbed and nearly killed Peter Small!”

Frank’s words gave the others a shock, but they saw that, with his disguise removed, the man answered the description Bowers had given of the robber.

Of course the captive denied that he was Tweed, but that made no difference with Frank.

“Mr. Bowers will decide that point,” he said. “I shall take you over to see him to-day.”

The prisoner resorted to threats, pleading and attempted bribery. Everything was unavailing. Frank was determined, and that very day, before noon, the man stood before the sheriff and was identified as Joe Tweed.

“Young man,” said Bowers, “you done a big job when you caught him! The reward is your’n, and I’ll see that you git it. I was afraid the blamed critter had got clean away.”

“And so I would,” said Tweed, sullenly, “if I had not been a fool. I might have skipped yesterday, but I stayed to get a crack at Frank Merriwell, and he has landed me here. I made my mistake in not letting him rip, even if he was responsible for my ducking in the lake. But I never robbed old Small, and I defy you to prove that I did.”

This did not prove so hard, however, for Jim Welch turned out to be Tweed’s accomplice, and he gave the whole thing away when he was accused. Almost every dollar of the stolen money was recovered, and both Welch and Tweed were indicted and held for trial.

Merriwell actually received the reward that had been offered for the capture of the robber.

“Fellows,” he said, “that was a great catch, for this money will go a long distance toward defraying the expenses of our trip. We are having lots of sport, and it is not costing us much.”

“But you must acknowledge one thing,” said Hodge, with a show of triumph.

“What’s that?” asked Frank.

“That you failed to find a redeeming quality in one rascal, and that one was Jim Welch.”

“Well,” laughed Frank, “Welch did not turn out very well, but still I do not believe he is all bad. He has not been given much of a show to exhibit the better side of his nature.”

This line has become famous for its excellent stories of the detection of crime. Of late, it has taken truly remarkable strides in the public’s favor. The reason for this is, that every book is a marvel of its kind. They are high-class tales, not of the “blood and thunder” order, but with plausible plots which hold the reader fairly captivated with breathless expectation. Among these are the stories of the adventures of Nick Carter and his clever assistants; of “Old Spicer,” the clever private detective, whose exploits are among the most remarkable ever performed by any detective. If you are in search of good, interesting matter, a decided change from that to which you have been accustomed, purchase a few of these titles. They will not only please and interest you, but will give you a clear insight into the methods of the various classes of criminals.