When the footpad, for the fellow was nothing less, attacked Jerry, our hero felt that he had a tough struggle before him.

The rascal’s grasp on the young oarsman’s throat was light, however, and Jerry quickly shook it off.

In the meantime the westerner began to struggle and shout at the top of his voice:

“Help! Police! police!”

In vain the fellow who held him tried to stop his cries. They grew louder, and soon footsteps were heard approaching.

Jerry received a savage blow on the chest and struck out in return, hitting the footpad in the chin. Then the two clinched, and both rolled to the pavement.

Jerry’s assailant was a strong man and he was slowly but surely getting the best of the youth when three men put in an appearance. They were heavy-set individuals and were followed by a policeman.

“What’s up here?”

“Don’t kill that boy!”

“He is a thief!” cried Jerry. “He has that man’s diamond pin.”

“That’s right,” put in the westerner, who had managed to turn and catch hold of his assailant. “This fellow is his mate. They just tackled me when the boy came to my help.”

“It is a falsehood,” roared the footpad who had attacked our hero.

Saying this, he arose and tried to sneak away. But Jerry tripped him up, sending him headlong, and before he could rise the policeman had him handcuffed.

While this was going on the westerner and two of the new arrivals managed to make a prisoner of the other footpad. He used some terrible language, but this did not avail him.

“I know them,” said the policeman, after the capture was effected. “They are Hungry Pete and Jack the Slick. They are wanted for a burglary at Sheepshead Bay. How did you happen to fall in with them?”

“I met them up at Rumford’s Hotel. They said they knew a man I was looking for.”

“Will you come along and make a charge against them?”

“Certainly. He has my diamond pin.”

The pin was brought to light and handed over to its owner, and then our hero was asked to go along.

Anxious to know what the westerner might want of Crazy Jim, Jerry agreed, and a minute later found the whole crowd bound for the nearest station-house.

Here the westerner gave his name as Colonel Albert Dartwell. He said he was from Denver and had come east on private business.

“I have been sick for two months,” he said. “I am still weak. That is the reason I did not put up a better fight when those two men tackled me.” Jerry told his story, and the upshot of the matter was that the two footpads were held for another hearing before the judge in the morning.

“My boy, I owe you something for your services to me,” said the westerner, as he and our hero came out on the street. “You did well for a boy.”

“I did the best I could,” replied the young oarsman. “But I want to ask you a question. I heard you mention Crazy Jim. What do you want to see him for?”

A look of pain crossed Colonel Dartwell’s face at my words.

“It’s a long story, Upton. I am from the West and came many miles to see him. Do you know the man?”

“I know one fellow called Crazy Jim, sir.”

“His right name is James MacHenry.”

“That’s the man.”

“Ah! And where can he be found?”

“Most likely on Blackwell’s Island.”

“He is in prison?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“For breaking the glass in a store window and creating a row.”

Colonel Dartwell drew a long breath.

“Those footpads told me he was in a hotel in the neighborhood. You are sure you are right?”

“Yes, sir. To be truthful, I was mixed up in the scrape that took Crazy Jim to prison.”

“Indeed. Would you mind telling me about it? You don’t look like a boy that would do wrong.”

“It wasn’t my fault. Crazy Jim had a packet belonging to me—a packet containing some valuable documents. I called for them and found he had given them up to an enemy of mine.”

“And that led to the row.”

“Not exactly. He is a bad man, and there was a little girl living with him, and he—”

As Jerry spoke Colonel Dartwell grasped him by the arm.

“Stop! What did you say about a little girl?” he demanded, eagerly.

“I said there was a little girl living with him. He used to send her out to beg. He got it into his head that she had set me against him, and he started to beat her. I told her to run away, and then he attacked me and got arrested.”

“And what became of the little girl? Tell me, quickly!” And Colonel Dartwell’s voice was husky as he spoke.

“I met her afterward and took her to where I was boarding, and she is still stopping there.”

“Describe her to me.”

Seeing there was something behind the inquiry, Jerry gave him the best description he could. The colonel listened with fixed attention.

“It must be her!” he murmured. “My poor, lost Dottie.”

“Dottie! That’s her name!” cried our hero. “And she is—”

“She is my daughter,” was his answer.

“Your daughter!” ejaculated Jerry, in amazement.

“Yes, my daughter. Take me to her at once.”

“I will, sir; but this is the strangest thing I ever heard.”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“Was she stolen from you?”

“Yes. It’s a long story. I will tell it to you while we are on the way. She is well?”

“Yes, sir. But she has been misused, so you mustn’t expect to see her looking real good. She is very thin.”

“I have not seen her for four years, not since she was a mite of a toddler.”

The pair started for the ferry without delay, and as they proceeded, the colonel related his story.

He was a mine-owner and had lived in the West for fifteen years. His wife had died when Dottie was born, and the child had been turned over to the care of a colored nurse.

At that time James MacHenry had been a prospector in the region and he had opened a mine close to that located by the colonel.

All went well until the MacHenry mine petered out, as it is called, and then the man’s mind became deranged. He accused the colonel of having cheated him out of a slice of the richest land and a bitter quarrel resulted.

Two weeks later MacHenry disappeared, and shortly after that baby Dottie was missing. A long search was made for the child, but without avail.

Curiously enough, the colonel did not connect the disappearance of his child with that of Crazy Jim. He started to hunt for the little one among the Indians and the outlaws in the mountains.

Two years passed, and then one night a good-for-nothing miner named Duffy was shot in a quarrel over a game of cards. On his dying bed Duffy confessed that he had once been intimate with Crazy Jim and that the latter had acknowledged stealing Dottie.

A hunt was at once made for the abductor. It was said he had gone to San Francisco, and later on he was traced to Chicago, but there the trail was lost until long after, when a tramp turned up who spoke of having seen Crazy Jim around New York.

Without delay Colonel Dartwell had come East and scoured the metropolis. While here he had fallen in with footpads who had sought to rob him.