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“You will?” The boy was overjoyed. “That’s great! You’d better begin getting your stuff together ’cause I’m going to call for you just as soon as Boss Whitney will let me go.”,

In the flare of the match Bob had recognized the newcomer. It was a Mexican, Miguel Philipe, who was an underforeman at the trap rock quarry.,

The officers apprehending that the banditti had overcome the guard, rushed back to the trapdoor, which they had scarcely lifted, when they heard a clashing of swords, and a confusion of unknown voices. Looking onward, they beheld through the arch, in an inner sort of court, a large party of banditti who were just arrived, rescuing their comrades, and contending furiously with the guard.,

It was ten o'clock next morning before he awoke, when, to his great surprise, he found new clothes put in place of his own, which had been completely spoiled. "This palace must certainly belong to some good fairy," he said to himself, "who, seeing my condition, has taken pity upon me." He looked out of the window; the snow was gone, and he saw instead, bowers of delicious flowers which were a delight to the eye.

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“I’m game.” And with this Jerry turned on his heel and walked off. At the door he flung back, “If we’re going on that train you’d better hit the hay soon. You’ll need all the strength you’ve got.”,

In this he was not mistaken. Miguel produced from around his body a coil of fuse and began joining the sticks of dynamite and placing detonating caps in them. Every muscle in the boy’s body ached to jump from the hiding place and grapple with the man who was arranging such wholesale destruction, but evidently the Indian realized what was going on within him, for he felt a restraining touch on his arm. At once he knew what it meant. The Indian was telling him that it would be foolish to attack the Mexican when he had so much sudden death in his hands. Before they could reach him, no matter how swiftly they acted, the Mexican could throw the dynamite and the damage would be done. There was nothing to do but wait and hope that Miguel would give them an opening when there was more possibility of averting the catastrophe.,

CHAPTER VIII Uncle Isaac’s Will,

“That wasn’t much to do,” said Tellef. What it was that wasn’t much to do, Tellef didn’t say. Johnny only stared out over the gray-blue splashing waves.