"We all did," replied Joe. "But we almost dropped it on the way!" he
added, with a grin.

CHAPTER XII

A DASTARDLY ATTACK

The tourists' train was scheduled to leave Denver at eleven-thirty that
night, so that there was ample time after the game for a leisurely meal
and a few hours for recreation for any of the party that felt so
inclined.

Some went to the theater, others played cards, while others sat about the
lobby of the leading hotel and discussed the exciting events of the
afternoon's game.

As for Joe and Jim, their recreation took the form of long letters to two
charming young ladies whose address, by coincidence, happened to be
Riverside. Both seemed to have much to write about, for it was nearly ten
o'clock before the bulky letters were ready for mailing.

"Give them to me and I'll take them down to the hotel lobby and mail
them," said Jim, as they rose from the writing table.

"I don't know," replied Joe, as he looked at his watch. "Perhaps the last
collection for the outgoing eastbound mail has already been made. What do
you say to going down to the post-office itself and dropping them in
there? Then they'll be sure to go."

"All right," Jim acquiesced. "It's a dandy night anyway for a walk and I'd
like to stretch my legs a little. Come along."

They went out into the brilliantly lighted streets, which at that hour
were still full of people, and turned toward the post-office which was
about half a mile distant.

As they were passing a corner, Jim suddenly clutched Joe's arm.

"Did you see that fellow who went into that saloon just now?" he asked,
indicating a rather pretentious cafe.

"No," said Joe, dryly. "But it isn't such an unusual thing that I'd pay a
nickel to see it."

"Quit your fooling," said Jim. "If that fellow wasn't Bugs Hartley, then
my eyes are going back on me."

"You're dreaming," Joe retorted. "What in the world would Bugs be doing in
Denver?"

"Panhandling, maybe," returned Jim. "Drinking, certainly. But it isn't
what he's doing that interests me. It's the fact that he's here."

"Let's take a look," suggested Joe, impressed by his friend's
earnestness.

They went up to the swinging door, pushed it open and looked in. There
were perhaps a dozen men in the place, but Hartley was not among them.

"Barking up the wrong tree, Jim," chaffed Joe.

"Maybe," agreed Jim a little perplexed, "but if it wasn't Bugs it was his
double."

They reached the post-offi