they started
back toward the scene of the collision.

Another wagon came over the brow of the hill and stopped. From a
distance in the opposite direction came a sharp signal whistle that was
answered by one of the three persons in the wagon.

"That's Merry!" exclaimed Berlin Carson, as he leaped out. "I wonder
what's happened here. Somebody's smashed up."

Two minutes later young Joe Crowfoot, Frank Merriwell, Bart Hodge, and
Dale Sparkfair arrived. They found a horse, with the shafts of a smashed
wagon attached, calmly grazing by the roadside. The wrecked wagon was in
the ditch. Near by lay the body of a man. A few yards away sat a woman,
holding an unharmed child in her arms.

"We've got them, Frank!" said Berlin Carson, as he took the lamp from
Arlington's hand and turned the light on the face of the prostrate man.
"Here's the wretch who did it! Do you know him?"

Merry looked down.

"He's dead!" said Frank.

"I think his neck was broken," exclaimed Carson. "I don't believe he
realized what happened after the automobile struck the wagon. Do you
know him, Frank?"

"I've seen that face before. Yes, I think I know him. His name--his name
is Harris! That's it! Why, his brother was at Yale! You remember Sport
Harris, Carson?"

"Sure!" breathed Berlin.

Merriwell seized the child, and the woman surrendered it to him.

"I'm wicked!" she said. "Put me in prison! But I saved your child's
life when Selwin Harris would have taken it!"

"Lizette, why did you do this thing?" asked Merry. "What was that man to
you?"

"He was my husband," she replied. "I'm not Lizette. That's not my name.
I deceived you because he commanded me to. Put me in prison! I hope they
keep me there till I die!"

Carson's hand found that of Merriwell.

"Merry," he said huskily, pleadingly, "this poor girl is Bessie King. I
loved her once. It's dead now, all the love I knew. She has been more
weak than sinful. You have your boy safe in your arms. You'll take him
back to Inza. You'll keep your promise to her. We were old comrades at
college. I would have done anything for you then, and I would do
anything in my power for you now. For my sake let this poor woman
go--for my sake, Frank!"

There was a hush. Frank stood there in silence for such a long time that
every person seemed to hear the beating of his own heart.

At last Merriwell spoke.

"For your sake I will, Berlin," he said.

CHAPTER XVII.

A CALL TO THE "FLOCK."