and my most
valuable papers, as well as my money, were taken from me."

"Do you mean to insinuate that I am a thief?" cried Dike Powell.

"You are none too good for it. I have not forgotten how you used to
sneak around my office in New York after information concerning my
Western mining claims."

"You're getting mighty sharp, Arbuckle."

"I hope I am. I used to feel queer in my head at times, but--but--I
think I am growing better of that."

As he spoke Mortimer Arbuckle drew his white hand across his forehead.

The attack and the adventure on the river had been fearful, but it
really looked as if they were going to prove of benefit to him. His eyes
were brighter than they had been for many a day. Pawnee Brown noticed,
too, that his manner of talking was more direct than he usually
employed.

"I hope for the boy's sake his mind is clearing," he thought.

"I think you are growing more queer--to accuse me," said Dike Powell. "I
never harmed you."

"I know better. While I was on my back I thought it all over. Dike
Powell, you are a villain, and if ever I get the chance I'll turn you
over to the police. You have followed me to the West, and for no good
purpose. I will unmask you."

"Will you? Not much!"

Thus speaking, Dike Powell leaped forward. He was a powerful man, and
catching Mortimer Arbuckle by the throat, he would have borne the
semi-invalid to the floor had not Pawnee Brown interfered.

There was a rush and a crack, as the scout's fist met Dike Powell's ear,
and over the man rolled, to bring up against the side of the barn with a
crash.

"Who--who hit me?" spluttered the rascal, as, half dazed, he staggered
to his feet. "If I--Pawnee Brown!"

"Dike Powell!" ejaculated the scout, as he saw the fellow full in the
face for the first time. "Where have you been these long years?"

"Oh, Pawnee, how glad I am that you came in," panted Mortimer Arbuckle,
sinking down upon an old feed box. "The villain was--was----"

"I saw it all, Arbuckle; rest yourself. I will take care of this
forger."

"Forger!" came simultaneously from Mortimer Arbuckle and from his
assailant, but in different tones of voice. "Do you then know Dike
Powell?"

"Yes, I know him as Powell Dike, a forger, who fled from Peoria a dozen
years ago. And what do you know of him?"

"I know him as a Wall street sneak--a man who was forever hanging
around, trying to get information out of which he might make a few
dollars. I have accused h