lausin, apparently
taken quite off his guard by this declaration on the part of the patrol
leader.

Paul turned upon him then and there, and looked serious.

"Joe," he said, firmly yet kindly, "once you refused to tell me what you
knew or suspected about this man. I hope you won't try to bluff us off
again, now that you know he's here, and everything looks as if he might
be the one who took your father's valuable papers."

As he spoke Paul stooped and picked something up that had attracted his
eye. It had been lying among quite a quantity of clothing and other
things. Probably these had been secured in various raids on
clotheslines, where the good people of the farming community were airing
Winter garments before putting them away in camphor in the chest.

"Look here, Joe, what do you call this?" Paul went on.

Joe could hardly speak, he was so excited.

"It's the tin box that my dad used to keep those papers in! Oh! Paul
look inside and see if they're there!" he exclaimed, trembling with
eagerness as he laid a hand on the arm of the patrol leader.

But Paul believed that his friend was doomed to disappointment, even
before he opened the strange little tin box, which had been stolen from
the store of the feed keeper in Stanhope.

"It's empty, you see, Joe," he said, turning it upside-down. "Look at it
again, so as to make sure it's really the box."

"Oh! I'd know it anywhere, Paul," declared Joe, warmly; "and see, here's
where father scratched his initials on it. I remember seeing him do that
one day, while he was talking to me. Yes, this is the box. But where can
the papers be?"

"In the pocket of that fellow, beyond a doubt. Who is he, Joe?"

When Paul put the question straight to him, Joe could hold out no
longer. Besides, a wild hope had probably sprung up in his heart to the
effect that this comrade, whom nothing seemed to daunt, might perhaps
be able in some wonderful way to help him get the papers back again.

"I just guess I'll have to speak up, fellows," he said; "but please
don't say anything to the others 'less my dad tells you to. You see,
we've always held our heads up in Stanhope, and some people might look
down on us if they knew one of the Clausin family was a convict!"

"Oh! that is the man who was at the other side of the world. What
relation is he to you, Joe, and where was he in prison?" asked Jack.

"He's my Uncle Henry," answered Joe, reluctantly, "a younger brother of
my dad's. Las