Murky had recovered his poise and his strength as well.
For all he knew Paul might send bullets his way, but that did not now
stop the ruffian. With a savage snort of anger he sprang upon the boy,
wrenched from him the pistol and straightway began to beat Paul over
the head. About this time Murky felt a clinging form jump upon his back,
wind its thin arms and legs around his half reeling frame, as Paul struck
at him with boyish impetuosity, though the blows were futile so far as
doing the man any serious harm.

"Blame ye both!" he exploded. "I'll fix ye--blast ye!"

And fix them both he methodically proceeded to do. Seizing Paul by the
scruff of his neck and twisting Chip somehow under his other arm, he then
tried to bang their heads together. Luckily he did not succeed before
there was a sudden interruption.

For the second time there came in Murky's rear a rumbling roar of anger.
Nels Anderson, just arrived, breathless, exhausted, was yet ready to do
what might be done by a tired man almost without the use of his arms.

At the sound close behind him Murky turned, his savage claws fastened in
the half helpless boys' clothing. Pushing them before him, he rushed upon
the Swede. The impact was too much for Nels.

Back he staggered, his heels tripping, and fell with the two youngsters
on top of his prostrate bulk.

By the time the three got to their feet again Murky had vanished. But they
heard him farther on, and in an instant Chip was off, crying:

"We mustn't lose him! He's back after that money! I just know it!"

Was Chip right? Only quick work might solve that riddle. In a trice Paul
was at Chip's heels while Nels, puffing more than ever, yet still game,
came on after. Arrived at the next turning, they saw Murky dragging at
something in a dark corner or crevice of rock. Seeing his pursuers
coming, Murky rushed blindly at them. Chip managed to dodge but Paul
was overborne and, stumbling back, brought up against Nels, and again a
rough-and-tumble struggle began. Meantime Chip, having dodged, saw what
Murky, down on his knees, had been dragging at when again surprised.
Intuition told him what it might be. Instead of going to the aid of his
companions Chip stooped over, dragged out a wet, soiled package from a
deeper crevice, ran off through another passage that seemed to wind
among a number of converging boulders, and--a moment later returned
empty-handed to where the fight was still going on.

Murky now had the