h, that's all right. Take it out of this," growled Werner, and threw
down a dollar bill. Then he tried to pass out again, but before he could
do so Randy and Fred caught and held the rascal.

Cornered, Gabe Werner tried to put up a fight, and in this he got by far
the worst of it. He managed to get in one or two blows, but then Randy
knocked him down, and when he arose to his feet Fred landed on his ear
so that the bully spun around and lurched heavily against the counter on
which rested a number of guns.

"You let me alone!" roared Werner. And then he suddenly caught up one of
the guns and made a move as though to aim it at the Rovers. But the
keeper of the shooting gallery was too quick for him, and wrested the
weapon from the big youth's grasp.

And then Gabe Werner did catch it. Not only did Randy and Fred pounce
upon him, but also Jack and Andy, and as a consequence, bruised and
bleeding, the big bully staggered from the shooting gallery and set off
down the muddy street at the best speed he could command.

"There! I guess we've settled him for a while," panted Randy, when the
encounter was over. "Hello! where are Nappy and Slugger?"

"They slid out while we were taking care of Gabe," answered Andy. "I
guess they thought things were getting too warm." And in that surmise
the fun-loving Rover was correct. Dismayed by the beating Werner was
receiving, Nappy and Slugger had lost no time in departing for parts
unknown. It was a long time before the Rovers saw them again.

A few days later came word from the Spell claim that filled the Rovers
with astonishment mingled somewhat with dismay. Oil had been reported,
and every one connected with the Davenport outfit was of the opinion
that the well when shot off would open up big.

"Gee! suppose they do strike it rich?" cried Fred.

"I don't think they will--not after what the experts said," answered
Jack.

"But even Mr. Fitch said they sometimes made mistakes," put in Randy.

A few days later the well on the Spell claim was shot off, and this was
followed by a flow of oil amounting to forty or fifty barrels a day.
Then it was announced that the Davenport crowd was going to sink the
well several hundred feet deeper and they were also going to put down
another well farther up the brook.

"I reckon that flow of oil has got 'em a-going," remarked Nick Ogilvie,
and there was just a trace of envy in his tones. "Well, that's the luck
of it. You can't tell anything abou