wn. His own hat was on his head and had, in some manner,
remained with him throughout all the excitement, but in his hand he was
clutching, like grim death, a battered black Stetson.

Turning the hat over, Hiram looked into the crown. The gilt letters, "U.
H." met his eyes.

"It's dad's hat," he gurgled. "Upton Hill, that's his name! I knew I had
a bean on the right number! I--I---"

A bit of white showed under the sweatband. Westerners, of a certain
type, sometimes carry important documents under the sweatband of their
hats. Hiram pulled his object out of the Stetson, examined it, and then
inquired his way to the nearest telegraph office. Five minutes later he
had sent the following telegram:

"OWEN CLANCY, the Motor Wizard, Phoenix, Arizona: Hot on the trail. You
said you would help me find dad. Come to Los Angeles at once and get
busy. Meet me Renfrew House.
HIRAM."

"This here's a great day for me," murmured Hiram, rubbing his bruises as
he turned away from the operator's window. "I reckon that'll fetch
Clancy, if he's well enough to come. Him and me can run out this happy
trail together, with ground to spare. That red-headed wizard has got
more sense in a minute than I have in a year, and I reckon we'll get
along. He's a good feller to tie to, in a time like this."

CHAPTER II.

CLANCY HITS THE "HAPPY TRAIL."

"How's the shoulder, Clancy?" Doctor Ferguson asked, as the young motor
wizard walked into his office.

"I know it belongs to me," was the smiling reply, "every time I make a
move, but I guess it's coming along all right at that, doc."

"No reason why it shouldn't. You're as tough as a piece of whalebone,
and a little nick like that can't put you on the retired list. Sit down
here--I've got a few words to say to you."

The doctor indicated a chair close to his desk, and then sank back in
his own seat with the air of one who is about to say something weighty
and important.

"Don't you try to scare me about anything, doc," said Clancy
apprehensively, as he slid into the chair.

"Tush!" and the physician wagged his head. "You haven't got sense enough
to be scared at anything. That's the main trouble with you. It's two
weeks since you went to Wickenburg and got in front of that bullet. We
kept you in bed for a week, and now you have been on your feet for
another week. So far as the wound is concerned, Clancy, you are all
right, but so far as something else is concerned, you are all