ed a plot that
will take care of Hill, all right."

"Plot?" said Burton. "What sort of a plot?"

"Listen, Hank. You know about this Hill. I've told you and Bob how he's
got a fool bee in his bonnet, and is running around the Southwest
looking for his father. The old man--judging from his photograph, which
Hill totes around in his pocket--is a bigger freak than Hiram is. He's
got a beak like a pelican, and is homely enough to stop a clock."

"You know plenty about Hill and his hunt for his dad," returned Burton.
"You flimflammed Hill out of five hundred by offering to take him across
the Mexican boundary and showing him where his father could be found,"
said Burton, with a laugh. "But you got the money, and Hill got the
experience," he added.

"Which," said Gerald calmly, "is mainly the reason why Hill is trying to
get even with me. I know enough about Hill's father, though, to put over
a scheme that will get this cross-eyed buttinsky off our track."

"What's the scheme?" inquired Katz.

"It hinges on this point, that Hiram Hill would rather find his father
than get even with me for that 'con' game I worked on him. I'm going to
write Hiram a letter, Bob, and send it to him at the Renfrew House."

"What sort of a letter?" put in Burton.

"I'm going to sign the name of his father, Upton Hill, to the thing, and
play up that incident at Sixth and Main pretty strong. Where's that pen
and ink, Hank? And give me a sheet of paper and envelope."

While his companions got the writing materials, Gerald seated himself at
a table and began getting his thoughts busy. By the time pen, ink, and
paper were put in front of him, he had his letter mapped out in his
mind, and had only to put it upon paper.

"Won't Hiram know that the letter isn't in his dad's handwritin'?"
suggested Katz.

"I reckon he won't," answered Gerald craftily, leaning back in his chair
with the letter in his hand. "It's been some sort of a while, Bob, since
the first Klondike rush, when old 'Up' Hill disappeared. It isn't likely
that Hiram remembers anything about his father's handwriting. Here's
what the letter says:

"DEAR SON: Was it really you who jumped aboard my automobile at the
corner of Sixth and Main this morning? My conscience has been troubling
me ever since. I have hunted up the policeman and secured from him your
name and address, but am in a hurry to get back to San Diego, where I
live, and cannot remain in Los Angeles to prosecute a per