day.
Therefore it was arranged that he should remain at Lake Placid.

Frank Merriwell had given in to the urging of Warren Hatch, who almost
begged him to stay over another day and fish again in the morning.

"It's not often I strike a fisherman after my own heart," said Hatch.
"When I do I don't like to let him slip through my fingers. Stay over
until to-morrow at least, Merriwell. There is no reason why you should
tear away in such a hurry."

"You can stay, Merriwell," declared Scott. "We have settled the railroad
deal right here. Bragg and I will get things to moving in the city.
Leave that to us."

"I'm very willing to leave it to you," laughed Frank. "I'll stay one
more day, Mr. Hatch."

"If we can have another good morning to fish--ah, we won't do a thing!"
chuckled Hatch, ending with a cough.

"You ought to stay up here for the next month," declared Old Gripper.
"That cough of yours----"

"Oh, it's nothing! I've had it for a year, and it's not serious in any
way--only annoying."

At Saranac Lake Scott saw that the warrant for Del Norte was placed in
the proper hands and the machinery of the law set in motion.

When Frank and Warren Hatch returned to the cottage of the latter they
were surprised to find the place locked, the shutters closed, and an air
of desertion hanging over everything.

But it was not deserted.

While Hatch was fumbling on the door they heard a stir within and a
voice shouted:

"Be afther getting away from there, ye divvils, ur Oi'll blow yez full
av lead! It's arrmed Oi am to th' tathe!"

It was the voice of Pat O'Toole, an Irishman who had been one of Del
Norte's gang, but out of gratitude, had saved Frank's life and had been
actively concerned in the rescue of Old Gripper.

"O'Toole!" cried Frank; "why the dickens have you locked yourself up
this way?"

"Is it you, Misther Merriwell?" cried O'Toole, joyously. "It's a great
relafe to hear your foine, musical voice wance more! Wait a minute
unthil Oi open th' dure."

The door was unlocked and thrown open. O'Toole stood with a rifle in his
hands, looking pale and agitated. Around his waist was a belt holding a
pair, of pistols and a knife.

"What's the matter, man?" asked Hatch. "You look like a walking
arsenal?"

"It's me loife Oi'm ready to defind to th' larrust gasp," declared the
Irishman.

"Your life? Why, what----"

"Oi'm in danger of bein' murthered."

"In danger?"

"Ivery minute av me ixistence."

"Wha