r Alaska. Wire positive instructions, as I can take
no risks.

"FOLSOM, _Conductor_."

"It must be Tom!" cried Sam.

"But that name, Paul Haverlock," mused Dick. "Where did he get that?"

"Why, I remember, Dick! In that moving picture the hero was called
Paul Haverlock. His name was on the letters they showed on the screen.
Tom must have remembered it, just as he remembered the name of the
villain, Bill Stiger!"

"I see. Then this Paul Haverlock must really be Tom," returned Dick.
"Now to have him stopped. I wonder where that other train is now?"

They found out that the other train was then in the vicinity of
Livingston, the junction point for Yellowstone Park. From there it was
bound for Helena, Spokane, and then to Seattle direct.

"We'll telegraph again, and keep right on this train," said Dick, and
this was done.

If the two youths had slept but little the night before, they were even
more restless this night. And yet they realized that Folsom, the
conductor of the other train, would not be likely to arouse Tom if he
had gone to bed.

"He won't take the chance," said Dick. "Remember, he isn't sure of
what he is doing, and all railroad men like to keep out of trouble. If
he made a mistake, the passenger might sue the railroad company for big
damages, and get them."

"If only we could catch up to Tom!" sighed Sam.

"That is impossible, Sam, because he is on an express, just as we are.
As it is, he'll gain on us when he gets to Spokane, for he will go
through without waiting, while we'll either have to lay over or go by
some other route that is much longer."

As there seemed nothing more to do just then they at last went to
sleep, and did not rouse up again until it was broad daylight.

They immediately asked for further news, but were informed that none
had come in. Nor did any word come in all that forenoon.

"This suspense is fierce," was Dick's remark, at last. "That conductor
is either asleep or has given up the search. I wish I knew of some
first-class detective on the other end of the line who could take up
the case for us."

"We'd know somebody if Tom was bound for San Francisco," returned his
brother. "But I don't know a soul in Seattle--oh, yes, I do!" he
suddenly shouted.

"Who, Sam?"

"A fellow named Jim Hendricks. He is a cousin of Stanley Browne, and
also a cousin to Larry Colby, who went to Putnam Hall with us. He was
at Brill once, for a week, and I got pretty w