win, though I can't see into your inordinate
thirst for _diamonds_, when _spades_ will eventually triumph. Had I a
_full hand_ of _clubs_, I am not so sure but what I could _raise_ you,
_knaves_ though you are!"

"I think not; when kings win, the game is virtually up. We hold
altogether to high cards for you, at present, and _beg_ as you may, we
shall not _pass_ you."

"Don't be too sure of it. The best trout often slips from the hook,
when you are sanguine that you have at last been immoderately
successful. But, enough of this cheap talk. Go on and say your say, in
as few words as possible, for I am in a hurry."

Both Filmore, Sr., and Filmore, Jr., laughed at this--it sounded so
ridiculously funny to hear a helpless prisoner talk of being in a
hurry.

"Business must be pressing!" leered the elder, savagely. "Don't be at
all scared. We'll start you humming along the road to Jordan soon
enough, if that's what you want. First, however, we desire you to
inform us where we can find the girl, as we wish to make a clean
sweep, while we are about it."

"Do you bathe your face in alum-water?" abruptly asked the road-agent,
staring at his captor, quizzically. "Do you?"

"Bathe in _alum_-water? Certainly not, sir. Why do you ask?"

"Because the hardness of you cheek is highly suggestive of the use of
some similar application."

Alexander Filmore stared at his son a moment, at loss to comprehend;
but, as it began to dawn upon him that he was the butt of a hard hit,
he uttered a frightful curse.

"My cheek and your character bear a close resemblance, then!" he
retorted, hotly. "Again I ask you, will you tell me where the girl
is?"

"No! you must take me for an ornery mule, or some other kind of an
animal, if you think I would deliver her into _your_ clutches. No! no!
my scheming knaves, I will not. Kill me if you like, but it will not
accomplish your villainous ends. She has all of the papers, and can
not only put herself forward at the right time, but can have you
arrested for my murder!"

"Bah! we can find her, as we have found you; so we will not trifle.
Clarence, get ready; and when I count one--two--three--pull the
trigger, and I'll finish him with my knife!"

"All right; go ahead; I'm ready!" replied the dutiful son.

Fearless Frank sat upon a bowlder in the mouth of the quartz mine,
listening to the strains of music that floated up to him from the
cabin out in the valley, and puffing moodily away at a gri