er. Dalton let out a fearful yell, while his
revolver fell to the floor. There was a flash and a crashing explosion
in that confined space; the weapon had been harmlessly discharged.

As for Dalton, he swayed dizzily for a few seconds, trying to lift the
injured foot. Then, with a groan and a burst of ugly language, he sank
to the floor.

Hank darted in, securing his hitching weight and backing off with it
once more.

Though he had heard the discharge of the pistol, Jim Hunter did not
stop to reach for his own revolver. He leaped through into the
corridor, his pocket police club in hand.

"There he is, but you won't have to club him any," announced Hank,
dryly, pointing to the groaning Dalton. "He'll eat out of your hand,
now--will Anson Dalton."

Pausing only to drop his club to the floor, Jim Hunter whipped out a
pair of handcuffs from a cavernous pocket, bent over Dalton, and----

Snap-click! The troublesome enemy of the motor boat boys was not only
badly hurt, but a secure prisoner as well.

Now, Seaton and the boys gathered about the law's captive.

"I reckon you'll have to git up," announced Jim Hunter, putting a
helping hand under one of Dalton's arms.

"I can't--oh, stop! Let up! My foot's crushed. I can't stand on it!"
yelled Dalton.

Hunter came quickly to realize the fact that Dalton could not stand
with much comfort. Joe came up with a chair, onto which the prisoner
was allowed to sink.

"Oh, you boys think you've finished things for me, don't you?" leered
Dalton, glaring around him in a rage. "But you haven't. You'll soon
find that you've just begun to stir up trouble for yourselves."

"Go easy, man--do!" begged Hunter, soothingly. "Of course yer pet corn
feels bad just now. But, say! That's the niftiest way of stopping a
bad man, I reckon, thet was ever invented."

"Is it?" groaned Dalton. Then, catching the trace of a smirk in Hank's
eyes, the rascal shook his fist at the steward of the "Restless,"
snarling:

"I'll find my own way to settle with you!"

"Take your time--when you're feeling better," Hank begged,
cheerfully.

Fair-haired, soft-voiced young Dawley had followed the crowd out into
the corridor. The hotel clerk, the proprietor and three or four of the
servants all had increased the crowd there. Dawley rapidly learned
what had happened.

"It's a beastly outrage," he announced, his soft voice sounding almost
harsh in the indignation that he felt.

"Oh, take a fan, Dolly, a