you can do me a great favor."

"What is that--return you the bonds?"

"I would ask that if I thought you would do it, but I don't expect it. I
should like to have you release me and let me go home."

"I can't do that, for I want you to visit me. You may not think it, but I
always liked young people. It will be quite a pleasure to me to have you
for a visitor."

"Thank you, but I am afraid that I shall become an unwilling guest."

"Besides, it will be a pleasure to my little boy to meet you. He does not
often meet other boys."

"Have you a son?" asked Ernest in surprise.

The outlaw's face softened.

"Yes," he answered. "He is a sweet little boy, as I can say even if he is
my son. His name is Frank. Would you like to see his picture?"

"Yes," answered Ernest, with interest.

James Fox drew from an inner pocket a small card photograph of a young boy
with a very winning face. Ernest was attracted, for unlike many boys of
his age he liked younger children. He looked at the picture long and
earnestly.

"It is a sweet face," he said at last.

"Isn't it?" asked the proud father.

"Is his mother living?"

"No."

"Was there no difficulty in getting it taken?"

"I suppose you mean on account of my profession. Well, there might be
around here, but this was taken in Minneapolis--about a year ago. It was
one of the few visits that Frank has made with me."

"Are you going to bring him up to your business?"

"Take care, boy!" said the outlaw, frowning. "Don't be impertinent."

"I don't mean to be. Do you think the question an improper one?"

"Well, perhaps I have no right to think so. Somehow the business, though
it seems all right to me, I couldn't think of for my boy. No, I shall soon
place him at school, where no one will know that he is related to the
celebrated outlaw. I want him brought up to lead an honest life."

"I am glad you do. I respect you for that."

"My lad, you seem to be one of the right sort. As you will see my son I
want you to promise me that you won't say a word about the business I am
engaged in."

"I will make that promise. Then the boy doesn't know?"

"No, he has no suspicion. He is too young to think much about that.
Perhaps if he had associated with other boys much he would have found
out."

While this conversation was going on they had entered a wood, and the road
became wilder and rougher. Indeed, it was hardly a road, but rather a
lane, narrow and grass-grown.

Ernest beg