"You promised me a hundred dollars on my arrival."
"And there it is."
There was the rustle of bank notes.
"New money, eh?" was Dike Powell's comment. "Been printing some out here?"
"Not much. I know better than to go into the counterfeiting business."
Dick clutched Rasco's arm. The youth's face was full of concern.
"My father's money was in new bills," he whispered into his companion's ear. Rasco nodded, but quickly motioned for silence.
"I reckon this is drinks on me," said Powell, arising. "Come down to the bar before you go back to the cavalry camp."
"I'm in a hurry, Powell, but I'll take one glass," concluded Louis Vorlange, and the two men hurried from the reading-room.
"He is the man—I feel certain of it!" burst from Dick's lips, when he felt safe to speak. "Rasco, there is some mystery here. My father" He stopped short and bit his lip.
"I know wot's in yer mind, Dick. I've heard yer father go on in his sleep, and war talkin' ter Pawnee Brown about it. An' Pawnee knows this air Vor-
