FRANK READE JUNIOR, AND HIS NEW STEAM MAN, By "NONAME"

FRANK READE, JR., AND HIS NEW STEAM MAN;
OR, THE
YOUNG INVENTOR’S TRIP TO THE FAR WEST.

By “NONAME.”

FRANK READE JUNIOR, AND HIS NEW STEAM MAN,
OR, THE YOUNG INVENTOR’S TRIP TO THE FAR WEST.
By “NO NAME.”

CHAPTER One.
A GREAT WRONG.

Frank Reade was noted the world over as a wonderful and distinguished inventor of marvelous machines in the line of steam and electricity. But he had grown old and unable to knock about the world, as he had been wont once to do.
So it happened that his son, Frank Reade Junior, a handsome and talented young man, succeeded his father as a great inventor, even excelling him in variety and complexity of invention. The son speedily outstripped his sire.
The great machine shops in Readestown were enlarged by young Frank, and new flying machines, electric wonders, and so forth, were brought into being.
But the elder Frank would maintain that, inasmuch as electricity at the time was an undeveloped factor, his invention of the Steam Man was really the most wonderful of all.
“It cannot be improved upon,” he declared, positively. “Not if steam is used as a motive power.”
Frank Junior laughed quietly, and patted his father on the back.
“Dad,” he said, with an affectionate, though bantering air, “what would you think if I should produce a most remarkable improvement upon your Steam Man?”
“You can’t do it!” declared the senior Reade.
Frank Junior, said no more, but smiled in a significant manner. One day later, the doors of the secret draughting-room of design were tightly locked and young Frank came forth only to his meals.
For three months this matter of closed doors continued. In the machine shop department, where the parts of machinery were secretly put together, the ring of hammers might have been heard, and a big sign was upon the door:
No admittance!
Thus matters were when one evening Frank left his arduous duties to spend a few hours with his wife and little boy.
But just as he was passing out of the yard, a darky, short in stature and of genial features, rushed excitedly up to him.
“Oh, Marse Frank,” cried the sable servitor, “Jes’ wait one moment!”
“Well, Pomp,” said Frank, pleasantly, “what can I do for you?”
The darky, who was a faithful servant of the Reades, and had accompanied both on their tours in foreign lands, ducked his head, with a grin, and replied:
“Yo’ father wants yo’, Marse Frank, jes’ as quick as eber yo’ kin come!”
“My father,” exclaimed Frank, quickly. “What is it?”
“I don’t know nuffin’ ‘bout it tall, Marse Frank. He jes’ say fo’ me to tell yo’ he want fo’ to see yo’.”
“Where is he?”
“In his library, sah.”
“All right, Pomp. Tell him I will come at once.”
The darky darted away. Frank saw that the doors to the secret rooms were locked. This was a wise precaution for hosts of cranks and demented inventors were always hovering about the place and would quickly have stolen the designs if they could have got at them.
Not ten minutes later Frank entered the library where his father was.
The elder Reade was pacing up and down in great excitement.
“Well, my son, you have come at last!” he cried. “I have much wanted to see you.”
“I am at your service, father,” replied Frank. “What is it?”
“I want you to tell me what kind of a machine you have been getting up.”
“Come now, that’s not fair,” said Frank Junior with twinkling eyes.
“Well, if it’s any kind of a machine that can travel over the prairies tell me so,” cried the elder Reade, excitedly.
Frank Junior, was at a loss to exactly understand what his father was driving at. However, he replied:
“Well, I may safely say that it is. Now explain yourself.”
“I will,” replied the senior Reade. “I have a matter of great importance to give you, Frank, my boy. If your invention is as good as my steam man even, and does not improve upon it, it will yet perform the work which I want it to do.”
A light broke across Frank Junior’s face.
“Ah!” he cried. “I see what you are driving at. You have an undertaking for me and my new machine.”
Frank Senior looked steadily at Frank Junior, and replied:
“You have hit the nail upon the head.”
“What is it?”
“First, I must tell you a story.”
“Well?”
“It would take me some time to go into the details, so I will not attempt to do that but give you a simple statement of facts; in short, the outline of the story.”
“All right. Let us have it.”
The senior Reade cleared his throat and continued:
“Many years ago when I was traveling in Australia I was set upon by bushmen and would have been killed but for the sudden arrival upon the scene of a countryman of mine, a man of about my own age and as plucky as a lion.
“His name was Jim Travers, and I had known him in New York as the son of a wealthy family. He was of a roving temperament, however, and this is what had brought him to Australia.
“Well, Travers saved my life. He beat off my assailants, and nursing my wounds brought me back to life.
“I have felt ever since that I owed him a debt which could not be fully repaid. At that time I could make no return for the service.
“Jim and I drifted through the gold fields together. Then I lost track of him, and until the other day I have not seen or heard from him.
“But I now find that it is in my power to give him assistance, in fact to partly pay the debt I owe him. This brings us to the matter in hand.
“Six months ago it seems that Jim who is now a man of great wealth, still a bachelor and for a few years past living at a fashionable hotel in New York went to his club. When he returned in the evening he found a note worded like this:”
Mister Reade laid a note upon the table, Frank read it:
“Dear Travers: I would like to see you to-night upon a very important matter. Will you meet me in twenty minutes at the cafe on your corner. I must see you, so be sure and come.
“A Friend.”
“Of course Jim wondered at the note, but he did not know of an enemy in the world, so he felt perfectly safe in keeping the appointment. He started for the cafe.
“The night was dark and misty, Jim walked along and had got near the cafe when somebody stepped out of a dark hallway and grasped his arm.
“‘Come in here,’ a sharp voice said, ‘we can talk better here than in the cafe.”
“Before Jim could make any resistance he was pulled into a dark hallway. Two men had hold of him and something wet was dashed across his face and over his hands, then he felt some liquid poured over his clothes and some object thrust into his pocket.
“Then the door opened again and he was flung out into the street. Jim was unharmed, but amazed at such treatment. He had not been hurt and was at a loss to understand what it all meant.
“The incident had taken but a few moments in its course. At first a thought of foul play had flashed across Jim. Then it occurred to him to look at his hands which were wet with some substance.
“He gave a great cry of horror as he did so. There was blood upon them.
“In fact his hands and face and clothes were almost soaked in red blood. For an instant he was horrified.
“What mystery was this? But he quickly changed his opinion and actually laughed.
“It occurred to him as a practical joke upon the part of his club friends. Satisfied of this he resolved to get even with them.
“He tried to open the door, through which he had been pulled. It was locked and would not yield.
“Then he decided to go back to his room and wash off the blood. But he had not gone ten steps before he was met in the glare of the lamplight by one of the club men.
“‘Thunder! What’s the matter with you, Travers?’ asked his friend.
“‘Oh, nothing, only a little practical joke the boys have been playing on me,’ replied Jim with a grin. Two or three others come along and Jim explains in like manner. Then he goes to his apartments.
“When he arrives there he is amazed to find the door open and a fearful scene within. The furniture, the light carpet and the walls in places are smeared with blood. Jim now got angry.
“‘This is carrying a joke a little too far!’ he cried, testily. “This spoiling the furniture is too much.”
“But he went to washing the blood from his hands. This was a hard job and took time. Suddenly half a dozen officers came into the room and seized him.
“‘What do you want?” cried poor Jim in surprise.
“‘We want you,” they replied.
“‘What for?”
“‘For murder!”
“Instead of being horrified, Jim was mad, madder than a March hare. He just got up and swore at the officers.
“I don’t like this sort of thing,” he declared. “It’s carrying a joke too far.”
“The officers only laughed and slipped manacles upon his wrists. Then they led him away to prison. Not until brought into court did poor Jim know that he had been made the victim of a hellish scheme.
“Murder had really been committed in that house into which he had been dragged, and where he was smeared with blood. A man unknown, was there found literally carved to pieces with a knife.
“Blood had been found upon Jim in his room. A trail led from the house to his room. A knife was found in his coat pocket. The evidence was all against him and his trial had just come off and he had just been sentenced to death by hanging with only three months of grace.”
Frank Reade junior, listened to this thrilling tale with sensations which the pen cannot depict. It was so horrible, so strange, so ghastly that he could hardly believe it true.
He arose and walked once across the floor.

CHAPTER Two.
THE NEW STEAM MAN.

Then the young inventor paused before his father, and in a deeply impressed manner said:
“Then an innocent man stands convicted of murder?”
“Yes.”
“In that case it is the duty of every philanthropic man to try and save the innocent.”
“It is.”
“We must do it.”
“I am glad to hear you say that.”
“But the question now arises as to how we shall be able to do it. Is there no clew to the real assassins?”
“No definite clew.”
“That is very strange. Of course there must have been a motive. That motive would seem to be to get Travers out of the way.”
“Yes.”
“And he has no enemies?”
“None that he knew of.”
“Ah, but what would any one gain by putting him out of the way,”
Frank Reade junior, paused. He gazed steadily at his father. Much passed between them in that glance.
“His fortune is a large one,” put in the senior Reade, “the right to inherit would furnish the best motive. There is but one heir, and he is a nephew, Artemas Cliff, who is a stockman, somewhere in the Far West. It could not be him.”
“Could not?” Frank Reade junior, sat down and dropped into a brown study. After a time he aroused.
“I am interested in this case,” he declared. “And my Steam Man is at the disposal of justice at any time. But you spoke of the prairies. Is there a clew in the West?”
“The only clew possible to obtain at present,” declared Mister Reade, Senior “You see detectives tracked two suspicious men to Kansas. There they lost track of them. Everybody believes that they were the assassins.”
“Well, I believe it,” cried Frank Reade junior, with impulse. “I can see but one logical explanation of this matter. Either Artemas Cliff has employed two ruffians to do this awful deed for the sake of Travers’ money, or, the case is one not possible to solve with ease.”
Frank Reade, Senior, did not display surprise at this statement of his son.
“Now you have the whole thing in a nutshell, my boy,” he said. “Of course, you can do as you please, but if you wish to take any kind of a journey with your new invention, here is a chance, and a noble object in view. That object should be to track down the murderers, and clear Jim Travers. It may be that the nephew, Artemas Cliff, is the really guilty one, but in any case, I believe that it is in the West you will find the solution of the mystery.”
“That is my belief,” agreed Frank Reade junior, “but now that this matter is settled let me show you the plans of my steam man.”
Frank Reade junior, drew a roll of papers from his pocket and spread them upon the table.
Upon them were the blue print plans and drawings of the mechanism of the Steam Man.
Frank Reade, Senior, examined them carefully and critically. From one piece to another he went and after some time drew a deep breath saying:
“Well, young blood is the best after all. I must say, Frank, that I am beat. There is no doubt but that you have improved upon my Steam Man. I congratulate you.”
“Thank you,” said Frank Reade junior with gratification.
“But I am anxious to see this marvel at work.”
“You shall,” replied the young inventor. “To-morrow the Steam Man will go out of the shop upon his trial trip.”
A few minutes later Frank Reade junior, was on the way to his own house.
He was in a particularly happy frame of mind. He had achieved great results in his new invention, and here, as by design, was a chance afforded him to use the Steam Man to a philanthropic and heroic purpose.
The idea of traveling through the wilds of the West was a thrilling one.
Frank could already picture the effect of the Steam Man upon the wild savages of the plains and the outlaws of Western Kansas and Colorado.
Also the level floor-like prairie of that region would afford excellent traveling for the new invention.
Frank Reade junior, was a lover of adventure.
It was an inborn love. The prospect before him fired his very soul. It was just what he desired.
That evening he unfolded all his plans to his wife.
Of course Missus Reade was averse to her husband undertaking such a dangerous trip. But after a time she overcame her scruples and reconciled herself to it.
The next morning at an early hour, Frank was at the engine house of the steel works. The wide doors were thrown open and a wonderful sight revealed.
There stood the Steam Man.
Frank Reade, Senior, and a great number of friends were present. Pomp, the negro, was also there, as well as a queer-looking little Irishman with a genuine Hibernian mug and twinkling eyes, which bespoke a nature brimming over with fun. This was Barney O’Shea.
Barney and Pomp had long been faithful servants of the Reades. In all of their travels with their inventions they had accompanied them. Of these two characters we will say no more, but permit the reader to become acquainted with them in the course of the story.
The senior Reade examined the mechanism of the new Steam Man with deepest interest.
“Upon my word, Frank,” he cried, “you have beaten me out and out. I can hardly believe my eyes.”
Frank Reade junior, laughed good humoredly.
Then he went about showing a party of friends the mechanism of the new Steam Man.
The man himself was a structure of iron plates joined in sections with rivets, hinges or bars as the needs required.
In face and form the machine was a good imitation of a man done in steel.
In no wise did he look ponderous or unwieldy, though his stature was fully nine feet.
The man stood erect holding the shafts of a wagon at his hips.
The wagon itself was light but roomy with four wheels and a top covering of fine steel net work. This was impervious to a bullet while anyone inside could see quite well all about them.
There were loop-holes in this netting to put the rifle barrels through in case of a fight.
A part of the wagon was used as a coal bunker. Other small compartments held a limited amount of stores, ammunitions and weapons.
Upon the fender in front was a brake to regulate the wagon on a steep grade, and a slit in the net work here allowed of the passage of the reins, two long lines connecting with the throttle and whistle valves. A word as to the mechanism of the man.
Here was really the fine work of the invention.
Steam was the motive power.
The hollow legs and arms of the man made the reservoir or boilers. In the broad chest was the furnace. Fully two hundred pounds of coal could here be placed, keeping up a fire sufficient to generate steam for a long time.
The steam chest was upon the man’s back, and here were a number of valves. The tall hat worn by the man formed the smoke stack.
The driving rods, in sections, extended down the man’s legs, and could be set in motion so skillfully that a tremendous stride was attained, and a speed far beyond belief.
This was the new steam man. The improvements were many and manifest.
All the mechanism was more nicely balanced, the parts more strongly joined, and the steel of finer quality. Greater speed was the certainty.
Fire was burning in the furnace, steam was hissing from the retort, and smoke was pouring from the funnel hat of the man.
Frank Reade junior, suddenly sprung in the wagon.
He closed the screen door behind him. Pomp was engaged in some work in the coal bunker.
Frank took up the reins and pulled them. The throttle was opened and also the whistle valve.
Three sharp shrieks the new Steam Man gave and then he was away on the trial trip.
Out of the yard he went and out upon the highway.
Everybody rushed to the gates and a great cheer went up. Down the highway went the Steam Man at a terrific gait.
His strides were long and powerful. So rapidly were they made that a tremendous amount of surface was covered.
It was a good smooth road.
Just ahead was a man riding a horse. Near him was a bicycler who was noted as a fast rider.
Both had heard that the Steam Man would make his trial run that morning.
Bets had been made by both that they could beat the Man.
Frank guessed the truth at once.
“Ki dar, Marse Frank,” cried Pomp, with a chuckle and a shake of his woolly head. “Dem two chaps ain got a pile ob gall. Jes’ yo’ show dem dat dey ain’t in it. Won’t yo’?”
Pomp had more than one reason for beating the horse and bicycle. He had made a small bet of his own on the result.
It was evident that the parties ahead were ready for the fun.
Frank Reade junior, smiled grimly, and opened the throttle a little wider.
The next moment the Steam Man, the bicycle rider and the trotter were all flying neck and neck down the road.
Heavens! what a race that was!
Down the road they flew like a whirlwind. The dust flew up behind them in a cloud.
But the Steam Man just trotted by his competitors with seemingly no exertion at all. Frank turned with a laugh to see how easily they were distanced.
After a good trial, the new Steam Man returned to the foundry yard. As Frank stepped down out of the wagon, his father came up and grasped his hand in an ecstasy of delight.
“Bravo, my son!” he cried. “You have eclipsed my Invention. I wish you luck, and I know that you will succeed in clearing Jim Travers.”
“I shall take only Barney and Pomp with me,” said Frank Reade junior “There will not be room in the wagon for more.”
“Well, they will be useful companions,” said the Senior Reade. “My son; may God be with you in your enterprise.”
Frank Reade junior, at once proceeded to make preparations for his western trip.
He visited Travers in prison and talked with him.
“To tell the truth, I am distrustful of my nephew, Artemas Cliff. He is an avaricious villain, and a number of times has tried to swindle me out of money. I know that he has led the life of an outlaw out there on the border.”
“But if he aspired to gain your wealth, why did he not attempt your life in some direct manner?” asked Frank.
“I presume he may have feared detection,” replied Travers. “If I am hung for the murder of this unknown man, the mystery will be sealed forever. The real murderer will never be known.”
“I believe you are right,” agreed Frank Reade junior “Well, I will find this Artemas Cliff, and do the best I can toward clearing up the mystery and setting you right.”
“Thank you!” said Travers with emotion. “I feel that you will succeed.”

CHAPTER Three.
ON THE PLAINS.

The scene of our story now undergoes a great change.
We will transfer the reader from Readestown to the plains of the Far West. Fully five hundred miles from civilization, and right in the heart of the region of the hostile Sioux.
Frank Reade junior, had transported the Steam Man as far as possible by rail.
From thence he had journeyed the rest of the ways overland.
Nothing of thrilling sort had as yet marked their journey. But they were upon the verge of the most exciting adventures as the reader will hereafter agree, possible to be experienced by man.
With the broad expanse of rolling plain upon every hand, one morning in June the Steam Man might have been seen making its way along at a moderate gait.
Frank Reade junior, with Barney and Pomp were in the wagon.
Frank held the reins and his keen gaze swept the prairie in every direction.
As far as the eye could reach there remained the same broad expanse. There was little to break the monotony.
Barney and Pomp had taken advantage of a lull in their duties to play a social game of poker in the rear of the wagon.
These two unique characters, although the warmest of friends, were nevertheless always engaged in badgering each other or the perpetration of practical jokes.
“Bejabers, I’ll go yez ten betther on that, yez black ape,” cried Barney, throwing down a handful of chips. “I’ll take me worrud it’s a big bluff yez are playin’. Yez can’t fool me.”
“Youse will jest find out dis nigger neber plays a bluff game,” retorted Pomp with a chuckle. “Jest yo’ look out fo’ yo’sef, Pish.”
“Begorra, I ain’t afraid av yez an’ I’ll go ye the tin,” cried Barney.
There was a broad grin upon Pomp’s face. He quietly picked up ten chips and then put in ten more.
“Hold on, Pish, I’ll go youse ten better.”
“Call yez, be hivens!” cried Barney, chucking in ten more.
Then he threw down his hand.
“Can yez bate that?” he cried, triumphantly. “Give us the pot, naygur. Yez are no good.”
But Pomp put one black paw over the pile of chips.
“‘Jes’ wait one minnit, Pish.”
“Whurro! Yez can’t bate it!” cried Barney, confidently.
He had thrown a good hand containing four kings and two aces. But Pomp quietly laid down four aces!
The picture was one well worthy of an artist. For a moment the two card players gazed at the six aces in amazement. It was a very curious anomaly that there should be six aces in one pack of cards.
Then Barney sprang up furiously.
“Begorra, it’s a big cheat ye are!” he cried, angrily. “Whoever saw the loikes av that? Be me sowl, the hull pile is mine!”
“Don’ yo’ put yo’ hands on dem chips, Pish!” cried Pomp, angrily.
“P’raps yo’ kin tell me wharfore youse got dem two aces, maybe youse can?”
“Bejabers, they war in the pack, but yez kin tell me perhaps where yez got those four aces yez put down there?”
“I tell yo’, Pish, dey was in de pack.”
“Be jabers it’s the fust pack av cards I ever saw with six aces in it,” retorted Barney.
“Now don’ yo’ gib me any mo’ ob yo’ sass, Pish!” blustered Pomp. “I’ll jes’ make yo’ sorry if yo’ does.”
“Bejabers yez ain’t the size!”
“Look out fo’ yo’self, Pish!”
“Whurroo!”
Over went the table leaf, down went the chips in the bottom of the wagon, and the two angry poker players closed in a lively wrestle.
For a moment Barney had the best of it, then Pomp tripped the Celt up and both fell in a heap in the bottom of the wagon.
They chanced to fall against the wire screen door in the rear of the wagon.
It was unlocked and gave way beneath the pressure, and the two practical jokers went through it and out upon the hard floor of the prairie.
They were rolled about in a cloud of dust, and had they not been of something more than ordinary composition they would have suffered from broken bones.
But as it was both picked themselves up unhurt.
The Steam Man had gone on fully one hundred yards before Frank Reade junior, perceived that his companions were missing, and at once closed the throttle and brought the Man to a halt.
“Serves the rascals right,” muttered Frank, as he saw them pick themselves up from the dust. “They are always skylarking, and no good comes of it.”
Frank had stopped the Steam Man. He waited for the two jokers to pick themselves up and return to the wagon.
But at that moment a thrilling thing occurred.
Barney and Pomp had fallen near a clump of timber.
From this with wild yells a band of mounted Sioux Indians now dashed.
They were a war party, painted and bedecked with feathers, and in the full paraphernalia of war.
The peril which threatened the two jokers was one not to be despised.
It was quite evident that the savages meant to cut off their rejoining the Steam Man. In that case their fate would be sealed.
But Barney was quick-witted, and saw the situation at a glance.
With a wild howl he broke into a mad run for the Steam Man. It was a question of life or death and he ran as he had never ran before.
Pomp was not so lucky. While Barney was distancing his pursuers, and actually succeeded in reaching the wagon, the darky suddenly found himself cut off.
Indian ponies were circling about him, the red riders whooping and yelling like veritable demons.
The poor darky was beside himself with terror and perplexity.
“Golly sakes alibe!” he yelled, with his wool literally standing on end. “Whatebber am dis yer nigger gwine fo’ to do? I’se a gone coon fo’ suah.”
It certainly looked that way. The savages circled nearer and half a dozen of them dismounted and rushed upon Pomp.
Now the darky was unarmed.
He had not even a pistol or a knife. Of course he was at their mercy.
In less time than it takes to tell it, the savages had closed in about the terrified darky, and he was quickly thrown upon his back and bound.
Then he was laid across the back of a pony and tied on securely.
Then a lariat was attached to the pony’s bridle, and the savages with their prisoner in their midst dashed away.
Barney had reached the Steam Man and climbed into the wagon.
Frank Reade junior, had seen the whole affair, and for a moment was too astounded to act.
Then as Barney came tumbling into the wagon, Frank turned the man around and sent him flying toward the savages.
This move was quickly made, and the Steam Man ran forward rapidly. But quick as it had been, the savages had yet succeeded in making Pomp a prisoner and getting away with him.
“Be jabers, they’ve got the naygur bound to a horse,” cried Barney, wildly. “Wud yez luk at the loikes, Misther Frank. We must catch the omadhouns and give them a lessin of the right sort.”
“I hope we may,” replied Frank, with great anxiety, “but I fear the red fiends will get to cover before we can overtake them.”
“Whurroo! It’s mesilf as will sphoil the loike av some av thim,” cried Barney, as he picked up his rifle.
The savages were racing like mad across the prairie.
They had caught sight of the Steam Man, which was to them some fiend incarnate, some evil spirit which would seek their certain destruction.
Terror of the wildest sort made them whip their ponies to the utmost.
It was a mad race.
But the Steam Man was gaining.
He took tremendous strides. Frank pulled the whistle valve, and the shrieks sent up on the air were of a terrifying kind.
The savages had all gazed with wonder upon the white man’s iron horse that followed its steel track across their prairies.
But this latest appearance, the Steam Man, was too much for their nerves. They could not bear it, and fled.
The Steam Man would certainly have overtaken them.
But, not visible until one had turned the timber line and made a rise in the prairie was a distant range of hills.
Toward this the savages were going. If they reached them, they would certainly succeed in eluding their pursuer.
And the chances seemed good.
Frank saw, with a peculiar chill, that they were really liable to reach the point aimed at.
He sent the man on at full speed.
Barney placed himself at a loop-hole, and commenced firing as rapidly as he could at the fleeing foe.
The result was that many of them fell, and the others redoubled their exertions to make an escape.
On went the chase toward the distant range of hills.
Nearer and nearer drew the ponies to the objective point.
With sinking heart Frank saw that the Indians were likely to reach them before the Steam Man could overtake them.
Of course this would mean safety for the savages, for the Steam Man could not hope to follow the ponies over the rough surfaces there encountered.
“Heavens, we are not going to save Pomp!” cried Frank, with a thrill of despair in his voice. “What shall we do, Barney? Is it not awful?”
Barney was busily engaged in placing fresh cartridges in his Winchester.
“Begorra, it’s save the naygur I will if I sacrifice me own loife!” cried the big-hearted Celt. “It’s me own fault, for sure, that he iver fell troo the door and got picked up by the red min.”
Frank put on all the steam he dared, and the man took tremendous strides forward.
“We will make a mighty effort,” he gritted, as he piled on the steam.
“Bejabers, here goes for wan av the spalpeens!” cried Barney.
Then the Irishman’s rifle cracked.
One of the savages tumbled from his pony’s back.
Barney continued to load and fire as fast as he could. But the opportunity was not long granted him.
Suddenly the cavalcade of savages dashed into the mouth of the pass.
They were out of sight in a twinkling. The Steam Man was obliged to come to a halt.
There were huge bowlders and piles of stones to block the passage. Barney and Frank Reade junior, exchanged glances of despair.
“That is the end of Pomp,” declared the young inventor, with a chill. “I have no doubt that is a part of Black Buffalo’s band, and he never spares a life.”

CHAPTER Four.
THE COWBOYS.

Frank had spoken truthfully. The band of savages was really a part of the tribe of which Black Buffalo was the chief.
Throughout all the Kansas border this blood thirsty fiend was known and feared.
He had ravaged more wagon trains, burned more settlements, and committed more massacres than any other Sioux chief in the Far West.
His name was a synonym of terror among the settlers, from Dakota to the boundary line of Texas.
By many he was claimed to be a white man or renegade. Others averred that he was a recreant Pawnee chief.
However this was, certainly no red warrior was better known and feared than Black Buffalo.
And it was into his hands that Pomp had fallen.
Small wonder then that Frank Reade junior, was much alarmed, and even inclined to believe his faithful servitor’s life lost.
The merciless Black Buffalo would not be likely to spare Pomp’s life. The savages had captured him alive simply to drag him into the hills and torture him to death.
Barney began to bemoan the situation in violent terms.
“Och hone, the poor soul,” he cried, “he was a black naygur but he had a white heart jist that same. Be jabers av’ we cud only get near enough to the red omadhouns I’d loike to shoot ivery mother’s son av thim.”
“Well, I don’t see why the red fiends haven’t the best of us,” declared Frank.
“It luks that same, Misther Frank,” wailed Barney.
“I don’t see how we can ever get through that pass. The Steam Man might go there, but the wagon won’t.”
This was true enough.
The Steam Man on the level prairie was invincible, but on rough ground like this wholly useless.
Frank and Barney were beside themselves with solicitude and perplexity.
Frank even thought of going forth on foot to try and overtake the redskins. But of course the folly of such a course was quickly apparent to him.
Barney even attempted to carry out literally this plan.
He went so far as to open the door in the wire screen and leap down to the ground.
But Frank cried sternly:
“Barney, come back at once. You can gain nothing by such a course.”
“Shure, Mister Frank,” cried the Irishman, “if yez will only let me go,”
“Come back,” was Frank’s terse command, which was reluctantly obeyed by the Celt.
Frank took a careful look at the hills.
He chanced to see a smooth pathway up the height, and which seemed to follow the course of the canyon or pass.
Up this the Steam Man cautiously advanced. As they continued to ascend higher a good broad view of the prairie was obtained.
And suddenly reaching an elevation from which a southward view could be obtained, Frank gave a sharp cry, and taking a glass from a locker, sprung to a loop-hole in the netting.
He scanned a number of objects upon the prairie far beyond.
At that distance they looked like a herd of buffaloes.
But with the glass Frank saw that they were mounted men and white men at that.
They looked like a roving band of cowboys. In any event they were white men and it was quite enough for the young inventor to know this.
“We can depend upon them to help rescue Pomp!” cried Frank, exuberantly. “Luck is yet with us, Barney.”
“Be jabers I hope so,” cried the excited Celt. “If they be white men and have a heart they’ll shurely do it.”
Frank instantly turned the wagon about and sent the Steam Man rapidly down to the prairie.
He blew shrill blasts upon the whistle to attract the attention of the white men.
In this he was successful.
As the Steam Man reached the prairie floor, the cavalcade or cowboys came dashing up.
They did not seem surprised at sight of the Steam Man somewhat singularly and drew up fifty yards distant while one of their number rode forward.
He was evidently the leader, and was a tall, dark, evil-looking fellow. Frank Reade junior was not favorably impressed with his appearance.
As the young inventor noted that the whole gang had a forbidding appearance and with a chill Frank realized that he could hardly expect any assistance from such a cut-throat looking band.
The tall, dark leader doffed his sombrero as he rode forward and made a low bow.
“Buenos Senors!” he said with a Spanish accent. “I wish you a fair day. Do you travel far with your Iron Man?”
“I am glad to meet you,” replied Frank, eagerly. “We come from the East and we are here upon an important mission.”
The stranger smiled and bowed again with a peculiar affectation of politeness.
“I am pleased to hear it. Are you not the gentleman called Frank Reade junior?”
Frank gave a start of surprise.
“I am,” he replied, quickly, “then you have heard of me.”
“I have, Senor Reade,” replied the cowboy chief, with another exaggerated bow and smile.
“Perhaps you know of my mission here?”
“I do,” was the reply.
Frank was more amazed than words can express. What mystery was this?
How had this fellow, who bore the stamp of a Spaniard, learned of his mission to the Far West? The young inventor was staggered for a moment.
“Your mission here,” replied the cowboy chief, politely, “is to hunt down two men who you believe are guilty of a murder which they skillfully foisted upon a certain man by the name of Jim Travers.”
“You are right!” cried Frank. “But how in the name of wonder did you know that?”
“I prefer not to say. It is enough that I know it.”
“It is strange that you should have learned it,” said Frank, “but I will ask no more questions just now in the face of a terrible exigency.”
“Ah!”
“I want to ask your help.”
“My help?”
“Yes”
“Pardon, senor, but I cannot see in what manner I can serve you.”
“You must assist me. One of my men, a colored man, has fallen into the hands of the Indians. They have made him prisoner and have just escaped with him into these hills. I ask your assistance in effecting his rescue.”
A peculiar smile played about the cowboy’s lips.
“Is he not the one you call Pomp?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And that man with you in your cage there is called Barney?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, I see, Barney and Pomp. Well, Senor Reade, pray accept my compliments and the wish that you may see civilization again alive, which I do not believe will be the case. Ha, ha, ha! You have blundered into a death-trap!”
Something like a correct comprehension of affairs now began to dawn upon Frank.
“What do you mean?” he gasped in surprise. “Who are you?”
“Well, since you ask me I will tell you,” replied the cowboy chief with a laugh. “I am no Spaniard, as you might have thought. I am as good an American as you, and you will have good cause to remember my name in the near future, provided you escape from this trap. I am the man you are so eagerly looking for, I am Artemas Cliff.”
“Heavens!” gasped Frank Reade junior, “the man I am looking for!”
“The same,” replied Cliff, mockingly. “You have undertaken quite a daring deed, my fine inventor, but you will find that you have bitten off a very much larger slice than you can masticate.”
“We will see,” began Frank.
“You see these men?” continued Cliff. “They are my followers, tried and true. What is it to you whether my uncle, Jim Travis, should hang for murder? You can never prove him innocent, at least, never will, for you will never go from here alive.”
“Scoundrel!” cried Frank. “You are the real murderer!”
“Ha, ha, ha! Prove it if you can!” laughed the cowboy chief, derisively.
“I will prove it, if I have to drag the confession from your lips!” cried Frank, resolutely.
“Pshaw! Talk is cheap. Attention, men! Grab the throttle rein of the Steam Man and you can destroy him! Forward! Charge!”
Frank Reade junior, heard the command and knew well the danger. He was at a loss to account for Cliff’s knowledge of him and his invention.
The young inventor was not aware of the fact that for weeks previous to the starting forth of the Steam Man spies had been busy in Readestown.
But such was the truth.
Artemas Cliff had covered his tracks well. He knew that Frank Reade, the young inventor’s father, was a friend of Travers and would see him through, if possible.
Therefore he had provided well for giving Frank Reade junior, and the new Steam Man a hot reception on the plains.
With hoarse cries the cowboys descended upon the Steam Man. They urged their horses forward at a full gallop.
Frank Reade junior, knew well that it was possible for them to greatly injure his invention, so he made quick action to defeat their plans.
He shouted to Barney:
“Give it to them, Barney. Shoot every man you can.”
Then Frank opened the throttle, and let the Steam Man out for all he was worth.
It was an easy matter to outstrip the horses, and the Steam Man kept ahead, while the cowboys came thundering on in the rear.
Then Frank slackened speed so as to keep up a uniform distance between the Man and the horses.
While Barney poured in shot after shot into the midst of the gang of pursuers.
The cowboys began to drop from their saddles one by one. It was a destructive and telling fire.
And they strained every nerve in vain in an effort to reach the Steam Man. Frank kept the Man just far enough ahead to ensure safety and enable Barney to pick off the cowboys with ease.
It took Cliff some time to tumble to this little game.
When he did, and realized that he was simply decimating numbers without gaining ground, he called a halt.
The cowboys were now near the banks of a wide river which was really the Platte. Frank Reade junior saw his advantage and brought the Steam Man to a stop. Then he seized a rifle and joined Barney.

CHAPTER Five.
POMP’S RESCUE.

But it was hardly likely that the cowboys would stand their ground long under such a fire.
As fast as they could Frank and Barney worked the repeaters.
The result was that quite a number of the foe lay dead upon the prairie.
But Artemas Cliff knew the fatality of remaining there. Being unable to catch the man, he knew that their only hope now was in retreat.
All of the cowboys fired at the Steam Man. The bullets rattled harmlessly against the steel cage.
Frank at once sprang to the reins and the brake and started the Steam Man in pursuit. It was quite a turning of tables.
The pursuers were now the pursued.
So it continued until suddenly, by the orders of Cliff, the cowboys turned their horses into the river and forded it.
Once on the other side they were soon beyond the reach of the rifle balls. The Steam Man of course could not follow.
The encounter with the cowboys was at an end.
They did not return to the attack, somewhat singularly, but kept on until the rolling plains hid them from view.
Cliff’s direful threat against the Steam Man and its inventor, had not been carried out. But Frank did not, by any means, delude himself with the belief that the villain would relinquish the attempt so easily.
“Well, Barney,” he cried, cheerily, when satisfied that the scrimmage was over. “We came out of that scrape a little the best of it. It has all turned out as I expected. That Cliff is the real murderer.”
“Begorra, it luks that way, Misther Frank,” agreed Barney.
“So it does. We must plan to capture the villain, and wring a confession from him.”
“Be jabers that’s thrue. If I only had an opportunity I’d pretty quick wring his loon neck for him.”
“But that does not settle the question of Pomp’s fate,” declared Frank. “He must be saved.”
“Shure, Misther Frank.”
“But how can we do it?”
This was yet a conundrum.
Frank and the faithful Irishman stood looking at each other. It was a long time before either spoke.
Finally Frank said:
“There’s only one way, Barney.”
“An’ phwat’s that?”
“We’ve got to got into those hills in some way. I don’t like to leave the Steam Man, but to save Pomp I’d,”
The young inventor ceased speaking. A strange medley of sounds came from the direction of the pass.
There were wild yells and pistol shots, and then, out upon the prairie, the two astonished travelers saw a motley crew of horses and savages emerge.
The savages were fighting furiously. Frank knew enough of the Indians of that region to know what it all meant.
A band of Sioux and a band of Pawnees, the deadliest of enemies, were engaged in a terrific battle.
Frank took in the scene at a glance.
He at once understood all.
The band which had captured Pomp was undoubtedly the one engaged in this conflict. They had very likely met the Pawnees in the upper part of the pass.
When the Pawnees and Sioux met a fight always followed. Generally the latter came off victorious.
As it seemed now, however, the Pawnees had the best of it.
They were worsting the Sioux in good fashion. Frank and Barney watched the scene a moment until suddenly a sharp cry burst from Barney.
“Begorra, Misther Frank, if there ain’t the naygur.” he cried, wildly.
Barney was right. Frank glanced in the direction indicated and saw a thrilling act.
In the midst of the Sioux was Pomp bound to the back of a mustang.
Suddenly in the midst of the melee the horse was seen to bolt from the rest and dash out upon the prairie.
Of course, Pomp had no control over the beast, having his hands tied behind him.
The mustang took his own course and ran like the wind.
The Sioux did not dare to any of them attempt pursuit. The foe in their front claimed their attention.
“Bejabers, the horse is runnin’ away wid the naygur,” cried Barney. “Phwat will we do, Misther Frank?”
“Catch him if we can,” cried Frank, seizing the throttle rein.
He opened the throttle and let the Steam Man go ahead; with long strides the machine began to gain upon the mustang.
Pomp was vainly endeavoring to free his hands.
If he could have done so, and could have got hold of the reins once, he could easily have stopped the horse.
But this he was unable to do.
As a result, the animal carried him along swiftly, and along the base of the hills.
Suddenly the mustang swerved and darted into a narrow pass.
Barney, at the loop-holes of the wagon with rifle in hand, had been sorely tempted to fire at the runaway.
But the fear of hitting Pomp had restrained him.
Now, however, the horse was out of range. But Frank headed the Steam Man for the pass.
Fortunately, it was unobstructed by bowlders, and had a good level floor. The Steam Man was enabled to forge along with safety.
But the mustang and his black rider had gone from sight. However the pursuers kept on.
Suddenly they came out upon a broad plateau with steep descent upon all other sides. This extended among the hills for a distance of several miles.
A great cry of horror now went up from Frank and Barney.
The mustang was seen racing along the edge of a mighty chasm. In a few seconds he would be almost sure to take an impossible leap over a deep gorge.
If he should go to the bottom of that gorge it would be the end of Pomp and the mustang.
This was seen at a glance and with the most intense of horror Barney cried:
“Shall I fire, Misther Frank? It’s the only thing as will save the naygur.”
“You will have to do that,” replied Frank, sharply. “Look out for your aim, Barney. God help Pomp!”
Barney pulled the trigger.
Crack!
The bullet sped true to its mark. It struck the mustang in the side.
The animal faltered, threw up its head, stumbled, and then pitched forward in a heap.
Pomp lay beneath the horse. It did not require but a few moments for the Steam Man to reach him, however.
In a twinkling Barney sprang out of the wagon and cut Pomp’s bonds.
The darky was not in the least injured. He lay with one leg under the mustang, but was easily extricated.
The joy of the darky at his rescue cannot be expressed in words.
He embraced Barney effusively.
“Shure I thought yez kilt intoirely, naygur,” cried the big-hearted Irishman. “It’s moighty glad I am to see yez aloive.”
“Yo’ kin jest bet dis chile am glad fo’ to get out ob dem red debbils’ hands,” cried Pomp, exuberantly.
And then he dashed aboard the Steam Man and grasped Frank’s hand.
“Oh, Marse Frank, I’se dretful glad to see yo’!” cried Pomp, excitedly.
“I am glad to have you back, Pomp,” cried Frank. “And to know that you are unharmed in any way. But it was a close shave for you.”
“‘Deed it was dat, Marse Frank. But dis nigger am powerful hard for to kill, an’ specs dat’s why I lib. But I’se got lots to tell you, Marse Frank.”
“You have?” exclaimed Frank.
“‘Deed I has. P’raps yo’ kin find it valuable fo’ yo’. I’ll jes’ tell yo’ dat when we went up troo dat pass we jes’ cum out pretty quick in a valley. Dat ar’ valley was a scrumptious one, an’ dar was a trail leadin’ down inter it. But afore the Injuns could ride down inter it along cum six white men on hossback an’ a right pert young lady on a hoss, too.
“Sakes alibe I nebber seen so pretty a gal in all mah life. Well, dese yer men, dey seemed like dey was ‘quainted wid der Injuns. Dey jes’ talked as free like wid old Black Buffalo, an’ I jes’ opened my ears an’ listened.
“Dey said dat de gal was a prisoner an’ dey was takin’ her from a cave in de hills to Ranch Five. Dey mentioned de name ob Artemas Cliff. Den dey rode on, sah, an’ mah sakes, jus’ den up from the valley dere came a hull gang ob Ingines and pitched into us. Ob cose yo’ know all de res’.”
Frank Reade junior, listened with the deepest amazement to this exciting story.
“A young girl!” he gasped. “Of course those men were Cliff’s, but where on earth were they going?”
“Dey done said it was to Ranch Five. sah.”
“Ranch Five!” repeated Frank. “That is not very definite. But it must be the headquarters of Cliff and his gang. You didn’t hear them say just where that ranch was located, Pomp?”
“No sah, but I jes’ took note ob de direckshun dey was goin’ an’ it was to de souf-west.”
“Well,” said the young inventor as he turned the Steam Man about, “I cannot imagine who the young girl is or how she fell into the hands of Cliff’s gang. But it is certain that she is in their power and we must save her.”
“Be jabers that’s roight, Misther Frank,” cried Barney, gallantly, “the O’Sheas from Brian Boru down war always known as men av honor an’ defenders av female virtue.”
The Steam Man started on the return across the plateau.
It was Frank Reade junior’s intention to reach the prairie once more and strike out to the southwest, in the hopes of locating the Ranch Five.
The Steam Man ran swiftly to the mouth of the pass which led down to the prairie.
Barney had filled the furnace with fresh coal, and the indicator showed that there was plenty of water in the boiler.
Frank was about to enter the pass when suddenly Pomp sprang up with a wild cry.
The darky sprang to Frank’s side and tried to grab the throttle rein.
Frank was astounded.
“Hold on there, Pomp. What are you trying to do?” he cried.
“Ki dar, Marse Frank. Stop de Man, or fo’ de Lawd we am all done fo’, suah as preachin’!”
“What?” gasped Frank.
“If yo’ don’t believe it, jes look up yonder?”
Pomp pointed one finger upward to the canyon wall above the pass. The sight which rewarded the startled gaze of the young inventor caused him to reverse the throttle and bring the Steam Man to a halt.
Two cowboys were crouching behind an enormous bowlder which they had intended to roll down upon the Steam Man.

CHAPTER Six.
THE FIGHT IN THE PASS.

A more narrow escape could hardly be imagined.
The precipitation of the huge bowlder upon the Steam Man would have destroyed the invention and the lives of those on board.
Just in time Pomp had seen the danger. Another moment and it would have been too late.
“Ki yi, don’ yo’ see now, Marse Frank?” cried Pomp, wildly.
“I see,” replied Frank, in thrilled tones. “My God! that is a narrow shave. We would have been crushed to atoms in another moment as I live.”
“Whurroo! Give the spalpeens a good bit av cold lead!” shouted Barney, rushing to one of the loop-holes with his rifle.
“That’s right!” cried Frank, doing the same.
“Golly, yo’ kin bet we will do dat!” chimed in Pomp.
The two cowboys, seeing that their game was exposed, sprang up with wild shouts of dismay.
As they did so they were exposed to shots from below. The three rifles spoke sharply in chorus.
The two would be destroyers tumbled in a heap. Their fall was followed by a wild chorus of yells from the thickets and bowlder piles above.
A volley of bullets came from there and rattled harmlessly against the steel netting, showing that the cowboys were there located in great force.
How they had chanced to be there at that critical moment our adventurers could only guess.
But Frank mentally concluded that at best they were but a division of Cliff’s gang, and they had happened upon the spot by chance.
Seeing the Steam Man they had seized what seemed to them a fine opportunity to destroy it.
How far short they came of it we have already seen.
A red-hot contest now began between the cowboys and those in the steel wagon.
Of course our three friends had a vast advantage inasmuch as they were protected from the shots of their foes.
Of course the outlaws far outnumbered them, but it was not at all a difficult matter to pick them off occasionally with a rifle bullet.
Volley after volley the cowboys fired at the Steam Man.
When at length it became patent to them that their shots were futile, they made the air ring with yells of baffled rage.
Then they ceased firing and silence ensued. Every cowboy had disappeared seemingly from the canyon wall.
But this did not deceive Frank Reade junior
He knew that this was only a game of the foe and that it would yet be unsafe to try the pass.
“Bejabers, ain’t there some other way av gettin’ out av this place?” cried Barney, giving the plateau a sweeping glance.
But the chain of hills surrounding it did not lend color to such a possibility.
“It don’t look like it,” said Frank, dubiously.
“I jes’ fink dat am de only way out ob dis place,” said Pomp.
“We are in a kind of trap,” declared Frank Reade junior “We were not sharp or we would have avoided this scrape.”
As it was, however, the best they could do was to watch for an opportunity to run the gauntlet through the Pass.
But they had not long to wait for new and thrilling developments. Suddenly Pomp gave a startled cry.
“For massy sakes, Marse Frank, jes’ yo’ look out yonder. Whatebber am dey up to now?”
Over the edge of the plateau there was visible a line of men advancing rapidly toward the Steam Man.
They were deploying right and left as if to surround him. This was certainly their purpose.
“They’re thryin’ to surround us!” cried Barney.
Frank watched the maneuver with deep interest.
He smiled grimly.
This was certainly the purpose of the foe. But the young inventor saw in the move a betterment of his own chances.
“They will not gain what they hope to,” he said, resolutely.
Then he saw that a line of armed men had deployed across the mouth of the Pass to prevent the Steam Man from escaping in that direction.
In Frank’s judgment there were fully two hundred cowboys in the party. This was tremendous odds, but the young inventor did not fear the results.
With a wild cheer the cowboys began to close their line in about the Steam Man.
Frank Reade junior, opened the whistle valve and let out several defiant shrieks.
Then he started the Steam Man in a straight line for the pass.
Pomp and Barney with their repeaters began to fire upon the line of men there.
The repeaters did deadly work.
It was a constant fusillade, and the cowboys dropped like sheep. The error of their plan could now be seen.
In dividing their forces to make the surrounding line, they had weakened themselves. Frank had seen this.
If they had been merely content with holding the pass, it would have been extremely doubtful if the Steam Man could so easily have escaped.
Just as fast as they could work the sixteen-shot Winchesters, Barney and Pomp mowed down the opposing line of cowboys.
The line was thin, and it would have required a very solid corps to have withstood that scathing fire.
Down went the Steam Man toward the Pass with fearful speed.
Heaps of the dead and wounded cowboys lay upon the ground. As the Steam Man reached the Pass, a number of the cowboys tried to grasp the throttle reins and stop the machine.
But the ponderous body of the Man knocked them aside like flies and the wheels of the heavy wagon crushed them into death or insensibility.
The Steam Man literally forged his way through the Pass like a rocket.
Barney and Pomp cheered wildly and fired parting shots at the discomfited foe.
In a few moments the Steam Man ran out upon the prairie.
Frank did not waste time but set his course at once to the Southwest.
He was anxious to locate Ranch Five. This he believed was his first and most important duty.
He was satisfied that nothing was to be gained by remaining in the hills.
He was confident that Cliff had gone to the Ranch Five wherever it was. More than all else, he was powerfully interested in the mysterious young lady as described by Pomp.
He was determined to know who she was, and what Cliff held her in captivity for.
The day was rapidly drawing to a close.
After a short while the hills faded out of sight, and the rolling prairie was visible upon every hand.
Then, as the Steam Man took his long strides across the even plain, Frank suddenly caught sight of a beaten path or trail.
It was plainly a trail much used and bore a trifle east of south. Frank brought the Man to a stop.
“I would like to know where that trail goes to?” he declared. “I am not sure but it is the route to Ranch Five.”
“Golly, Marse Frank!” cried Pomp, craning his neck and looking to the southward a little ways. “What am dat jus’ ober dat roll in de perairy?? Am not dat some berry sumspicious objec’?”
Frank gazed in the direction indicated and saw a tall, black-looking timber seeming to rise out of the roll in the prairie. But he knew that it was beyond.
Frank let the Steam Man go along for a quarter of a mile, and topping the rise a startling sight was revealed.
There, scattered over several acres of land were the blackened ruins and charred timbers of some buildings.
It was easy to see what these buildings had constituted.
A large ranch with stockade, extensive cattle pens and yards, had once stood upon this spot. Frank allowed the Steam Man to pass through the ruins.
Thrilling sights were accorded our adventurers.
There were heaps of ashes, the bones of animals, and several charred skeletons of human beings.
There was every evidence that a fight had occurred at the place, and that the ranch had been burned by either Indians or rival cowboys. As chance had it the sign which, painted in broad letters, had once hung over the yard gate, had not been destroyed, and lay upon the ground near.
Our explorers were enabled to read it plainly.
“Rodman Ranch.”
Barney and Pomp descended from the wagon, and spent some time in exploring the ruins.
“I jes’ fink de Ingines burned up dis yer place,” averred Pomp.
“Begorra, it’s the divil’s own job they med av it,” declared Barney.
But Frank said, with conviction:
“Just as likely it was the work of Cliff and his gang. They are outlaws at best, and if Rodman Ranch was a respectable place, they would be sure to wish it destroyed.”
Barney and Pomp re-entered the wagon now, and once more the quest for Ranch Five was begun.
But night came on, and they had obtained no clew.
A good place was found to camp, and it was decided to wait until morning before pursuing the journey further.
Accordingly everything was made comfortable with this end in view.
No camp fire was made, for this was not deemed necessary.
At night they always slept in the wagon, and Barney and Pomp served turns in watching.
The fires in the furnace were banked, and the Steam Man was given a rest just the same as the others.
One place was always as good as another in camping out thus, save that it was necessary to be near a body of water, so that the boilers could be filled with ease the next morning.
The Steam Man was thus cared for, the fires banked, and everything made shipshape when, after Barney had been on watch not more than two hours, the first of a series of thrilling incidents occurred.
The night was as dark as Erebus, not a star twinkled in the ether, for heavy black clouds overhung all.
Suddenly Barney saw a light glimmering far out on the prairie.
It increased to quite a respectable size and continued to blaze for a long time.
The Celt watched it for a long while. Then his curiosity got the better of him.
“Bejabers, that’s quare,” he muttered. “I’ll make sure there’s something wrong about that now.”
Barney, acting upon impulse, leaned over and grasped Frank’s shoulder. The young inventor awoke with a start.

CHAPTER Seven.
THE VIGILANTS.

“W-what’s the matter?” gasped Frank, sleepily arousing himself.
“Whist now, Misther Frank! There’s a quare loight out yonder on the perairy, an’ I thought I’d jist call yure attintion to the same, sor.?”
“A light?” muttered Frank, now fully awake.
He got upon his feet, and rubbing his eyes, stared at the distant blaze.
“That is odd,” he muttered. “It will do to investigate that.”
“Sure, it may be a camp fire,” ventured Barney.
“If so, then we must find out who the campers are,” declared Frank.
It was but an instant’s work to arouse Pomp.
Then the fires in the furnace were started, a line of hose was run to a creek near, and the boiler was filled.
In an incredible short space of time steam was got up, and the Steam Man moved ahead.
Frank held the throttle reins and directed the Steam Man’s course toward the distant camp fire.
For such it was, as became evident as they drew near.
At first no movement was made by the camping party, and Frank fancied that they had nobody on guard.
But as the Steam Man with clanking tread came within one hundred yards of the camp, a wild shout went up and a gun was discharged at the Steam Man.
Frank was now able to see the circle of the camp as revealed by the firelight.
Men had been rolled in blankets upon the ground to the number of a score.
But these were now upon their feet. Just beyond it could be seen that mustangs were corralled.
Frank Reade junior, had no way of knowing whether the campers were friends or foes.
He had fancied them a part of Cliff’s cowboys. Still there was a possibility they were not.
At any rate he could not treat them as foes until he learned positively that they were such.
So he brought the Steam Man to a stop just fifty yards from the camp.
The scene in the camp now was a ludicrous one.
The men were filled with mingled fear, amazement and stupefaction at the sight of the Steam Man.
The fiery eyes and nostrils and mammoth proportions of the man in the darkness made him look like a monster from the infernal regions.
The startled cries of the campers came to the amused hearing of those in the wagon.
“Great Jericho! What d’yer call that thing?”
“It’s the devil hisself!”
“He’s arter us!”
“That last drink at ther cross trails was too much for us boys. We’ve got ‘em bad.”
“I reckon we’d better fix up a prayer. Ther old gentleman has cum to git us.”
Barney and Pomp exploded with laughter. It was very funny.
But as soon as the pandemonium had for a moment subsided, Frank Reade junior hastened to shout:
“We’re human beings the same as you. Have no fear. Who are you?”
The words had an astounding effect upon the campers. After a moment of stupefied silence the answer came back.
“Who the dickens are you?”
“I am Frank Reade junior, and this is my new invention, the Steam Man,” replied Frank. “You have nothing to fear.”
The campers now saw the three men in the wagon as Barney turned on the light of the calcium and illuminated the vicinity.
At once their fear fled and a comprehension of all dawned upon them.
“A steam Man, by thunder, and built all of iron!”
“Wall, that beats all!”
“What’ll come next?”
“That beats the iron hoss all holler!”
The campers now came thronging about the wagon. As the number was limited, Frank did not feel particularly uneasy, though he held the throttle ready and Barney and Pomp had their repeaters at hand.
But the fears of our three adventurers were quickly allayed.
One of the men, a tall, powerful framed man, came forward, and said:
“Wall, cap’en, we’re glad to meet you an’ yer Steam Man. My name is Sim Harmon, an’ I’m captain of this band, who are all Vigilants from Poker Gulch. We’re out on the trail of a gang of ruffians.”
“Vigilants!” cried Frank Reade junior, with joy. “Then you are not members of the Artemas Cliff gang?”
“Artemas Cliff!” cried Harmon. “He is the chap we want. If we can lay hands on him we’ll stretch his neck, you bet. D’yer know whar we kin find him?”
“I am on his trail myself.”
“The deuce ye are?”
“It’s the truth.”
“What for?”
Frank opened the door of the wagon, and descending shook hands with the Vigilant captain.
He told him explicitly of the mysterious murder of which Jim Travers had been adjudged guilty, but which it was believed was the work of Cliff.
Harmon listened with interest.
“So that’s another game of ther cuss!” he cried. “Wall, that’s a bad one, but I reckon we’ve a wuss count agin him, stranger.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Frank.
“Did ye cum across ther ruins of a ranch out hyar on ther perairy some miles?”
“I did.”
“Wall, that was onct Rodman Ranch, an’ Ralph Rodman was one of the best men in this part of ther West. But that ornery cuss Cliff fell in love with pretty Bessie Rodman, his darter, an’ when Ralph denied him the right to come a-courtin’ her, ther scoundrel jest brought down a gang of hoodlums an’ burned down the ranch, toted off ther gal, an’ killed all ther rest about ther place.”
“Horrible!” exclaimed Frank. “But you have not told me of Rodman. What became of him?”
“Wall, that illustrates ther villainy of ther cuss. Just previous to burnin’ ther ranch, two men, Sid Bowen an’ Jem Ducey, hired by Cliff, enticed Ralph to New York by bringin’ him a bogus message from a brother, who was represented as bein’ in great distress. That’s the last seen of Rodman. What they did with him we don’t know. But I’ve heard that Bowen an’ Ducey have returned, an’ Rodman didn’t cum with ‘em. It’s my belief he’s been done away with, an’ it’s all a game of Cliff’s to get the gal Bessie into his possession.”
A great cry broke from the lips of Frank Reade junior
This story of Harmon’s he had listened to eagerly, and, as it was unfolded, bit by bit, a clear, concise comprehension of all now came to him.
He saw the hideous details, the cold, scheming construction of a deep and awful plot, involving murder and abduction and terrible wrong.
“Great heavens!” he gasped, wiping cold perspiration from his brow. “Your story throws a great light upon the matter which I have in hand, Mister Harmon.”
“The deuce you say!” gasped the captain of the Vigilantes.
“It is the truth,” cried Frank. “I think I can tell you the true fate of Ralph Rodman, and you will agree that Cliff is the projector of one of the most awful double