CHAPTER IV

“WE’LL STOP IT!”

“I can’t understand it,” said Ned, as they swung along in the borrowed car, Jerry driving.

“Nor I,” added Bob. “What are our fathers doing around here now, when they were in such a hurry to be on their way that they couldn’t wait at Haredon when we were an hour or so late?”

The distance from Boxwood Hall to the town of Fordham, the nearest railroad station to the institution, was about two miles, and if speed laws were violated by the boys no one took them to task for it.

Dusk was just settling when they reached the hotel, and the clerk and those in the lobby looked up in surprise as the students rushed across the tiled floor toward the desk.

“Some of that hazing business,” ventured a drummer, as he got out of the way of the rush.

The clerk evidently thought the same thing, and was about to call for the hotel detective and a porter or two (for sometimes the Boxwood lads went in for rather strenuous times), when Ned, noting the looks cast toward them and realizing that their actions were being misconstrued, called out to the clerk before they reached the desk:

“What room is Mr. Slade in?”

“And Mr. Baker, too?” added Bob.

“Oh!” There was distinct relief in the clerk’s voice. “Are you the boys the gentlemen are expecting? Well, you’re to go right up. Front!” he called, and struck a bell which brought a diminutive boy, with two rows of brass buttons down his jacket front, up to the desk on a slide.

“Show these gentlemen up to Number Nineteen,” said the clerk, with a wave of his hand.

“Dis way!” drawled the hotel Mercury, and the three boys followed.

Ned and Bob were, naturally, worried about the physical condition of their fathers, and Jerry was anxious to know what it all meant--Mr. Slade and Mr. Baker coming back unexpectedly from their important business trip to visit their sons at Boxwood Hall.

“Why wouldn’t a letter or a telegram have answered?” Jerry wondered, and Bob and Ned would have wondered also only they were worried lest the accident might have been more serious than the professor had admitted.

A moment later Bob and Ned, with Jerry in the background, stood before the door indicated to them by the bell boy.

“Come in!” called a voice as Ned knocked, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized his father’s tones, their usual vigor indicating that the injuries could not be very serious.

The boys entered to behold Mr. Slade propped up in an easy chair, one leg stretched out in front of him on a pile of cushions placed in another chair, while wound around his head were white bandages.

Mr. Baker sat in another chair, but his legs seemed intact. One arm was in a sling, however, and his face was adorned, or unadorned, if you please, with strips of adhesive plaster.

“Oh, Dad! For the love of football! what have you been doing?” asked Ned, as he advanced toward Mr. Slade with outstretched hand.

“Easy, Son, easy!” cautioned his father. “That leg’s badly bruised. Don’t touch it or inflict any new injury, for I’ll almost have it amputated before I let that doctor touch it again. But sit down, boys, and we’ll talk business.”

“How are you, Dad?” asked Bob.

“All right, Son. Only I’ll have to give you my left hand. My right is cut and scratched, but, fortunately, no bones broken. So you got the professor’s message all right, I see.”

“Yes, we got it--after a fashion,” said Jerry, grimly. “He began with a lizard, worked up to the broken wheel, told about the roll down hill, and finally admitted that you were hurt.”

“He told you by easy stages then,” remarked Mr. Slade. “We asked him not to alarm you.”

“He didn’t,” affirmed Bob. “But what’s it all about?”

“Yes, what?” chimed in Ned. “We can’t, for the life of us, guess. End the suspense, Dad!”

“I lost an important letter, somewhere between the hotel in Haredon, where we stopped to wait for you boys, and Leighton, where I had to make a business call,” explained Mr. Slade. “That is, I missed the letter when I got there.

“I thought possibly I might have left it in the room Mr. Baker and I engaged for a short time at the Haredon hotel, so I ’phoned the clerk and asked him to take a look. He did, he said, but there was no trace of the letter anywhere about the place.

“Then I concluded I might have lost it somewhere along the road, and, too, I had an idea that clerk didn’t make any too careful a search. So Mr. Baker and I decided to come back here, or, rather go back to Haredon. And as we were losing time, anyhow, we concluded we might as well lose more and stop off to see you. We were sorry we missed you, but as things were then we didn’t think we could wait.

“So we started back, hiring a machine to travel in, and--well, I guess the professor told you what happened. It was an unfortunate accident, but it might easily have been worse. Neither of us had any bones broken, though I don’t know but what a bruised leg, like mine, pains almost as much as a broken one. Now you have the whole explanation, boys, as to why we are here. We sent for you, thinking you would be able to help us. I want you, Ned, to go to that hotel and see if you can find the letter.

“It contained some important information that I must act on at once, and I need it to refer to. If you can find it----”

Ned interrupted his father by stepping forward with the missive he had picked up in the hotel lobby.

With surprise showing on his face, Mr. Slade unfolded the missive, and as he realized what it was he cried:

“Where in the world did you get it? Is this a case of mind reading, and did you know what I was coming back for, and go after the letter?”

“Nothing as occult as that,” laughingly answered Ned. “We simply picked it up where you must have dropped it as you paid your bill at the Haredon hotel desk.”

“That’s right!” admitted Mr. Slade. “I did pull out my wallet there to get money to settle for our room and meal. The letter must have come out with it. I’m obliged to you, Ned. This is very important--how important you can hardly guess.”

“I can in part, Dad, for I took the liberty of reading the letter. I didn’t realize what it was at first.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I should have told you, anyhow.”

“But what about a doctor?” Ned asked. “The professor said you wanted us to get one for you, and that’s why we came on with such a rush.”

“Oh, that was my fault,” explained Mr. Baker. “When we got clear of the machine, and were being brought on here by a passing motorist, I suggested that you boys had better be sent for and asked to get us a physician, as you would probably know best which medical man would suit your father, Ned, and myself. But, as it happened, we were both bleeding pretty freely, though not seriously, and the clerk here didn’t want us to wait about having any special physician. He sent for Dr. Mitchell, who did very well by us, I think.”

“The very one we would have picked out!” cried Ned. “He’s considered the best in town.”

“Glad to know we didn’t make any mistake,” said Mr. Slade. “Well, getting back this letter simplifies matters. There’s no need for you to make that trip to Haredon, Ned. Though you might, if you will, telephone the hotel clerk there and tell him I have the paper I was looking for.”

“I will, Dad. Sorry you’re so battered up.”

“Oh, well, it might be worse. It’s going to interfere with my plans, though, for no doubt I’ll be laid up here a few days. I’m getting stiff now, and I know I can’t travel to-morrow.”

“Did you count on going on out to your ranch, Dad, and trying to catch those cattle rustlers yourself?” asked Ned, eagerly.

“Well, I don’t know that I was exactly planning to go myself,” answered Mr. Slade, slowly. “But something has to be done, and soon, too. I didn’t tell you,” he went on, “but I happened to miss this letter when I looked for it after I received a telegram from Watson on my arrival in Leighton.”

“You mean he telegraphed you after he wrote this letter?” Ned asked.

“Yes, a little while ago. His wire was filed this morning, and was to the effect that another choice bunch of my steers was run off last night.”

“Whew!” whistled Ned. “That’s surely bad.”

“It certainly is, Son! And it’s got to stop!”

“How did Watson know where to find you?” asked Ned of his father.

“He didn’t. He telegraphed me at my office, and as they knew my route they sent on the message.”

“I see. But what are you going to do?” and Ned’s voice had in it an eager note.

“Well, that’s one of the reasons we came on to Boxwood,” said Mr. Baker. “Watson suggested, in his wire, that I send out some New York or Boston detective to the ranch to see what he could do. The cowboys, though they’re all right at their own business, don’t seem to be much of a success as sleuths. I happen to know one or two New York private detectives, one of whom did some work for me a few years ago. So I’ve decided to engage him, and what I want you to do, Ned, is to go on to New York, explain matters to him, and hire him. I’d do it myself only I’m laid up, as you see, and Mr. Baker has other matters to engage him. I think you can attend to the detective end of the business as well as I. So, if you can arrange to make the trip, I’ll give you more details which you can pass on to Peck. That’s the detective’s name--Henry Peck.”

“Well, Dad,” returned Ned, slowly, “I suppose I _could_ go to New York all right, but I don’t _want_ to--to be frank with you.”

Ned’s chums looked curiously at him. It was not at all like their friend to object to his father’s wishes.

“You don’t want to go?” repeated Mr. Slade. “Well, Ned, of course I don’t want to take you away from your studies, but----”

“Oh, it isn’t a question of studies, Dad. I’m all through, as far as they are concerned. This is the last week. But I think you don’t need any New York detective.”

“Why not?” demanded Mr. Slade. “Don’t you suppose I want the thefts of my cattle stopped?”

“Sure you do,” and Ned smiled and winked at his chums, who themselves did not quite see his drift.

“Well, then get ready to go to New York and engage that detective,” and Mr. Slade spoke a bit sharply, for his leg pained him.

“Oh, Dad!” cried Ned, his eyes shining as he hurriedly arose from his chair. “Let the sleuth go! As for the stealing of your cattle, _we’ll_ stop it!”

“Who’ll stop it?” repeated Mr. Slade, as if in a daze.

“We’ll stop it, Dad! We were just wondering where we’d spend our summer vacation and now we know. It will be out on your Square Z ranch solving the mystery of the cattle thieves among the cowboys! Hurrah, fellows! Off for the West once again!”