“But you still persist in thinking that I may turn out to be a millionaire. No, Charley, I’m just nobody. My father was a mining engineer and poor as a church mouse. He used to operate out in this section, but he never made much more than a living. When I was about ten years old he was killed in a fight in Cheyenne and my mother died soon afterward. She always claimed that father owned mining lands out West, but she had no papers to prove it, so I guess there was nothing in it after all.” “Now there you are!” cried Charley. “Who knows but what Mudd might have been acquainted with your father?” “Might be so, of course, but, come. We have gone too far away from the hut. Let’s get back. We mustn’t do it again.” “Let’s go ahead to the Boiling Pot; it’s only a few steps further. Hark! Don’t you hear? It has got down to business again.” The surging of the waters over at the pot could be distinctly heard as the boys drew nearer and when they reached the point on the shore opposite to it the noise seemed louder than when they had heard it before. Charley bent over the edge of the bank watching the movement of the water intently. Just then the same familiar bellow was heard out on the lake and the Plesiosaurus rose to the surface at a considerable distance from shore. “By gracious, old P. D. again!” shouted Charley. Dick turned to look, when all at once there was a splash and Charley went headlong into the lake, pushed by a man who had stolen noiselessly up behind them, while Dick was seized by two others and swung violently around. “Throw him after the other one!” cried one of the men. “Let ’em both go down into the pot!” CHAPTER XVIII. OLD P. D. LOOKS DOWN OVER THE ROCKS. Charley was floundering around in the whirl of waters, struggling for dear life to prevent being dragged down into the boiling pot. Dick was engaged in a struggle of another sort. He was making it decidedly hot for the men who had tackled him, kicking and turning and twisting. They tried hard to throw him over the edge of the bank and might have succeeded if another man had not come running out of the mouth of the canyon, shouting: “No, no! Don’t pitch him in! Let the other go to thunder, but I want this one, as I told you before.” It was Tony. As Dick recognized him he was suddenly stretched upon the ground by a stunning blow between the eyes that one of his captors found a chance to get in. It nearly knocked the breath out of his body and his wits went with it for the moment. When he came to himself again Tony had him by the collar and was lifting him up, while three tough-looking specimens stood around ready to help. The Boiling Pot had stopped boiling now and Charley was nowhere to be seen. “Say, Dick Darrell, brace up! Pull yourself together!” cried Tony. “Where’s Mudd and the gal?” “Find out,” panted Dick. “I’m not telling. What have you done with my friend?”