“Not a bit of use in our quarreling,” hiccoughed Mudd, “but I won’t set you free yet. Say, Dick Darrell, here’s the--here’s the--hic--the whole business in a clam shell. Clara’s father robbed your father of the big Gold Queen mine up in the Black Hills and hired a man to do your father up and he did.” “Do you know this,” cried Dick. “You are pretty drunk, Mudd; do you feel sure you are speaking the truth?” “Sure!” cried Mudd. “Why, of course, I’m sure! Hain’t I the--well, never mind. I was paid $5,000 to do you up all right, though, and Tom Eglinton is the man who paid the plunks. Burn him! He’s no good. That Gold Queen mine belongs to you, young feller, and it’s worth more’n a million, by Jove! Sign that air paper ’bout the hundred thousand dollars and I’ll give you evidence against Tom Eglinton what will hold good in any court--oh, great snakes, what’s this?” Dick was scarcely listening now--he was staring up at the rocks above Martin Mudd’s head. Over the edge of the rocks a monstrous head had just been thrust--it was the head of a Plesiosaurus--it dropped down and knocked off the battered plug. Mudd looked up and sprang to his feet with a frightened yell. “Got ’em again!” he bellowed loud enough to rival old P. D. CHAPTER XIX. DICK IMPROVES HIS OPPORTUNITIES. Shouting for help from the hut, Martin Mudd ran toward it and disappeared inside. But Dick was in no situation to defend himself from the monster, unfortunately. All he could do was to lie there and look, but, truth told, he was not much scared and rather anticipated what happened next. There was something wrong in the make-up of old P. D.’s head this time. In the first place the big, staring eyes were missing and in their stead were simply two empty sockets. If this, indeed, was a living Plesiosaurus it was a blind one, and, moreover, the scaly skin had a dried up, leathery appearance and the head fell down over the rocks after Martin Mudd ran away and just hung there limply. “A fake! A dead one!” flashed over Dick, and he added to himself: “This is some of Doctor Dan’s work.” And so it was. As Martin Mudd fled from the monster Doctor Dan came crawling out from behind the rocks, carrying a long stick in his hand. “Hush, boy! Don’t say a word!” he whispered. “I’ll have you free in just one minute. Ha! Ha! Ha! How he did run!” The Indian was shaking all over with suppressed laughter, as he cut the cords which held Dick a prisoner. “Good for you, doctor!” cried Dick, springing up. “What have you been doing; killing old P. D.?” “Not at all. That one is dead and it is only a fragment,” replied the Indian. He seized the dangling head and pulled and two or three yards of neck came whipping over the rocks and that was all there was to old P. D. It was all dried up and looked decidedly aged.