“It was not a case of happening to find you,” said Dick. “I have been to the Den before. I had a fight on the tree-bridge once. I followed you to-night when I saw you striking out in that direction. You aroused my curiosity. But I was not familiar enough with the path through that jungle to keep very near you. So I was not on hand when you were tapped on the head, but I knew something had happened to you when those fellows rushed past my place of hiding. I crossed the bridge and stumbled over you. Then I discovered the fire, which was just starting. I shook some life into you, got you out and brought you here.” Arlington was gently drying his hair with a towel. He made a despairing gesture and dropped on a chair. “It’s fate!” he muttered. “I might have been burned to death in the woods but for you! Twice you have saved me from fire! It’s no use, I’ve got to leave Fardale!” “Why?” “I can’t stay here as your frie——” Chester stopped himself abruptly, remembering the change of policy he had decided upon. A few more words would ruin everything. Could he play the part now? Could he continue to pretend to be friendly toward Dick while really plotting to injure him? That was the plan he had decided upon, but fate seemed determined to baffle him, to make sport of him. Then he thought of the fellows who, a short time before, had pretended to be his friends. They had struck him down in the woods and left him to be consumed by the flames. Were these the kind of friends he had made since coming to Fardale? And Dick Merriwell had friends who would fight for him, suffer for him, sacrifice anything for him. Chester was doubly disgusted. “I’m going away,” he declared. “Merriwell, I’ got to do it!” “I don’t see why.” “I do! I can’t tell you. But one thing I am going to do before I go: I’m going to get even with those whelps who turned on me to-night!” “You know them all?” “Every one.” Chester tied a handkerchief about his head. His manner was rather queer, and he kept glancing at Dick out of the corners of his eyes. “There is no more I can do?” said Dick, rising. “No; you have done too much!” “Too much?” “Yes. Frankly, Merriwell, I’d rather any one else in the world should have given me this last lift.” Dick smiled. He realized that he had been able to pour hot coals on Arlington’s head, and it gave him a feeling of satisfaction. “Too bad you feel that way about it!” he said, retreating to the door. “Good night,” said Arlington shortly, and Dick went out. “A thousand devils!” grated Arlington, when he was alone. “How am I going to keep it up? I hate him still, but he has made it almost impossible for me to again lift my hand against him. Yes, I believe I shall have to get out of Fardale. Mother wanted me to go, and I would not; but now it is different.” CHAPTER XXII—ANOTHER VICTORY FOR FARDALE