It was a dangerous route for Dean. He knew the driver incidentally, recognized several of the passengers, and feared that if he attempted also to ride on the stage he might be seen and recognized. In no other way, however, could he keep the men in sight, as Marcus had told him to do. “I’ll risk it!” he said finally. “My disguise must be a good one. The stage agent knows me well. I’ll go and buy a ticket to the first station. If he recognizes me, I won’t venture on the coach. If he don’t I’ll go.” “Ticket to Blue Pond.” “Twenty cents.” The agent never noticed Dean, except as a stranger. Dean went to the coach and boldly clambered on top. He saw Daley glance out at him carelessly. He did not evince any interest in him, and if he had ever seen him before, did not realize it at that moment. “All aboard!” sang out the driver. “Hold on, Jerry.” Dean thrilled vaguely. From the stage office at that moment a boy, dressed in the height of fashion, ran out. It was Abner Littleton, son of the man who owned the stagecoach line. He knew Dean well, and did not like him over-well, either. But, to Dean’s relief, he only glanced at him and then sat down beside the driver. The coach started on its journey. “Where will this adventure end, I wonder?” mused the bewildered and anxious Dean. CHAPTER XXIII. AT MILLVILLE AGAIN. The stagecoach left Springfield behind, and reached the first outlying station without incident. At Blue Pond, Daley and his companions did not leave the coach, and Dean, in order to continue his journey, was compelled to pay more money. He managed to catch a glimpse of the tickets that the driver had collected, and he saw that three of them were marked for Millville. The discovery worried him. The men were going to his former home. Their plot led them to the most dangerous place for Dean that the latter could possibly venture to. “I wonder who they are going to rob? I wonder if I dare go to Millville?” mused the troubled Dean. “Abner Littleton did not recognize me, though, and we’ll reach the town after dark.” It took all the money that Marcus had given Dean to pay the fare of the latter the remainder of the journey. At one place, five miles from Blue Pond, Dean had a great shock. It was an academy town, and as the stage passed the school, four boys and the old steward of the place glanced up at him. They all knew Dean Mercer, but they did not recognize him, although one of them stared at Dean, as if puzzled over some familiar token in his appearance. “Say, Abner?” Dean heard the driver ask as the journey was resumed, “Millville is pretty dead nowadays, eh?” Dean pricked up his ears, hoping that the conversation might afford some information about friends he longed to hear about. It did. “Yes,” drawled young Littleton, “since Tim Downey went away there’s no rows, and since Rodney Darringford cut out, life ain’t worth living.” “Ha! ha! Why not?”