"So I am, so I am," repeated the elder man, but his voice sounded far away and from long experience the heir to his property knew that he was thinking deeply. While the hands of the old-fashioned clock, that stood in one corner of the study, ticked off a quarter of an hour, the two sat in silence. "Have you heard anything about these men being mine owners on their way to New York to raise capital?" inquired his father at last. "Yes. They've told all 'round that they struck it rich in Colorado." "They flashed a big roll of bills?" "So I hear." "Then that's why they're disguised," announced the banker with characteristic positiveness. "You mark my words, Forman, if these men have any mines, they obtained them by fraud or perhaps by even killing the rightful owners. "By bringing them to book, we'll get revenge for their insults to our family." "How?" inquired the boy, his eyes big with excitement at the prospect of proving the strangers criminals. But his father was too busy writing to answer him and when he finished, he exclaimed: "Take this message to the telegraph office and have it rushed. Stay there till you see the operator send it, then come back to me and I'll tell you my plan, for I'm going to use you as the decoy to lure our birds to their destruction." Afire with curiosity, nevertheless young Rozier knew his father too well to linger and hurried to the telegraph office. Entering the room, he unfolded the message to read it before giving it to the sender and as his eyes ran through the lines, he quivered with amazement. "Monegaw Springs, Mo. Pinkerton Detective Agency, Kansas City, Mo. Send six of your best men to me here immediately. Wire train they leave on. Forman A Rozier." Obedient to his orders, the young aristocrat waited till the portentous despatch had been sent, then hurried to his home, eager to learn the details of the part he was to play. Finding his father at supper upon his return, the youth was forced to curb his curiosity as best he might till the meal, which was served with pomp and ceremony ill-befitting the country village in which they were, was at an end. Sally, her face and eyes showing traces of weeping, though whether from the scolding of her mother or the refusal of "Mr. Howard" to heed her appeal only she could tell, ate in silence, answering the few remarks addressed to her in monosyllables. Usually the life of elaborate meals, with her caustic comments on her companions and merry prattle, her reticence cast a gloom over the others and they finished the repast as soon as possible. "Sally is not to go to the hop tonight," declared the banker to his wife as he rose from the table. "If anyone calls to see me, I am engaged, but be sure they leave their names. Come, Forman." And he led the way to his study, locking the doors and stuffing the key holes with paper. Surprised at the unusual precautions, the boy looked at his father.