The first thing Ralph did on his arrival at Rockton after that momentous round trip to and from Hammerfest, was to look up Bob Adair. He knew where to find the chief detective now; or, at least, who to ask about him without disturbing Supervisor Hopkins. He reached the detective at last. Of course Mr. Adair had heard all about the dynamiting of the trestle pillar at Devil’s Den. He had sent a man to make a special report on the terrible affair. But he had not heard from Dallas and he was worried. “The boy’s in trouble. That is what is the matter. What you tell me, Ralph, bears out my suspicion.” “I bet he set up that scarecrow and fired it to stop the Flyer,” the engineer of that fast train observed. “Granted. He must have been watching in that vicinity. But the trestle wreckers were too smart for him. The charge was exploded and the trestle wrecked. He had not time to go to the nearest telegraph station, so he set the fire instead. But what became of him then?” “I fear something bad has happened to him,” was the answer. “Great Scott! something is always happening to Zeph,” observed Mr. Adair. “I know. But it must have been something serious for him to discard his cap and vest and even his outer shirt. For I believe all those things hung on the bushes up there on the crag belonged to Zeph.” “Perhaps he hung them there before the pillar was blown out.” “But what for? I don’t get it at all,” cried Ralph. “Queer as Zeph is, he isn’t crazy. Not at all! He had a reason for making signals to somebody, and that shirt et cetera are signals.” “See to-morrow when you go by if they are still there,” suggested Mr. Adair. “Meanwhile I will have my men beat the bushes for him around there. I will have that farmer you speak of interviewed.” “But if anything bad has really happened to Zeph, it will be too late,” sighed Ralph as he turned away and started homeward. He could not take Mr. Adair’s easy view of the mystery. Ralph had a fondness for Zeph. He could not forget the many times the odd fellow had helped him or been associated with him in dangerous adventure. And now, it seemed to Ralph, Zeph Dallas must himself need help or he would not have shed his garments on the side of that crag overhanging the Devil’s Den. Ralph greatly desired to look into the matter. Yet, he could not do that. The general manager had put him on his honor when he gave him the Midnight Flyer run. Ralph could not desert that duty even to aid a friend. He heard about another person in trouble when he arrived at home. His mother was full of it. “Did you hear that Mrs. Hopkins was very ill, Ralph?” the widow asked, almost at once when he entered the cottage. “I’d be ill if I were that man’s relative,” grumbled the young engineer. “What is the matter with her?”