"I don't care--his manner doesn't suit me at all. He's a sneak, if ever there was one." The boys walked on for a distance of several blocks, and then coming to a nice-looking restaurant went in for dinner. While they were eating Dick happened to glance out of the show window of the place and gave a low cry. "What is it, Dick?" asked Tom. "I thought as much. That man is watching us." Sam and Tom gave a look, but by this time Henry Bradner had disappeared from view. "You are sure that you saw him, Dick?" asked Sam. "I am positive. Boys, do you know what I think? I think he is a sharper, and imagines he has three green country boys with money to deal with." "Well, if he thinks that he is much mistaken," was Tom's comment. "In the first place we are not so very green, and in the second our cash account is rather limited." "We spoke about a mine, and he may imagine that we carry several thousands of dollars with us." "If he's a sharper why did he try to find Wumble for us?" asked Sam. This was a poser and Dick did not pretend to answer it. The dinner finished, they walked forth once more and down into the heart of the city. They soon found what looked to be a fairly good hotel, and engaged a large room with two beds for the night. "Now we can take a look around," said Tom. The best part of the afternoon was spent in sight-seeing, and the boys visited Lincoln Park, Jackson Park, the museum, menagerie, Masonic Temple, and numerous other points of interest. They were returning to the hotel at which they had registered for the night when suddenly Tom caught his brothers by the arm. "Well, I never!" he gasped. "What do you think of that?" They saw he was gazing across the way, and looking in the direction saw an elegant hotel, over the broad doorway of which was stretched the sign: WESTERN PALACE GEORGE LAVELLE, Proprietor. Established 1871. "By jinks! That Bradner deceived us!" gasped Dick. "This must be the hotel father mentioned." "But what about Jack Wumble?" began Sam. "He was registered at the other place." "Did you see the register?" demanded Dick. "No, but--" "We'll soon learn the truth," went on the elder Rover. "Come on." And he made his way through the mass of moving wagons and trucks to the opposite side of the thoroughfare. All entered the broad hallway together. The floor was of marble, and big mirrors lined every wall. Certainly the place was in sharp contrast to that known as the "Palace of the West." Walking up to the office counter Dick inspected the register. On the third page from the last written upon he found the entry: "Jack Wumble, Denver; Room 144." "There, what do you think of that?" he demanded, as he showed his brothers the entry. Both were dumfounded, and for the moment knew not what to say. Dick turned to one of the clerks. "Is Mr. Jack Wumble in?" he asked. The clerk looked at the row of keys behind him. "No, sir; he's out." "Have you any idea when he will be back?"