Dave Porter and His Double: or, The Disapperarance of the Basswood Fortune

“Good!”

“I haven’t got any miniatures,” growled the former moving-picture actor.

His father and Brown looked decidedly uncomfortable. Once the former army officer made a motion as if to draw his own weapon, but Dunston Porter detected the movement and instantly ordered all of the party to throw up their hands.

“Oh, Dave! are you sure he has those pictures?” queried Ben, and his face showed his anxiety.

“I think so, Ben. However, we’ll find out as soon as we have made them prisoners.”

“That’s the talk!” put in Roger. He turned to Dave’s uncle. “Can’t you bind them or something, so that they can’t get away?”

“We’ll disarm them,” announced Frank Andrews. “Jarvey and Brown are wanted for that raid on old man Tolman’s ranch and for using that bomb on the bridge. We can prove through Pankhurst that they were with the party.”

“That man is Ward Porton’s father,” explained Dave to his uncle and Ben, while the evil-doers were being searched and disarmed one after another.

“Ward Porton’s father, eh? Well, they seem to be two of a kind,” answered Ben.

With their weapons taken from them, the prisoners could do nothing but submit. They were questioned, but all refused to tell anything about what they had done or intended to do.

“You’ll never get anything out of me, and you’ll never get those miniatures back,” growled Ward Porton, as he gazed sourly at Ben and at Dave.

“We’ll see about that, Porton,” answered our hero. And then he requested his uncle and Frank Andrews to keep an eye on the prisoners while he, Roger and Ben set out for the knoll some distance away from the creek.

“Ward Porton said he had hidden some cases in a cache between some rocks on that knoll,” explained our hero. “By cases I think he meant those containing the miniatures.”

“Oh, I hope he did!” returned Ben, wistfully. “To get those miniatures back means so much to my folks!”

CHAPTER XXX

THE FORTUNE RECOVERED–CONCLUSION

As Dave, Roger, and Ben tramped through the tall grass to where was located a knoll of considerable size, the son of the Crumville real estate dealer related how he and Dunston Porter had arrived in the construction camp and how they had gotten Frank Andrews to show them in what direction our hero and the senator’s son had gone.

“We knew you were after Porton, and we hoped to catch sight of that rascal,” went on Ben, “but we didn’t dream that we were going to capture Ward and also those two men who are wanted for that raid on the Tolman ranch. And to think that one of the men is Ward’s father! He certainly must be a bad egg!”

“He is, Ben,” answered Dave. “And Ward is a chip of the old block.”

The chums were soon ascending the knoll, containing many rocks between which were dense clumps of chaparral. Here they had to advance with care so as not to turn an ankle or get their clothing torn.

Dave had hoped that the search for the missing cases would be an easy one, but in that he was disappointed. The three chums walked all around the knoll several times without getting anything in the way of a clue as to where Porton’s cache was located.

“It’s a shame!” burst out Roger at length. “If we could only–” He looked quickly at Dave. “What do you see?”

Our hero did not reply. Instead he hurried forward several feet, and then gave a low cry.

“Porton has been here!” he exclaimed, and held up a half-burned cigarette.

It was not much of a clue, but it was something; and working on this all three of the youths searched the vicinity diligently. They soon came upon a somewhat flat rock, and all seized hold of this to cast it to one side.

“Hurrah!” came simultaneously from Dave and Roger, as they saw a large opening under where the stone had been placed.

Ben said nothing, but plunged his hand into the opening, to draw from it an instant later one of the cases that had contained the Enos miniatures. The other cases quickly followed.

“Are the miniatures in them?” questioned the senator’s son.

“That’s what I’m going to find out,” answered Ben.

The cases were fastened by several catches, but these were quickly unfastened and the lids thrown open.

“Good! Good!” exclaimed Ben, and his face showed his intense satisfaction.

There before the eyes of the youths were nearly all of the wonderful collection of miniatures which Mr. Basswood had inherited. Only two were missing–those which the thieves had sold in New York.

“Oh, this is simply grand!” cried Roger, enthusiastically.

“That’s what it is,” added Dave, and then went on quickly: “We’ll have to get these to some safe place and then make sure that they’ll never be stolen again.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Dave. I won’t let them out of my sight until they are safe and sound,” declared the real estate dealer’s son.

Locking up the cases once more, the three youths carried them off the knoll and through the chaparral to where they had left Dunston Porter and the others. Of course, Dave’s uncle was much gratified to learn that the miniatures had been recovered, and Frank Andrews was also pleased. Jarvey Porton looked downcast, and his son showed his deep disgust.

“I was a fool not to take them over into Mexico,” remarked the former moving-picture actor.

“Well, I told you that was what you should have done,” retorted his father. And then he added in a low tone: “We might have purchased our freedom with those miniatures.”

While Dunston Porter and Frank Andrews looked after the prisoners to see that they did not get away, Dave and his chums took care of the cases containing the precious miniatures, and thus the whole party made its way to the engineering and construction camp. There the Portons and Packard Brown were handcuffed, and word was sent to the authorities to take charge of them.

“And now I’ve got to send word home about this good news!” cried Ben, and lost no time in getting off a long telegram to his folks, and asking them to inform Dave’s father and the Wadsworths by telephone of the success of the trip to Texas.

“That message ought to do your father more good than a dose of medicine,” remarked Dave.

“It will, Dave,” answered Ben, his face beaming. “I know father will recover now that he has nothing more to worry about.” Ben was right. The recovery of the fortune in miniatures did much toward restoring the real estate dealer to his former good health.

In the camp it was remarked by a number of men how much Ward Porton resembled Dave. But no one at that time dreamed that this resemblance was shortly to come to an end. Yet such was a fact. When being transferred from Texas to the State in which his crimes had been committed, Ward Porton attempted to make his escape by leaping from a rapidly moving railroad train. As a consequence he broke not only both of his legs, but also his nose, and cut his right cheek most frightfully. As a result, when he was retaken he had to remain in the hospital for a long time, and when he came out his face was much disfigured and he walked with a decided limp.

“It’s too bad, but he brought it on himself,” was Dave’s comment, when he heard of this.

“It’s a good thing in one respect,” was Roger’s reply. “With his nose broken and his cheek disfigured and with such a limp, no one will ever take Ward Porton for you again.”

It may be mentioned here that when the proper time came Ward Porton and Tim Crapsey were brought to trial and each was given a long term of imprisonment. Ward’s father and the other men who had participated in the attack on the Tolman ranch and on the bridge and had been captured were also severely punished.

The store-keepers and the hotel-keeper who suffered through Ward Porton’s misrepresentations could get nothing from the young culprit, but they had the satisfaction of knowing that he had now been put where it would be impossible for him to dupe others.

Ben Basswood remained at the camp but a few days, and then he and Dunston Porter started northward. The miniatures had been boxed up and shipped by express, insured for their full value. It may be stated here that they arrived safely at their destination. Those which had been disposed of in New York City were recovered, and in the end Mr. Basswood disposed of the entire collection to the museums in four of our large cities for the sum of seventy-five thousand dollars. With part of this money he went into several heavy real estate deals, taking Ben in with him, and father and son did very well.

“I think the getting back of those miniatures was entirely your work, Dave,” declared Roger, one day.

“I don’t know about that,” answered our hero, modestly. “I think you had a hand in it.”