"Who—who hit me?" spluttered the rascal, as, half dazed, he staggered to his feet. "If I—Pawnee Brown!"
"Dike Powell!" ejaculated the scout, as he saw the fellow full in the face for the first time. "Where have you been these long years?"
"Oh, Pawnee, how glad I am that you came in," panted Mortimer Arbuckle, sinking down upon an old feed box. "The villain was—was"
"I saw it all, Arbuckle; rest yourself. I will take care of this forger."
"Forger!" came simultaneously from Mortimer Arbuckle and from his assailant, but in different tones of voice. "Do you then know Dike Powell?"
"Yes, I know him as Powell Dike, a forger, who fled from Peoria a dozen years ago. And what do you know of him?"
"I know him as a Wall street sneak—a man who was forever hanging around, trying to get information out of which he might make a few dollars. I have accused him of following me to the West. I am inclined to think he robbed me"
"I did not," ejaculated Powell Dike, for such really was his name.
"I believe you," replied Pawnee Brown. He had spoken to Dick and Rasco of this man. "But you
