# The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 22
#### CHAPTER XXII
##### THE PAWN TICKETS

"Well, I'm certainly going to be in a nice pickle if that's Mendez coming back," thought Tom, as he gave the blanket on the cot a surreptitious pull to better conceal his person. "I guess I was seven kinds of a chump to come here. I ought to have told the fellows, and then one of them could have done sentry duty for me. As it is, if anyone comes in here I'm as good as caught. A nice story it will make, too—a Randall man found in a caretaker's shack."
He listened intently, and heard the approaching steps pause outside the door. Then came a key rattling in the lock.
"Just my luck," murmured Tom. "It's Mendez coming back. That job didn't last as long as I thought it would, or else he's forgotten something. Whew! If he sees me there'll be a fight all right. He'll take me for a burglar, sure, or else he'll know why I'm here. I wonder if all Mexicans carry knives? There isn't much here for a fellow to defend himself with."
"OLD JAKE BLASDELL!" MURMURED TOM, IN A WHISPER.
​Tom peered out from under the cot, and made up his mind, if worst came to worst, that he would roll out, and grab up the heavy stove poker he saw.
"That will make a pretty good club," he reasoned. "Hang it all! why didn't I tell the fellows? If this Mendez does me up he may hide my body here, and the fellows will never know what became of me. I ought to have told them—and yet I did it this way to keep Ruth's secret. I meant it for the best."
Again Tom listened. The fumbling at the lock of the door continued.
"If that's Mendez he doesn't seem to know how to open his own door," mused Tom. "Maybe he's got the wrong key."
This seemed to be so, for there was a jingling as of several keys, and then a voice was heard to mutter. Tom started in his hiding place under the cot.
"That's not the voice of Mendez!" he exclaimed. "What am I up against?"
A wild idea came to him.
"Maybe some of our fellows got wise to the same thing I did, and they're trying to get in here," he thought. "If they see me there'll be a surprise," and he smiled grimly.
The unknown person outside the shack seemed to be trying a number of keys, one after the other, ​in the lock. At the same time there was an impatient muttering.
"That's not Mendez," decided Tom. "And from the voice it's none of our fellows, either. I wonder if it can be Boswell?"
The complications that might ensue if it was the rich student, who seemed to be sharing some secret with the Mexican, kept Tom busy thinking for a few seconds, and then his attention was further drawn toward the person outside.
"Hang it all!" exclaimed a voice in nasal tones—plainly the voice of an elderly man—"he's got some newfangled kind of a lock on here, and I can't get in. I wonder if a window is open?"
There was the rattle of a bunch of keys being returned to a pocket, and then the sound of footsteps coming around to the side of the shack.
"He's going to try my game," thought Tom. "Well if it isn't Mendez it's someone who hasn't any more right in here than I have, and I'm not in so much danger. But who can it be?"
There was a struggle at the window, the sound of a fall, as if the attempt to enter had failed. Then came muttered words of anger and pain, and they were followed by the sound of feet beating a tattoo on the side of the shack.
"He's scrambling up to the window," thought Tom, pulling the cot blankets farther down.
A moment later someone dropped down inside ​the shack, and remained quietly in the middle of the floor, as though taking a survey of the place.
"Humph! It ain't much changed from when I was here last," a voice said, and Tom peered out from beneath a cautiously-raised blanket. The identity of the unexpected visitor startled him.
"Old Jake Blasdell!" murmured Tom, in a whisper. "The former caretaker! What in the world does he want here? I thought he had cleared out of these diggings."
Blasdell, for it was he, stood in the middle of the room of the shack where Mendez cooked, ate and slept—did everything, in fact, save conduct his small store, which was an addition.
"It's better than when I had it," Blasdell murmured, for, as I have said, when Mendez succeeded the former caretaker he had moved the shack from the place where Blasdell had built it, and had considerably improved it. "Much better," went on the old man. "Them Mexicans ain't so lazy as I've heard. Lucky for me I knowed of that window that didn't close very tight or I mightn't have gotten in. And lucky I happened to see Mendez as I did, and learned that he would be away all day. Now I'm in here where can I hide 'em. I don't dare carry 'em around with me much longer. Folks is beginning to suspect. And I'll take away that piece I left here, too."
​"What in the world am I stacking up against?" thought the puzzled Tom. He looked out eagerly. Blasdell's back was turned toward the cot, but the old man did not appear to have anything to hide.
"Can he be out of his mind?" thought Tom. He heard the man fumbling about, but from his position could not see what he was doing, and Tom dared not put out his head from under the cot.
"There, I guess nobody'll think of lookin' for 'em there," went on the old man. "I s'pose mebby I ought t' destroy 'em, but they may come in useful some time or other. I'll leave 'em here, and take away that trinket."
Then came a sound as if the man had stepped down off a chair, or bench. Tom wished he could see what he had done, but at least he knew that something had been hidden on that side of the room were the stove was.
"Now I wonder if I can get out of the consarned window?" the man murmured. Tom heard him cross the room, and, after a struggle, there came the sound of a jump on the earth outside.
"He's gone!" murmured Tom, as he listened to the retreating footsteps. Then he scrambled out from under the cot, and began making a hasty search of the room.
If he had hoped to find Ruth's pin, the cups from Boxer Hall or any of the missing jewelry, ​Tom was disappointed. He made a thorough, but quick, search, not only in the shack proper, but in the store, though he knew Blasdell had not gone in there.
"What could he have hidden?" thought Tom. "I've got to get out of here soon, or the fellows will be waiting for me."
He saw a small wooden clock on the mantle over the stove. An idea came to him.
"Maybe that clock hides a secret hole in the wall," he thought. Stepping on a chair he moved the timepiece. As he did so the door came open, and in the lower part, where swung the pendulum, he saw several bits of paper. There was no hole in the wall, but, wonderingly Tom picked up the papers. Then he started.
"Pawn tickets!" he cried, "and some of them for silver cups! I'm on the trail at last!"