“Where have they gone, then?”
“I wouldn’t be here ’twixt eight and ‘leven. They’d come over the wire to Kingman, and the op’rator there would mail ’em. Mail man’s due any time now.”
“Well,” groaned Tom, “let’s go up to the hotel and see if they’ve reserved the rooms for us, if we are late.”
“And where’s Jane Ann Hicks?” queried Ruth, in some puzzlement. “She ought to be here to greet us.”
“What about that guide—the Flapjack person?” added Helen. “Didn’t you telegraph him, Tommy?”
“Who d’you mean—Flapjack Peters?” asked the station agent, interested. “Why, he lit out for some place in the Hualapai this forenoon, beauin’ a party of these here tourists—or, so I heard tell.”
There were blank faces among the newly arrived visitors from the East. But only Tom Cameron really felt disturbed. It looked to him as though somebody had got ahead of them!
CHAPTER VII—A MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR
“You needn’t be ‘fraid of not findin’ room at Lon Crujes’ hotel,” drawled the station agent. “He don’t often have more’n two visitors at a time there, and them’s mostly travelin’ salesmen. Only when somebody’s shippin’ cattle. And there ain’t no cattlemen here now.”
“Well, that is some relief, at least,” Helen said promptly. “Come on, Tommy! Lead the procession. Take Miss Cullam’s bag, too. The rest of us will carry our own.”