“I know. But it must have been something serious for him to discard his cap and vest and even his outer shirt. For I believe all those things hung on the bushes up there on the crag belonged to Zeph.”
“Perhaps he hung them there before the pillar was blown out.”
“But what for? I don’t get it at all,” cried Ralph. “Queer as Zeph is, he isn’t crazy. Not at all! He had a reason for making signals to somebody, and that shirt et cetera are signals.”
“See to-morrow when you go by if they are still there,” suggested Mr. Adair. “Meanwhile I will have my men beat the bushes for him around there. I will have that farmer you speak of interviewed.”
“But if anything bad has really happened to Zeph, it will be too late,” sighed Ralph as he turned away and started homeward.
He could not take Mr. Adair’s easy view of the mystery. Ralph had a fondness for Zeph. He could not forget the many times the odd fellow had helped him or been associated with him in dangerous adventure.
And now, it seemed to Ralph, Zeph Dallas must himself need help or he would not have shed his garments on the side of that crag overhanging the Devil’s Den. Ralph greatly desired to look into the matter.
Yet, he could not do that. The general manager had put him on his honor when he gave him the Midnight Flyer run. Ralph could not desert that duty even to aid a friend.
He heard about another person in trouble when he arrived at home. His mother was full of it.
“Did you hear that Mrs. Hopkins was very ill, Ralph?” the widow asked, almost at once when he entered the cottage.