“What’re ye talkin’ about, son?”
Mart grew greatly embarrassed, with so many grown men staring at him.
“They’s a secret message,” he maintained. “Me and Little Apple used ta send lots of ’em to each other. We wrote with milk. That little jigger in the corner says for me to heat the paper and bring out the secret message, pa.”
From the house came Demarest and Hunter Mangan, and Demarest overheard the last of Mart’s remarks.
“Let ’im heat it, Canby,” he advised. “He knows what he’s talkin’ about. You never can tell what these kids’ll be up to. Secret message, eh? Say, this is gonta be good!”
Accordingly the curious party followed Mart into the kitchen, where, not oblivious to his new importance and always aided and abetted by the youthful-hearted main contractor, the young vaquero made use of Mrs. Ehrhart’s range.
After a few minutes’ heating letters and words in reddish-brown began to appear between the lines of Manzanita’s portion of the communication. Squawtooth thoughtfully stroked his long beard and eyed his young son with new and speculative interest.
When the message was complete Mart read it aloud.
“You see,” he said, “if I hadn’t read this they wouldn’t be smoked outa their hole, ’cause Nita says they won’t pay no attention to the red blanket unless I ride the gray colt out east o’ the house.”
“Canby, you’re the victim of desperate characters!” cried Demarest, laughing. “There’s intrigue and plotting going on all around you. Somebody sent a red signal yesterday, didn’t they? The girl and this flunky saw it, no doubt, but they didn’t show up, did they? This young pirate is right! There’s no tellin’ what him and that young savage you call your daughter have been puttin’ over on all these years! I’ll have to take you back to Minneapolis with me when I go and wise you up a little. You’re too slow. Put the boy on the colt and hoist your flag of surrender. I want to see the kid ride the bucker, anyway.”