A pebble plunked into something close beside him, and the dog shied off with a faint, staccato yelp. Young Jess, then, was close. A muttered curse reached the ears of the two between the bowlders. Immediately afterward, Nevada’s whisper came distinctly.
“I think he’s hidden here, somewhere in the rocks. His car is down in the canyon, but he wouldn’t go that way—he’d expect you to follow. Watch the dog. He hasn’t any gun—I know. Can you creep back toward the hill—”
“Sh-sh. You call him. Quiet, as if you was scared. Make out you’re sweet on him—”
“I can’t. He knows—I hate him. We quarreled to-day. I hate his snobbish ways—I told him so.”
“Call his name if you run onto him. Then duck. I’ll—”
“Sh-sh—he may be near!”
The two were standing close together, just beyond the bowlder that reared its bulk beyond Peter. Rawley bit his lip, straining his ears to hear more.
“You call him. He won’t s’spect—” Young Jess urged in a whisper.
“He’d be a fool if he didn’t. I tell you he knows—”
“He’s stuck on yuh. That makes a fool—”