“By the great horn spoon!” he exploded. “He came out of this very room. The miserable snake in the grass! He ought to be tarred and feathered, only that’s a heap too good for the coyote.”
Dick smiled quietly.
“I rather thought he might be the one,” he remarked. “It’s the sort of trick you’d expect from a fellow like that. He’s evidently found out that we’re going to play to-morrow, and he’s so dead sore that he’s willing to do anything to prevent it.”
He glanced at the letter again.
“Written to some one in the mine, that’s plain,” he murmured. “Also some one who plays on their nine. Notice where he says, ‘so he cannot pitch against you.’ Well, I don’t know that we can glean any more information by poring over this thing. We’ll have to keep our eyes open to-morrow at the mine and look out for snags. I’ll just keep this blotter; we may have use for it sometime.”
He tucked it carefully away in his pocket, together with the transcription he had made, and resumed his letter. When this was finished he addressed and stamped it, and, after posting it in the lobby, the two chums stepped into the elevator and were carried up to their rooms, where Tucker and Bouncer had retired more than an hour before.
CHAPTER XI.
THE EXPLOSION.
The Mispah Mining Company of Forest Hills had the reputation of being one of the best managed, as well as one of the most paying, propositions of its kind in the State.
Though technically a stock company, it was practically owned by the two brothers, John and Orren Fairchilds, who were thoroughly up to date in their methods and believed in giving their employees the benefit of every possible convenience and comfort.