“By-by, fellows,” the officer said warmly as they started down the slope. “Much obliged for the tip.”
“Don’t mention it,” Brad called back.
They had almost reached Bonnet Trail where they had left the car, when he stopped suddenly and looked at his companion.
“Say, what about Randolph’s aëroplane that we started to find?” he inquired. “I never knew you to give up anything as quick as that, pard.”
Dick smiled.
“I gave it up because I didn’t want to find it,” he returned. “Randolph’s a piker, all right, and deserves to have this fellow Holton land on his neck; but I’d rather not have anything to do with his capture.”
The Texan grinned broadly.
“That’s why you looked so blamed serious while I was chattering away like a dame at a pink tea,” he remarked. “I sure put my foot into it, didn’t I?”
“Not a bit of it,” Merriwell returned. “I was afraid you were going further and put him wise to all this talk about diamonds and that sort of thing. There seems to be no question that he’s the smuggler Holton is after, but somehow I’d like him to have every chance he can. We were his guests last night, and he was mighty nice to us; besides, he used to be a friend of Frank’s, and—— Oh, well, let’s just put him out of mind. If he gets pinched, all right; if he gets away it will be equally satisfactory.”
This proved to be easier said than done. After a leisurely luncheon the two friends took the car again and went for a long drive out toward Castlerock, from which they did not return until past six. It is safe to say that half an hour did not pass during the entire afternoon in which one or the other of them was not thinking of Scott Randolph and wondering whether Holton had found him, or whether he had escaped, or what had happened.