A queer, quivery sensation shot along Buckhart’s spine. He stood quite still and stared at the dark figure which promptly strode toward him.
“Don’t raise a shout, old man,” said the voice of Dick Merriwell. “Don’t let those fellows hear you. It is I.”
Brad deliberately pinched himself to make sure he was awake.
“It sounds like you, and it looks like you,” he said, “but it can’t be you. You’re drowned!”
“Hardly,” said Merriwell, as he dropped a hand on the shoulder of his chum. “But I want those fellows still to think I’m drowned. I’m in hopes it will worry them some. That’s why I didn’t let you know I hadn’t gone to the bottom.”
Realizing at last that Merriwell was there in the flesh, the Texan suddenly caught Dick’s wet figure in his arms and gave him a bear hug.
“Oh, great horn spoon, I’ve got to yell!” he panted. “If I don’t, I’ll sure blow up. Say, partner, can’t I yell just once? Can’t I let off steam a little? Gophers and jack rabbits, I thought you were dead! Oh, say, what a funny feeling I’ve got! I don’t know how to express it. Hang it all, didn’t you know I was searching for you with the rest of the bunch? Didn’t you realize how I felt about it? Partner, I wouldn’t go through that thing again for fifty thousand dollars! I sure reckoned you were food for the fishes.”
The Texan’s voice was quivering with emotion, and he trembled in every limb.
“It was rough on you,” agreed Dick, “and perhaps I’m mistaken in thinking it will disturb those rascals to fancy me done for. Let’s wait here until they pass. We can tell by what they are saying whether they are disturbed or not.”
Hidden in the narrow space between two of the old buildings, the boys waited until the trio of rascals came along and passed on their way. Falling in behind but taking pains not to be seen, Dick and Brad followed the three to the first saloon and from thence to Fred’s place of business.