“Hawkins is pretty persistent,” observed Burke. “He hasn’t given up finding those fellows.”
“It was Shoup who took Mrs. Boorland’s money,” went on Merriwell, “and it was Shoup, again, with an unknown companion, who tried to steal the bullion. I’m wondering if the fellow isn’t mixed up in the robbery this morning?”
“Possibly,” mused Burke. “If he is, he has got himself into hot water for fair. Stealing mail bags is a crime against the government, and the secret-service men are relentless fellows to deal with. No stone will be left unturned to bring the thieves to book, you can gamble on that. They—— Well, well,” he broke off quizzically, “what sort of a procession is that, ahead there?”
The boys and the super were close to the point where the clubhouse trail joined the Gold Hill road. Along the latter trail, at that moment, a queer little procession was moving in the direction of Ophir.
Billy Ballard was in the lead. He had some object tied to a cord, and was pulling it slowly through the dust of the road behind him.
Just behind Ballard was a pig—the same small porker with which Merriwell and Clancy had become acquainted a little earlier in the forenoon. The pig was tied to a rope by a hind leg, and Woo Sing, as before, was attached to the rope.
Barzy Blunt brought up the rear of the procession. He was armed with a long switch.
As Ballard dragged the mysterious object through the dust, he would let it lie still for a moment, and the pig would run forward to get hold of it. This was Ballard’s signal to jerk it out of the pig’s way.
Sometimes the pig would trot along after the receding object so rapidly that the Chinaman had a hard time keeping up; and then again there were times when the pig grew discouraged, and lagged, and Blunt would have to reach over Woo Sing’s shoulder and apply the gad.
It was a humorous performance, although none of the four concerned in it—which includes the pig—seemed to think of it in that light.