"It's possible he may know something about the professor. Why did he go on to the Picket Posts? What business has Barzy Blunt got around the old camp of Happenchance, where the professor's claim is located? Before McGurvin told us Blunt had gone in that direction, I had made up my mind that we ought to take a look at the deserted town; now that I know Blunt is there. I am more anxious than ever to get to the place."
"But what about Porter?"
"Where he has gone is a mystery," said Merriwell, "but I think Blunt and his cowboy friends offer a more promising clew to the prof's whereabouts. We'll forget about Porter for the present, and give our attention to Blunt."
They talked in whispers for a short time longer, and then sat back suddenly in their chairs as McGurvin came into the room with two filled canteens and a small canvas bag of rations.
Merry exchanged five silver dollars for the supplies, and then the rancher followed the boys out and watched them while they started their machines.
"A couple o' gasoline go-devils, by thunder!" muttered McGurvin. "All kinds o' ways o' beatin' a man that sells water out o' his rights. If ye didn't have them contraptions, ye'd be shackin' along on a couple o' bronks, an my well 'u'd bring me in two bits a head fer each of 'em."
The rancher was still sputtering as the boys raced off through the starlight, heading into the desert. As soon as they were well away. McGurvin's wrath died in his throat, and he gave vent to a husky chuckle.
"On ter Happenchance, or I'm a Piute!" he muttered jubilantly. "Go it, you crazy galoots—but I 'opine ye won't find what ye're a-lookin' fer."
Still chuckling, he turned back into the house and pounded on a stovepipe that ran through the ceiling and into a room overhead.
"Have they gone, McGurvin?" came a muffled voice from above.