He crossed to the nearest window, and flung up the sash.
“That you, Bully?” came the voice of Ironton.
“Sure, it’s me. What’d you find out?”
There was a trace of anxiety in his tones. He still half feared that Merriwell would arrest him for that night’s work.
“It’s all right, Bully. I heard ’em talking. They ain’t goin’ to do nothin’ about it, but figure on goin’ home to-morrow.”
“Ask where Merriwell is,” spoke up Colonel Carson hastily. Bully repeated the question.
“He and the red-headed guy went up to the Morton House,” answered Ironton. “How’s the eye?”
“Black,” said Bully, with a curse. “I’m goin’ to skip out o’ town fer a few days. Much obliged, Ironton. See you later.”
He closed the window. Colonel Carson had risen, and was reflectively fingering a telegraph blank he had extracted from his pocket.
“I’m glad to get that information, Bully. I guess I can fix Mr. Chip Merriwell without much trouble!”