“But how did you happen to have such prisoners in the first place?” questioned Dick.
“That’s our business, yonker. Why should we be for telling you any?”
“Because I am interested. Because those men are my brother’s enemies.”
“Who is your brother, kid?”
“Frank Merriwell.”
“What?” shouted Curry. “Whatever are you giving us?”
“He is giving you the dead-level truth, stranger,” put in Brad,
“That’s right,” agreed Dash Colvin, coming up. “Look here, Pete Curry, you knows me and I knows you. This boy is Frank Merriwell’s brother.”
“That being the case,” said Curry, “he wants to get a hustle on and join his brother some lively. That fine bunch you saw hiking down the valley is bound for Frank Merriwell’s new mines, which they propose seizing a heap violent. We counts ourselves some in luck to get off with whole skins from such a measly outfit. All the same, if we had played our hand proper I reckon they’d never set that lot of mavericks loose. I am a-plenty ashamed of myself.”
“But tell me,” urged Dick, “how you came to have those men as prisoners?”