Merry stopped short and stood looking straight into the eyes of his enemy.
“What is your next low trick, Morgan?” he said. “Let me tell you here and now, and don’t forget it for an instant, if ever any harm comes to me or mine through you, you’ll rue it to the last moment of your miserable life.”
With which he strode on out of the hotel.
Away out of Prescott they clattered, and away into the gathering darkness of a soft spring night. The cool breeze rushed past their ears and fanned their hot cheeks. Frank was in the lead, for Wiley had taken pains to see that Merriwell’s own fine horse was made ready for him.
“Is this the road, Buckhart?” the young mine owner called back. “This is the one Felicia told us to take, isn’t it?”
“Sure as shooting!” answered the Texan.
“We don’t want to make any mistake in our course,” put in the sailor. “That would be fatal to the aspirations of our agitated anatomy. At the same time we want to keep our optical vision clear for breakers ahead. We may be due to strike troubled waters before long.”
“That’s what we’re looking for!” growled Buckhart, who seemed hot for trouble of some sort.
Onward they rode along the brown trail. Beneath them the ground seemed speeding backward. The lights of the town twinkled far behind them. Frank’s keen eyes detected something that caused him to drop rein and swerve from the road. At a short distance from the trail a horse was grazing. This animal shied somewhat and moved away as Merry approached, but Frank’s skill enabled him, after a little, to capture the creature, which proved to be saddled and bridled.
“Dick’s horse,” he said. “Hold him, Buckhart. I want to make an examination.”