Still Merry led them on a little farther before halting and turning about.
“What’s to be done now?” anxiously inquired the Texan.
“We will follow the trail back through the chaparral,” said Frank. “We will call to Dick. That’s the only thing it seems possible for us to do.”
Having decided on this, they rode slowly back; calling at intervals to the missing lad. The thick chaparral rang with their voices, but through it came no answer. The cold stars watched them in silence. By the time they had again debouched from the chaparral Brad was in such a state of mind that reason seemed to have deserted him. He actually proposed plunging into the thicket and attempting to search through it.
“You couldn’t make your way through that tangle in broad daylight,” declared Merry. “Don’t lose your head, Buckhart.”
“But, Frank—my pard, we must find him!”
“We will do everything we can. We may not find him to-night. But I will find him in time.”
“What has become of him?” groaned the Texan.
“It’s my belief,” said Merry, “that he is in the hands of my enemies. This is a new blow at me. I saw something of it in the eyes of Macklyn Morgan when I faced him in the hotel just before we started. There was a look of triumph on his face.”
“Whoop!” shouted Brad. “Then he’s the galoot we want to git at! It’s up to us to light on him all spraddled out and squeeze the truth out of him in a hurry. Just let me get at him!”