“Windmill Station,” Dick said to himself. “Five miles from Windmill Station, and Windmill Station is some twelve or fifteen miles north of Prescott.”
“You seems excited, Dan,” said Mat, in what was intended to be a soothing manner. “Mebbe we has reasons why we didn’t meet you any.”
“Reasons! If you has, spit ’em out.”
“Yes, we has reasons,” quickly put in Dillon. “Dan, we finds we is watched a whole lot. We finds somebody suspects that little game we plans.”
“Is that so?” demanded the newcomer, with a sneering doubt in his voice.
“That’s what it is,” asserted Mat. “We don’t have a chance to move much without being watched, and so we reckons we does best to drop this little job for the time being.”
“Is that so?” sneered Dan.
“Didn’t we say it was?” indignantly demanded Dillon. “You hears us, I judge.”
“Now, who is it what watches you so closelike?” questioned the dissatisfied man. “Mebbe you tells me that.”
“We don’t know just who it is, but we has been followed for the last two days. You know a hold-up down on the Southern Pacific gits people suspicious. Mebbe they thinks we had a hand in that.”