Both the ruffians shook their heads.
“We has nothing to do with it,” denied Shawmut.
“Well, now it is indeed a deep, dark mystery,” observed the sailor. “Do you suppose, mates, that the spook of Benson Clark is lingering in this vicinity?”
“We takes no stock in spooks,” asserted Henry.
“And thus you show your deep logical sense,” slowly nodded the sailor. “I congratulate you; but the mystery of that voice is unsolved, and it continues to perplex me.”
The listening man high up on the embankment was also perplexed. If Shawmut and Henry knew nothing of the mysterious warning voice, the enigma was still unsolved. As he thought of this matter, Merry soon decided that these ruffians had spoken the truth in denying all knowledge of the affair. These men talked in the rough dialect of their kind. The unseen singer had not used that dialect; and, therefore, the mystery of the valley remained a mystery still.
Frank continued to watch and listen.
“It’s no spook we’re worried about,” declared Henry. “If we dispose of this yere Merriwell, we will be all right. With you ter help us, Wiley, we oughter do the trick.”
“Sure, sure,” agreed the sailor.
“Thar is three of us,” said Shawmut, “and that certain makes us more than a match for them. The kid and the crazy galoot don’t count. We has only Merriwell and Hodge to buck against.”