“Go ahead,” he said. “I’d like to see Miguel well punished.”
The Indian stalked swiftly away and Bob turned towards his boarding house and sleep. It seemed a safe bet that there would be no further trouble that night. In all probability if an uprising amongst the Mexican laborers had been planned it would not come off to-night. Bob was sure that the blowing up of the dam would have been the signal for the starting of general hostilities. Since he had been able to prevent the signal being given, and at the same time had scared Miguel off, the chances were that all would remain quiet. Leaderless, the Mexicans were harmless, and Bob had a hunch that Miguel was the only one of them who was strong enough to direct the revolt.
But a surprise awaited him when he pushed open the door of his room. Seated on the bed was Ted Hoyt, who showed signs of having anxiously awaited him.
“At last! I thought you’d never show up.”
“What’s the rush?” asked Bob. “Found out something?”
“You bet I have. A whole heap. Bet it’ll make your hair curl—”
“Come on, Ted, old scout, out with it,” Bob urged the excited boy. “You haven’t said anything yet. You’ve tuned up, now play something!”
“I—I think a bunch of Greasers are goin’ to raid the dam!”
“What?” Bob exploded. “Mexicans from the other side of the border?”
“Yes, I think so. Reg’lar bandits—about fifty of ’em.”