Lefty threw back his head and laughed. “Better not let young Sherlock Jones hear about it,” he advised. “He’ll pester around with clues until he’s dizzy. Well, I’m glad Van Horn didn’t have anything to do with it. He was down at the field all the while.”
“Well, he’s stretchin’ his bunk right now, readin’ bedtime stories. How did he look in there today?”
“Not bad. He’s a better fielder than Terry Tompkins, that’s sure. And he’s fairly brainy with a bat. Tomorrow we can see what he can do against the councilors.”
Lefty picked up his equipment and started on. He had only gone a few paces when Brick, who had not moved, called after him in a low voice:
“Say, my son, what do you guess is the meanin’ of R.H.R.?”
Lefty considered. “Why, it might be Red-Hot Rhubarb, or Right-Handed Rattlesnake, or anything. Why do you ask?”
“Nothin’,” muttered Brick. “But maybe tonight I’ll find out, and if I do, Lefty me boy, I’ll tell you all about it!”
CHAPTER IX
DIRK HEARS OF THE LONG TRAIL
Six masked figures sat with their heads together in the starlight of the deserted Council Ring. It was late. Two hours gone, Camp Lenape had retired to a rest welcome and well-earned. But here in this lonely spot, their presence unknown to their fellows and councilors, the mysterious six plotted mischief. In the shadow of the tall stone seat of the Chief, on the north side of the ring, they crouched, listening to the graveyard tones of their undersized leader.
“Brother Revengers, we will now have a report from the Stealthy Stabber. He’s goin’ to tell us all about the Ryan Curse affair, see? Speak up, Stabber!”