"Come on," snorted Brent, "we've got to go to the livery stable and see if she's hired a mule."
"If she's seeking to give us the slip, she's probably changed that plan too—and set out on foot. It's a safe bet, though, that she didn't go without her precious money. Let's try the bank."
They went, Brent needing to strike a sort of dog-trot to hold the long striding pace of the other.
The bank was closed for the day.
CHAPTER VIII
"Well, what next?" inquired Brent blankly.
"We might manage to seize and make a hostage of Lute Brown—and even the telegraph operator," began Halloway, somewhat haltingly. "But their disappearance would prove a sort of warning and they may not be the leading spirits. Did you gather from that telegram where they mean to hold her up?"
"No—nor even to whom the message went. He'd begun sending when I got in."
"Of course we couldn't prove that the operator understood the portent of the message but I know the fellow—his name is Wicks, and I think he's a bad egg."