“But that dagger was Turk or somethin’,” says I.
“I dun’no’,” says he. “It was from Asia, all right, but it might as well be from Japan as anywhere else, so f-f-far’s I can see.”
That was so.
“Do you suppose those Japanese men were the ones that were monkeying around the hotel?”
“No,” says Mark. “I don’t believe there was but one man in the hotel. Those two l-l-looked like they came from a long ways off to-day.”
“I wonder if they work around here?”
“D-don’t believe it. Somehow Japanese don’t fit into the scenery here. Let’s follow after those f-fellows a ways.”
I was willing, so, cautious as Indians, we trailed after the two Japanese. It was better than pretending we were scouts. There was excitement about it, for we didn’t know what those men might do if they discovered we were spying on them. Yes, sir, it was better than any game. I guess doing the real thing is always better than playing you’re doing it, just the same as eating ice-cream is a lot more fun than pretending you are.
They walked pretty fast, and never looked around, but for all that we didn’t take any chances. Always we kept close to the side of the road so we could duck into the bushes if they showed signs of being suspicious, and as much as we could we kept just around a turn of the road from them. That was pretty easy, because the road was as full of turns as a pretzel.
We’d followed them maybe twenty minutes when I saw the first one stop and hold up his hand. The other one stopped, too. Then, so quick you could hardly follow them, they dived into the bushes.