“Say, there was some other reason why you stopped me,” spoke Bob, as he and the tall lad dropped back of the others. “What was it, Jerry?”
“Well, I didn’t want to mention it before the others, but, just as you spoke, I saw Sim Fletcher walking around the corner, and I’m almost sure he heard what we were talking about.”
“Sim Fletcher—that chap who’s been hanging around with Bill Berry lately?”
“That’s the one.”
“Well, I’m glad you stopped me, then, for I shouldn’t want Sim to know any of our business any more than I would Bill Berry, or Noddy Nixon. But I guess it’s all right so far; isn’t it? I didn’t let out much.”
“Oh, no. I don’t believe any harm was done,” said Jerry, but, at the same time he looked closely in the direction where Sim Fletcher had been last seen.
“Well, boys,” began Jim Nestor, when they were all once more seated in the parlor of Jerry’s home, “I guess we can spin the yarn now without being interrupted by that fellow who talks like a phonograph going at full speed. Are you all ready?”
“We sure are!” exclaimed Ned.
“Well, then, in the first place,” went on the Westerner, with a glance at Harvey Brill, who sat staring about the well-furnished room; “in the first place let me say that I left your mine in good hands. It’s producing well, and the ore is just as high grade as ever. But I simply couldn’t stay there after Harvey told me his story. So I engaged a friend of mine—Jake Masterford—to look after things while I was away—and I know Jake’ll do it as well as I could. So you needn’t worry about the mine.”