When Bob reached the spot, he found the enemy had moved on up the road, but he soon drew close enough to make out their conversation, which they carried on carelessly, as they continued up a narrow path leading to the red house on the Rayville road, mentioned in the message.
“What do you suppose they will do?” asked Raymond.
“Not much,” returned Casco. “I reckon they have got tired of chasing me.”
“It’s a wonder they don’t come down on your place, Raymond,” put in Barker.
“If they do, they’ll find out I skipped for California,” chuckled the hotel-keeper.
“But they just saw you.”
“It don’t make any difference. I’ve skipped, and the property belongs to my wife, so what can they do about it?”
There was a general laugh, and then Casco and Barker dropped slightly behind and began to converse in lower tones.
Bob could not hear what was said, but when he came to a break in the brush he peered out and saw Casco hand Barker a thick packet, done up in a large envelope.
“The papers and letters stolen from Blake,” muttered the young photographer to himself. “I must get them without fail.”