“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Roger. “I thought all our men were back in camp.”
As they came still closer the individual on the 251 bridge turned to walk toward them. Suddenly, however, he stopped short and tried his best to hide himself behind some of the steel work.
“Say! that looks rather queer to me,” remarked Dave. “He acts just as if he didn’t want us to see him.”
“Just what I thought, Dave.” The senator’s son gave a sudden start. “You don’t suppose it’s one of those Mexican raiders, do you?”
“I can’t say anything about that. I’m going up there to find out who he is. It seems to me he is acting very suspiciously. Maybe he’s trying to plant some more bombs.”
Dave turned back to a point where he could get up on the bridge, and his chum followed. From this point they could not see the person above them nor could he see them. When they reached the flooring of the big bridge they were less than two hundred feet from where the unknown person stood. He was leaning over the side of the structure, evidently trying to find out what had become of them.
“Why, Dave, he––he––looks like you!” burst out the senator’s son, as both hurried in the direction of the unknown person.
“I do believe it’s Ward Porton!” ejaculated our hero. He began to quicken his pace. “Yes, I’m almost sure it’s Porton,” he added, a few seconds later.
“If it’s Porton what in the world tempted him to follow you to this place?” queried Roger.