“I don’t think so. If that fellow was not Nick Jasniff, it was his double.”
“Oh, don’t say anything about doubles!” cried Dave quickly. “I had all I want of that sort of thing with Ward Porton. I’m quite sure that fellow was Nick Jasniff himself. He had that same hang-dog, slouching way about him he had when he went to Oak Hall.”
“But what can he be doing out here in Montana?”
“I don’t know,—unless he may have thought that some of the Merwells were still out here. He, of course, must know about Mr. Merwell disposing of the Three X Ranch.”
“You don’t suppose he came out here to see us, do you?”
“To see us? Not on your life! Why should he want to see us? He knows well enough that we have no use for him.”
“But maybe he wants to get square with us. You know he threatened us in all sorts of ways after we had him arrested. And you know what an awful wicked fellow he is, Dave. Didn’t he try once in the Oak Hall gym to brain you with an Indian club?”
“Yes; I remember that only too well, Roger. Just the same, I don’t think a fellow like Jasniff would come away out here to square accounts with us. It’s more likely he came out here to get away from the people who know him. Maybe he thought he could start life over again in a place like this, where nobody knew him.”
“Humph! possibly you’re right. But if that’s the case, I don’t want him to come around where I am. I have no use for a jailbird,” grumbled the senator’s son.
The youths had resumed their journey, and a few minutes later they came into sight of the construction camp. This consisted of a rudely-built office, backed up by a score or more of smaller buildings used as bunk-houses. At the end of a row was a large, low building in which was located the kitchen and also the mess hall, or “Palace of Eats,” as some of the engineers had christened it. Still further away was a small shed for horses, with a corral attached.