“What in the world can that man be doing here?” demanded Jack.
“Don’t ask me!” returned Randy. “I suppose now they’ve let him out of prison he has as much right to roam around as Davenport has.”
“I remember now that Tate did come from the West,” said Jack. “He was a miner before he became an oil man. Perhaps he’s interesting himself in the mines in this vicinity.”
“He couldn’t have anything to do with the Rolling Thunder mine, could he?” questioned Fred.
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Let’s go in and ask Mr. Terwilliger if he knows Tate,” suggested Fred, after a pause.
“Never heard of such an individual,” answered the storekeeper when the question had been put to him. “I don’t believe he belongs around here. Anyway, he doesn’t get any mail at this office.”
The boys talked the matter over for several minutes more. But then they were anxious to get at their letters and returned to the store stoop for that purpose. There were long letters from the girls postmarked at Jacksonville, Florida, where the steam yacht on which they were taking their outing had stopped. One letter to Jack was from Ruth, and this, it can well be imagined, the young major read with much interest. Ruth was enjoying herself greatly and trusted that Jack and his cousins were having a good time.
“Hello, here’s news that’s mighty interesting!” cried Randy. “Here is a letter from Phil Franklin, and he says that he and Barry Logan have made half a dozen efforts to bring up the silver trophy from the bottom of the lake. He says that once they had it hooked up and brought it to the top of the water, but before they could grab it the thing slipped from the trawl and sank out of sight again.”
“Oh, what a shame!” murmured his twin. “To almost have it and then lose it again!”