“Well, ever since we met that fellow named Joe Brooks first in New York and afterward in Chicago I’ve been trying to figure out where I saw the chap. Now I’m wondering if he wasn’t the fellow who was driving that car.”
“Why, he said he was a friend of Fatty Hendry’s!” exclaimed Andy.
“Yes, he said so. But that doesn’t make it so, does it?”
“You think he was a faker?” came quickly from Randy.
“He was if he was in cahoots with Davenport. Do you remember how he stood alongside of us when we were buying our tickets for Maporah, and how he questioned us about Sunset Trail when we were going around with him in Chicago? He must have been nothing but a confederate of Davenport and his gang.” And in this surmise, as we already know, Jack was correct.
Although the bread was somewhat stale, the stew and the coffee were both warm and fairly good, and, all told, the boys managed to satisfy their hunger. They were wondering what was going to happen next when Jackson and Digby came in carrying four blankets.
“No feather beds for you kids to-night,” said Digby. “But I reckon you’ll find these a good deal better than nothing.”
“Davenport told me to tell you he’d have a talk with you in the morning,” put in Jackson. “Now don’t try to break out and get away, because one of us will be on guard in front of the cave all night. Whoever is there will be armed and ready to shoot if you try any monkey business.”