“Then Davenport will send ’em a finger or an ear. That will surely bring ’em to terms mighty quick.”
“Would he go as far as that?”
“Davenport? You don’t know the man! He’d go a great deal further if he thought it would bring him in any money. That fellow is about as cold-blooded as they make ’em.”
Every one of the boys heard this talk, and it made them feel anything but comfortable. Evidently the scoundrels who had made them captives would stop at nothing to accomplish their ends.
Presently Jack found himself confronted by a big rock that stuck up almost to the top of the bushes. As silently as a cat after a bird, he crawled over this rock, and one after another the others followed. Then came a series of rocks and more brushwood, and at last the four lads found themselves out of sight of Tate and Jackson.
“Which way are you going to head?” questioned Randy when he thought it was safe to speak.
“I don’t know,” was the whispered reply. “The main thing is to get out of reach of those fellows. Come on—don’t lose any time. If they discover our escape they’ll do their best to round us up again.”
Without knowing where they were going, the four boys plunged on through the bushes and over the rough rocks until they came to a narrow trail running along the mountainside.
“I think we’re heading for Sunset Trail,” announced Fred. “And if we are, so much the better.”
“If we see or hear anybody coming jump behind the trees or bushes,” ordered Jack. “We might run into Davenport. They said he had gone off on some sort of an errand.”