“Hi! We don’t want your ball!” called out Andy, and, catching it up, he threw it through the window, hitting the cadet named Morris in the chin. Then the train rolled away, and the journey to New York City was begun.
As the train passed out of sight two men, one about middle age and the other very much younger, stepped from a corner of a baggage room which was located close to where the Rover boys and those with them had been standing.
“I guess you got the right dope that time, Davenport,” said the younger man, as both walked away unnoticed and entered a roadster standing on a side road behind some bushes.
“I think I did,” answered Carson Davenport, his manner showing his satisfaction. “So they are going to Chicago and then to Maporah, and then out on Sunset Trail, eh? I’ll have to look into that.”
“Do you know anything about the Sunset Trail territory?” questioned the younger man.
“I do and I don’t,” was Davenport’s reply. “I was never there myself. But Tate, the fellow I’ve been telling you about, came from that district and he’s often told me about it. He spoke about this Rolling Thunder mine, too. He knows some of the fellows working there.”
“Then what you’ve got in mind ought to be easy, Davenport.”
“I don’t know about its being so easy! Those Rovers are not fools and since we made a mess of things the other day, more than likely they’ll be on their guard. I reckon I made something of a mistake when I called on Dick Rover. I should have waited until I had things better in hand.”
“What is the next move?”