"Nothing for Portland?"
"Not that I saw."
"You are sure about the one to Mr. Wilbur?"
"Oh, yes! It was extra-heavy, and needed six cents in stamps."
"Hum! Has it gone yet?"
"Yes, he came down early, so that the letters would catch the first mail East."
"Then my letters must wait—if the train has gone," said Ulmer Balasco, producing several communications. "Well, it doesn't matter much. Have a cigar, Larry;" and then he produced the cigars and changed the subject. From the station he visited the hotel, and then started back to camp.
"The young spies!" he muttered, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I was afraid of it right along. Their coming here for work was only a blind. Wilbur sent them here to learn just what I was doing, and I've been fool enough to play into their hands right from the start. For all I know, they may know everything, and may be watching Foxy Hildan as well as myself. If that is so, I've put myself in a nice hole." He clenched his fists. "What had I best do next? Shall I lay low, or call them into the office and have it out with them?" He mused for several minutes, chewing his cigar-end viciously. "I reckon I'll call them up, and get clear of them. Perhaps after that I can doctor matters up before Wilbur gets on the ground and sees how things are going."