Ulmer Balasco breathed deeply. He remembered that the station master had mentioned a letter to a sheriff in Maine. This story must be a true one. If so, perhaps after all his fears were groundless.
"Evidently you don't bear this Ducrot any good will," he ventured.
"Why should I?" answered Dale. "He once stole a horse from me, and knocked me into the water in the bargain."
"Then it's no wonder you want to catch him. Do you—er—do you suppose Mr. Wilbur will come on to see about it?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Did you ask him to come on?"
At this Dale remained silent. In the letter sent by himself and Owen they had urged Mr. Wilbur to come on—but not on Baptiste Ducrot's account.
"We told him he had best come West," said Owen boldly. "But he may not come—he is so busy."
There was an awkward pause. Ulmer Balasco hardly knew how to proceed. Then a sudden thought struck him. Even if these two young men were not spies, it might be as well to get rid of them.
"I suppose you want to know why I sent for you," he said slowly. "It is on account of that accident on the railroad. I have investigated further, and I am now convinced that both of you were guilty of gross negligence. That being so, I have resolved that I will dispense with your services after this week. I will pay you off next Saturday, and then you can look elsewhere for work."