“Good morning,” greeted the larger of the two men.
“Good morning,” returned Jim, pleasantly. Then he and Gerald went forward to meet them.
One of the riders, a rather pompous-looking individual, with a long, drooping mustache, dismounted and threw the reins over his horse’s head.
“I’m Sheriff Dundon of this county, boys,” he said. “The gentleman with me is Mr. Haley. We’re searching for a boy named Len Haley—Mr. Haley’s nephew, in fact. He left his home down in the valley some time in the night. We thought perhaps you’d seen him.”
Jim and Gerald exchanged feigned glances of surprise, which was part of the plan they had mapped out to save Len.
“It must have been him we heard cry out in the night,” said Jim.
“Yes,” Gerald responded. “Too bad we didn’t know it was only a boy.”
“You heard someone cry out in the night, then?” the sheriff asked, while the man on the horse eyed them keenly, and flashed curious glances about the camp.
“Why, yes,” Jim returned; “Old Ephraim, our darkey, woke us up in the night to hear some mournful noises which he said came from somewhere down the mountainside. We listened and heard someone crying out at intervals for help. But having no fire-arms, and not knowing whether it was a drunken man or a lunatic, we were afraid to venture very far away from camp.”