“But we’ve got our right-of-way in this canyon, and they’ll hardly try to run us out of it by force.”
“They may not try it with guns, as Dad says the railroads used to do in these right-of-way fights years ago. But there are other ways.”
“You’ve got something up your sleeve,” Dick remarked. “Suppose you stick a pinch-bar under it and pry it loose.”
“I was just thinking,” Larry mused thoughtfully. “I guess Mr. Ackerman and all of our folks would be sort of glad if they could find out just exactly what the Overland Central crowd means to do. It might help some, don’t you think?”
“Gee!” said Dick, getting up on his knees. “Say, Larry; you’re always digging up something new out of the mud. What’s the great idea this time?”
“I was wondering if it wouldn’t have been better if just one of us had made that get-away last night, leaving the other to stay and find out a few more things in the O. C. camp.”
Dick Maxwell looked away across the canyon and over into the mountain labyrinth where they had had their adventure of the day before.
“I give you right on that, Larry,” he said. “Guess we’ve got an attack of what Uncle Billy Starbuck would call ‘after-wit’—thinking of the thing we ought to have done after it’s too late to do it.”
“I’ve just been wondering if it is too late,” was Larry’s reply. “I wish we could see Mr. Ackerman for a few minutes. Only I suppose he wouldn’t let us try it if we should ask him.”
“Let us try what? Don’t be a clam!” Dick put in impatiently. “Tell me what’s eating you, can’t you?”