unless I was badgerin’ this old think-box of mine over something or other,” answered the fat chum, with a nervous laugh.
“And what is it now?” asked Adrian, fully expecting to hear him say that he was unable to get the conversation he had heard between them concerning Mark Braddon, out of his mind, to his surprise it turned out to be a very different affair entirely.
“Why,” said Billie, soberly, with three lines across his broad forehead, such as always appeared there when he found himself up against a hard proposition, “you see, Adrian, I just can’t get it through my mind who he can be at all. Bothers me right along now, and the more I pound my head the worse it gets.”
“But suppose you decide that he’s just what he claims, and let it go at that,” suggested the other.
Billie’s lower jaw fell, and he turned to stare at the speaker.
“Say, now, who d’ye suppose I’m talking about?” he demanded.
“Why, that man Braddon, of course,” replied Adrian.
Then Billie laughed merrily.
“Why, bless your innocent heart, Ad,” he said, in his jolly way, “I wasn’t bothering my head the least bit about that gruff-voiced fellow. What’s been on my nerves is the mystery we’re up against.”
“Mystery!” echoed Adrian, in a puzzled way; and then, as a light suddenly broke in upon him he went on to say hastily; “oh! I see now what you mean, Billie; you’re still badgering your poor brain about the unknown who shot the thieving young Apache buck when he was trying to rob us; and who you think must be the same party who put that warning in the split stick at the poisoned spring?”