In an instant Havens stood by the little heap of clothing he had discarded not so very long before, and he was soon dressed and ready for the street. Then he turned to the red-faced man at his side.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Rough-house!” was the reply.
“At the flying machine?” asked Havens.
“Yes,” was the disgusted reply. “There’s a man there claiming the machine as stolen property, and there’s a crowd of yaps ready to back him up. When I left, the two men I hired were standing them off with loaded guns, but I don’t know how long they can hold the fort,” he added with a smile. “It looked pretty serious when I left.”
For a moment Havens was almost dazed by the information. It meant that word of his departure, and of that of the boys, had at last reached the friends of Phillips and Mendoza on the Pacific coast. In some manner the nature of his mission was known there at Monterey, and the friends of the two outlaws were already busy.
“The first to do,” Havens suggested, as they passed down the stairway, “is to notify the officers.”
“The fellow who claims the machine insists that he is acting for the officers,” answered Stroup, the garage man.
“Well,” continued Havens, “we’ll have to take the sheriff and the chief of police out there, and find out whether he does represent the officers or not. We can soon settle his case.”
“I’m afraid,” Stroup replied hesitatingly, “that we won’t find any machine there when we get back. It was just a riot!” he continued angrily.