“I wouldn’t like to do that,” Phillips said, hesitatingly.
“You wouldn’t, eh?” demanded Mendoza. “Who struck the watchman?”
“I didn’t!” replied Phillips.
“Yes, you did!” sneered the other. “Now, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” he went on. “Just as soon as it becomes dark, we’ll settle the kid’s case and mount the machine with the other one. There are only two seats, but I’ll hold him in my lap, so I can embroider his back with my knife if he don’t do exactly as I tell him to. After he gets us out of the country, way down into lower California, we’ll drop the machine, boy and all into the ocean.”
“I’m a burglar but not a murderer!” insisted Phillips.
“Unless we do something,” Mendoza exclaimed, “you won’t be either a burglar or a murderer. You’ll be a corpse. For my part, I have no inclinations toward New York and the electric chair.”
“It may not be necessary for us to injure the boy,” Phillips suggested.
“May not be necessary?” repeated Mendoza. “If we go away and leave the kid here, he’ll chase over the hills until he finds some one to tell what we’ve done and which way we’ve gone. If we leave this boy, Jimmie, flying about in his machine, he’ll never rest until he tells the officers where he left us, and all about us. In order to protect ourselves, we’ve got to keep them quiet. Are you going to weaken now?”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary when the time comes,” replied Phillips.
Mendoza seemed satisfied with this, and the two men walked back to the fire and, notwithstanding the treachery in their hearts, engaged in friendly conversation with the boys.