“Perhaps we’d better make you chef of the expedition!” laughed Ben.
There seemed to be something on the boy’s mind as he gave his attention to potatoes roasting in the hot ashes, and after a time he turned to Carl with a puzzled face. His brows were puckered as he asked:
“Why didn’t you ask the delivery boy about that smashed machine?”
“I did ask him about it,” replied Carl. “You heard me.”
“Well you didn’t ask him about the man that got smashed up in it,” continued Kit. “The man who got smashed up in it,” the boy went on, “hid in Robinson’s barn, where I slept last night, and lay groaning and whining with a broken arm so that he kept me awake. This morning, when he saw me, he gave me a dollar to get a doctor there without telling anybody, and I went and got Doctor Sloan. I promised not to say a word about it, but you boys have been mighty good to me, and I think you ought to know.”
“What kind of a looking fellow is he?” asked Carl.
“A monkey-looking fellow, with hunched shoulders and ears like cabbage leaves,” replied the boy. “He don’t look good to me.”
The boys heard the description of the wrecked aviator with undisguised pleasure. At least one of their pursuers had been put out of the running, for the time being. This, they thought, increased their chances of reaching the Pacific coast in advance of any friends of the outlaws.
“Where did the man go after Doctor Sloan set his arm?” asked Ben.
“He said he was going to the nearest railway station and return to Denver,” was the reply.