“How many are there in the party?” was Jimmie’s next question.
“Only two, Toombs and a black looking heathen named Huga. I guess he’s an Indian. Anyway, he’s a mighty evil-looking fellow.”
“Well,” Jimmie announced accusingly, “those fellows are not out here on a hunting trip at all! They’re out here to make trouble for Ned Nestor and his friends. I think you’ve done a mighty cute trick in helping them along with their work!”
“Say,” Norman answered, with a touch of irony in his voice, “you go away in some quiet spot and count yourself. When you get done you’ll find you aren’t so many. You needn’t think you’re the only boy that can get a job in the mountains.”
“Has Toombs captured any game yet?” asked Jimmie.
“I haven’t seen him do any hunting,” was the answer. “He and Huga just sit around in camp all day and send half-breed messengers scurrying around from place to place.”
“So there are half-breed messengers, are there?” demanded Jimmie. “You said there were only two—Toombs and Huga.”
“I left New York with Toombs and Huga,” answered Norman, “and they’re the only ones I have anything to do with. The half-breeds we found here.”
“All right,” Jimmie said with a smile, “we’ve got Toombs’ number right now. If he butts in on us again, we’ll roll him down to the foothills. What does he want of Ned, anyway?”
“How should I know?” demanded Norman. “I’m not his confidential secretary! Say, I’d like to go and live with you boys.”