Walking swiftly, he approached the door of the power house. An electric light shone within. The guard, Tom, jumped up from a chair where he had been sitting, reading, at the sound of Jack's hurried footsteps. His hand reached for the ready revolver at his side, but was withdrawn at sight of his visitor.
"Oh, it's you, Jack," he said, addressing him familiarly, for a warm friendship had sprung up between the two. "I thought it might be a Greaser."
"Tom," said Jack, without any preliminaries, and showing his excitement in his voice and manner, "what was Mr. Rollins doing here? Who was that with him?"
Well enough Jack knew who the stranger was. But good friend though Tom was, Jack wanted to test him. The circumstances certainly were suspicious.
"Didn't see the other feller," Tom answered. "He stayed outside. Mr. Rollins said he was an oil driller. Mr. Rollins went into the station there." Tom motioned to the radio operating room beyond a closed door. "Asked me to throw on the juice so he could use the telephone."
"Whom did he talk to?"
"Why, I don't know," said Tom. "How would I?"
"How long was he in there?"
"Why, fifteen, twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour. Why, Jack? Anything wrong?"
"Yes, Tom, there is," said Jack. "Can I trust you?"