"Wish I'da listened," mourned Tom.
Both stood silent. Suddenly the still night was shattered by a series of racketing explosions. Jack sprang for the door.
"Remedios's flivver," he cried to his companion. "There isn't another car in the world can cough like that."
By the time he had emerged from the radio station the car could be heard shooting away down the desert trail toward Ransome.
"Too late," said Jack, disgustedly. "He's gone. I should have surprised them together."
He thought a moment, then turned to the other.
"Listen, Tom," said he. "Not a word about all this. I think I'll not let Rollins know that I suspect him, but will talk this over first with my friends. And if he comes here to radio again listen to him, and report to me what he says."
"All right," said the big ex-cowboy. Then as a new idea occurred to him, he asked: "But how about tellin' my side pard, Dave? He's on duty days. He oughta know, too."
"I don't know Dave as well as I do you," said Jack. "Certainly he ought to be informed, so that he can be on the watch, too. Can he be trusted?"
"You can count on Dave," said Tom. "We been pardners for years. That bow-legged son o' Satan an' me been through lots o' ruckuses in our time. If there's any shootin' to be done, count us in. You know how I kin shoot."