They looked up puzzled.
“F. must be Don Ferdinand,” said Jack. “Now d’you see?”
“All I can see is that he says he can’t be here,” said Bob.
Jack punched him disgustedly. “Wake up, Bob. If important developments have occurred, it can only have to do with this fellow Ramirez. Don Ferdinand was after him last night, when he smashed into our taxi and was so delayed that he lost him. Now the old fire-eater has got track of Ramirez again and is going after him.”
“Well, what’s that got to do with us?” grumbled Bob, whose pessimism this morning was too deep to be quickly dispelled.
“Oh, Bob, don’t be so gloomy,” said Frank, his quick eager face alight. “Jack’s right. I seem to smell excitement, and I’m sure that we’re going to get into it some way.”
“That’s the way I feel, too,” said Jack. “Something’s going on, something big, or else old Don Ferdinand wouldn’t be here. He’s trailed Ramirez more than two hundred miles—probably on horseback. He had a dozen armed men at his back when he started. Probably they’re somewhere around. Something’s going to happen. I don’t know what. I can’t even guess. But I’ll bet we get into it. Come on, you’ve finished breakfast. Let’s get outside and get some air.”
Pushing back their chairs, the others rose and followed him into the lobby. As they started for the elevator in order to ascend to their rooms and get their hats preparatory to taking a stroll about Laredo, Captain Cornell espied them. He was in civilian clothes—but this time, his own. Crossing the lobby he joined them, and all four went up to the sitting room of their suite.
Jack told the flyer of Don Ferdinand’s telegram, advancing his explanation of it.
Captain Cornell displayed a quickened interest.