“That's pretty wild guessing,” scoffed Harry Hazelton.
“Wait three or four days, and see whether it's guessing or one of the fine fruits of logic,” proposed Reade. “Incidentally, the Colthwaite people will wonder why it didn't occur to them before to send one of their gloom men to live at the Cactus. Fact is, I've been looking for the chap for more than a fort-night.”
CHAPTER XII. HOW THE TRAP WAS BAITED
It was the evening of the day after Harry, who had insisted on trudging up and down the line all day, instead of using his horse, had a touch of heat headache.
He was not in a serious condition, but he needed rest. He dropped into one of the chairs on the Cactus House porch and prepared to doze.
“Is there anything I can get for you, or do for you, old chap?” inquired Tom, coming out on the porch after supper and looking remarkably comfortable and contented.
“No; just let me doze,” begged Harry. “I feel a trifle drowsy.”
“Then, if you're going to give a concert through your nose,” smiled Tom, “I may as well protect myself by going some distance away.”
“Go along.”