“You have to catch them first.”
“We’ll do it.”
Sam Hogg spoke positively, but somehow his words brought cold comfort to the judge.
Some fifteen miles to the southwest there was a great barren waste of lava rock. The Lava Gang had received their name from the fact that after each raid their trail was lost on the smooth slopes of the lava fields. No one knew a single member of the gang. It was suspected that they had their real headquarters in Cannondale. They were as elusive as ghosts. The thought that a member of the gang might be present at that moment made the judge grow thoughtful.
Sam Hogg growled like an angry terrier.
“If we don’t trail ’em to-morrow, I’ll send for that little hellion, ‘Jim-twin’ Allen. I’m bettin’ he’d trail ’em. I hears he’s better than a bloodhound.”
Bill Anderson laughed.
“He’d probably throw in with the Lava Gang himself.”
“Him? Not any!” Toothpick snorted. “He wouldn’t have no truck with hombres what steal girls. He’ll come a-runnin’ and a-shootin’ if I tells him about it.”
“Fairy tales,” the judge snorted.