“That’s my opinion,” said Pete. “If he had, where is it?”
This was enough to set Henderson fairly to boiling, but he dared not show it.
“I say he did!” said he, striving hard to keep down his rising anger. “What made Bob look so blue when the contents of this pocket-book were read? I tell you that the old man had another, and it is somewhere in this house.”
“I think he had another one, too,” I answered, wishing to keep on good terms with Bill. Although he didn’t say much, I could see that he was on the very point of using his revolver; and as I had seen something of that kind once or twice before, I did not care to see another. “He has got another pocket-book somewhere, but whether he took it in the wagon with him or left it here in the house, I don’t know.”
“Where is it, then?” asked Bill.
“That’s more’n I know.”
“I don’t like to take such a ride as this for nothing, and I am going under the house,” said Bill. “Come on, Pete.”
“But aint you afraid to trust these boys here alone?” asked Pete.
“No. I trusted one of them before I made any move; didn’t I, Carlos?”
“Yes, and he went back on you,” said Henderson. “If he didn’t you would have got the pocket-book.”