King broke into a laugh, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the boy’s face. Alex only grinned impudently back at him.
“You believe all he told you?” the deputy asked, in a moment.
“I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything about what I believe. I can’t see as it makes any difference to you, anyway. I’m not a factor in the case. Don Durand is over there in the hills somewhere. Go and get him—if you can.”
King looked the boy straight in the eyes for a moment and then turned away with a laugh which the boys did not like the sound of, it was so low and threatening.
“All right!” he said. “I’ll go and get him!”
There was anger in the deputy’s face and manner as he stepped over to the sandy island and turned toward the shore.
“Wait!” Clay called after him. “Do you see what time it is? Most noon and we’re all hungry. Wait and have a dinner with us.”
“Anyhow,” Alex added, conciliatingly, “your Mexican deputies have taken to the mountains, and you can do nothing alone. Come on back and let us show you how hungry boys eat! No use to go ashore now!”
King, noting the changed tone, hesitated, looked shoreward for a time, and then turned back to the Rambler. He was silent for a time, and then asked:
“Did this Don Durand say where and when he expected to find the real owner of the stolen money? Did he say who owns it?”