“Where did you come from—where is your home?”
This from Clay, who had been studying the boy’s face curiously for some moments. “What city did you live in last?”
“Chicago,” was the hesitating reply.
“What’s your name?” asked Case, as Clay turned his face away with a quiet smile. “Why don’t you open up and tell us all about yourself?”
“There is nothing to tell,” was the grave reply. “I’m just a boy tramp, I guess. But I’d like to have you answer a question,” he added, with a flush on his pale face. “I’d like to know if it was one of the men from the campfire who followed you, or—or some one else.”
“Was there some one else in there?” asked Clay. “You said you went there before you visited the Rambler. Do you think there were men there whom we did not see at the fire?”
“I thought there were men near the campfire who did not belong there,” was the reply. “They looked so fierce that I was afraid and ran away. I thought, perhaps, that you might have been followed by one of the men I saw hanging about there—not by one of the campers.”
“Another mystery!” laughed Alex. “On the trip to the Amazon we picked up a mysterious boy, and here, presto! we have another. But this boy seems to know what he’s talking about, and the other one didn’t. At least, he wouldn’t let us know that he did for a long time. Whew! I’d have climbed up a star beam if I’d ’a’ known there were two gangs in the rocks. One was enough for me!”
The conductor now came climbing back over the train to the platform car, swinging his lantern spitefully. Clay opened the cabin door and stood waiting for him to come up, waiting with a sense of impending trouble.
The conductor leaped lightly to the deck of the boat from the platform of the car and stood holding his lantern up on a level with his eyes in order that he might see better. Clay switched on the prow light and stood watching him alertly.