Buck arose to his feet and stood just outside the cabin, regardless of the fast-falling rain. He was listening for the sound to be repeated. Presently it came again.
“Counterfeiters!” exclaimed Rube.
The spot was a lonely one, one to fit well with the making of illegal coin. A range of low hills lay close to the river on the Mexican side, where the two boats lay.
It was too dark to see them now, but Buck explained that they were there, and that the spot was one frequented by outlaws of every description.
“Suppose we land and make sure,” Alex suggested.
“Yes,” said Jule, in a whisper, “I vote yes on that proposition—it will be jolly to catch a gang of counterfeiters. We have never had any such luck!”
“You are likely to get a bullet through your anatomy!” Buck answered. “Counterfeiters are not river thieves.”
“We carry a surgeon to cut it out if we do!” laughed Jule. “I’m going anyhow! The idea of catching a live counterfeiter appeals to me. What do you say, Alex?”
“I’m game!” was the reply.
Buck and Rube laughed softly.