“From the west,” was the brief reply.
Clay’s escorts glanced at each other significantly, but said nothing. The boy was satisfied from the attitude of those about him that his chums had been attacked, but, as a matter of fact, he had heard no shooting, being at the time it took place in the cavern opening from the gully.
After what seemed to Clay to be an endless journey, the party came to the west shore of the east river. Here, in the glade to the north of the rocky ledge which they had followed, was a fairly comfortable camp with tents and bunks and plenty of cooking appurtenances.
Clay was pushed into a tent and his hands and feet bound again.
“We can’t take any chances on your jumping us in the night,” the leader said as he saw the ropes adjusted around the boy’s ankles and wrists. “If you only had a little sense, we might make you more comfortable.”
Time and again Clay had the name of Lawyer Martin on his lips. He was almost positive that the leader of the outlaws was the disguised man he had met in Montreal, the man of whom the farmer had spoken at the campfire. However, he conquered the inclination to address the fellow by the title which he believed to belong to him.
“If he really is Lawyer Martin,” the boy reasoned, “and I let him know that I know the truth, he’ll take good care that I never get out into the world again to tell of his connection with these outlaws.”
That night was a long one for the boy. One of the outlaws walked watchfully about the camp all night and another sat close by his bunk watching with unwearying eyes. It was plain that they considered his capture of great importance. He reasoned that it was because they had failed in any attack that might have been made on his chums, and had not succeeded in securing the map they sought.
He did not know whether Alex had escaped the clutches of the ruffians or not, but he believed that if the boy really had been taken prisoner he would have been brought to the camp he himself occupied.
The camp was astir at daybreak, when most of the outlaws disappeared from view, going in every direction except across the river. Clay would have given a good deal for exact information regarding their plans for the day, but he could only surmise that all their energies would be directed toward the destruction of the Rambler and the driving away of his chums.