“Where’s the girl?” demanded Williams.
“Down the arroyo with the horses,” replied Scott. “We saw the outfit in time or Pachuca’d have had her, too.”
“He asked me where she was and I told him she’d gone home,” said Mrs. Van. “I was awful scared Dolores would give me away but I reckon she didn’t hear.”
They stared malevolently at the vanishing auto. Pachuca had turned the sorrel over to another man and was driving the car himself. Suddenly, they saw him stop and give an order. Several of the men dismounted and were laying something along the track. Then with a yell, they all bolted, the auto in the lead, the horsemen following. A few seconds and they had disappeared around a curve in the road.
“Now, what the ——” began Williams, when he was answered—there was a crash, the sight of rocks and sand flying, and a thunderous reverberation.
“The mutts have blown up the track!” burst from the engineer, furiously.
“They would,” replied Scott, sourly. “Want to cut us off from Conejo till they’ve made their getaway! Probably cut the wires, too. Go and see, Miller. If they haven’t, get Morgan and tell him Pachuca’s on the rampage. Did he say what was up? What he was doing this for?” he asked.
“Not him,” said O’Grady, disgustedly. “Bring out your dead—that’s Johnny Pachuca—no flourishes about him.”
“You come in here with me and look at Joe Williams’ arm,” commanded Mrs. Van. “It don’t look to me as if it was broke, do you think so?”
“I’ll see to Adams,” said Scott. “Johnson, you go down to the arroyo and get the girl.” And he went down the street to the cabin.