"I'm here," said the young man, quickly. "Enjoying myself. Won't you come up and meet my new friends?" Then to Paul, who sat near him, he said in low tones:
"My guards—as I call them! Say nothing of this, and warn young Hamilton. I will see you to-morrow."
"Wait a minute, Dick!" called Paul, as he glided off in the gloom toward the car which Dick was approaching.
"We thought you were lost," went on one of the two men who had come up. "Lost in the desert, Mr. Cameron."
"Oh, no," he answered, lightly. "I was just strolling along, and I came to the concert."
"Concert!" exclaimed the other man. "Is that another of your jokes?" from which it would appear that Mr. Cameron was in the habit of indulging in persiflage.
"Not at all," was the answer. "Boys, will you start up the phonograph again for my friends?"
"Phonograph—out here in this desert!" exclaimed one of the two newcomers. "Say, that sounds like 'Frisco. Can you give us some ragtime?"
"We haven't a very choice selection of records," spoke Innis, Paul and Dick being engaged in a whispered conversation near the car. "I'll play what we've got," and he started toward the car. "I'll have to get another record from the the machine," he added.