“Unless it’s meant for part of an Indian sign message as you at first suggested, Rick.”
“That’s what I thought,” the boy said. “You know Uncle Tod knows a lot about Indians. I don’t mean those tame ones up at his salt mines,” he added. “Indians, like old Johnnie Green, with his ‘kickum hard—two bits,’ wouldn’t send such a mysterious message as this.”
“No, I think not,” agreed Mr. Dalton. “Besides, everything at Uncle Tod’s salt mine is progressing quietly, since he got rid of his rascally partner Slither. And, as a matter of fact, Uncle Tod has sold most of his salt mine stock, just retaining a small block. So I think Johnnie Green and his Indians had nothing to do with this.”
“But what does it mean?” asked Mrs. Dalton. “I’m beginning to get worried.”
“It’s great!” exclaimed Rick. “It’s like a detective story! I’m going to see if we fellows can’t puzzle it out.”
“No, you mustn’t!” said his mother.
“Why not?”
For answer she held up the letter Uncle Tod had left.
“Oh, yes, he said to keep it secret; didn’t he,” remarked Rick. “All right, I will. Well, we’ll have to pass up the cabbage. But there’s the bullet,” and he pointed to where it lay on the table.
“Yes,” said Mr. Dalton, “there’s the bullet. Get me my magnifying glass from my desk, will you please, Mazie?” he asked his daughter. And when the powerful lens was brought, Mr. Dalton, under it, studied the leaden missile.