Between them Rick and Chot supplied a good description, even to the numbers on the license plates, and this information was soon being sent broadcast by telephone and telegraph.
“Well, do you boys want to sit around here and wait for Mr. Campbell to come back?” asked Sheriff Hart, “or what do you want to do?”
“Mr. Wilson said something about going to his house,” began Rick, “and if we could—”
Just then the telephone in the sheriff’s office, where this talk was taking place, began ringing violently.
“Hello—hello!” cried the sheriff as he snatched off the receiver. He listened intently, saying, meanwhile—“yes—yes! Good! I hope you do! Yes, they’re here! I’ll send them up!”
He turned to the boys.
“That was Nick Wilson,” he said as he hung up the receiver. “He says they haven’t got any trace of the robbers yet, but they hope to, soon, and he says to tell you to go on up to his house and eat. I’ll telephone Mrs. Wilson you’re coming.”
“How do you get there?” asked Rick, for they were in a strange town.
“I’ll take you up in my car,” the sheriff offered. “Nick wants me to tell his wife he won’t be home to dinner. And that will be a good opening for me to suggest that you boys can take his place at the table,” he added with a chuckle.
“I guess we’re willing,” said Rick, smiling, and Chot did his share.