“Well, it’s pretty near time,” remarked another. “They’re sure gettin’ peskier and meaner every day. We’re too blamed easy with them, that’s the trouble.”
The others seemed to be of the same opinion, and as they walked toward headquarters, the boys heard more than one tale of looting and outrage, that made them glad that they were to engage in the work of prevention and punishment.
“Captain Bradley will be glad to know you’ve arrived,” said Steve, after they had reached the bunk house and had washed up. “He didn’t figure you’d get here much before tonight or maybe tomorrow morning, and he’s gone to Austin on some official business. We expect him back in a day or so.”
“Well, we can spend the time in getting acquainted,” said Phil. “I only wish we had been here when you had the fight with those bandits that you told us about by radio.”
“I sure wish you had,” said Steve, “If we had that plane of yours then, we’d probably have caught them. As it is, though, they seem to have got away clean, and nobody’s seen or heard of them since. They’re bad medicine, that gang.”
“They’d give a lot to have their hands on them back in Castleton,” said Dick. “We haven’t much doubt that the man with the scar that you saw is the same who engineered the holdup in the bank, and if he is, he’s still got nearly $40,000 of the bank’s money.”
“Whew!” whistled Steve. “That’s some chunk of kale, isn’t it? If the Mexicans will stay quiet for a while, we’ll get after that Murray bunch in earnest. But of course, our first duty is to guard against the greasers.”
“Are they giving so much trouble at present, then?” queried Tom.
“Trouble!” echoed Steve, “why, a Mex’s middle name is trouble. They’re all bad, but some are ’specially bad. There’s one gang, headed by a thieving, murdering son of a sea cook that they call Espato, that’s got more poison in his make-up than a rattlesnake. We’ve all got scores to pay off against him, but he’s a cunning devil, and so far, while we’ve winged a number of his band, he’s always got off scot free. We’ll get him yet, though,” and Steve’s fingers unconsciously sought and gripped the butt of his revolver.
“Tell ’em about how he shot up Jack Sanderson’s farm, Steve,” said another of the Rangers, who was lounging nearby.