They listened to a bit of good music, tuned in on a minstrel show, listened to some more or less interesting weather reports—they would have been more interesting, if they had been more hopeful—heard some distinctly uninteresting stock quotations and then, suddenly—a message in a familiar tone that made them sit up and stare at each other.
It was Doc. Denby’s voice announcing to all who might be interested and hoping, of course, that the message would reach the boys, that the trial of the two thieves who had been caught in the bank robbery, had been set for an early date. Only a little over a week from that time.
Then the voice ceased to be replaced by others that held no interest. As though by common consent the boys removed their headphones, congratulating themselves that they had been lucky enough to catch Doc. Denby’s message.
“They ought to hang those fellows,” said Dick, scowling as he remembered how close his father had come to being killed. “They should treat a thief just as they do a murderer, for every thief is ready to murder if he finds himself cornered.”
“Well, I’ll be satisfied if they get a jail sentence, provided it’s long enough,” said Tom. “I wish the cops had managed to wing a couple more of them, just the same, when they had the chance,” he added bloodthirstily.
“It does make your blood boil to think of the other scoundrels, especially that fellow Muggs Murray with the scar, getting off scot free,” agreed Phil, adding confidently, “Never mind, we’ll get ’em, yet.”
It was a few days later when Captain Bradley summoned Phil and told him that he wanted him to go on a mission for him to another camp of Rangers about fifteen miles distant.
Phil fairly leapt at the chance and Captain Bradley smiled at his enthusiasm.
“Nothing can scare you fellows, that’s one sure thing,” he said approvingly. “I’ve had plenty of daredevils in my command before, but none of them ever ate up danger quite the way you boys do. And there is danger too, plenty of it,” he said, more seriously. “Espato’s gang is on the rampage. They’re out for blood. These darn Mexicans are regular man eaters when they get going—”
“And they’re ‘going’ most of the time,” interjected Phil, with a smile.