“What yer goin’ ter do, boss? Ther young maverick may be needin’ help right now and needin’ it bad, too.”
“That’s correct, Baldy. We must take some action at once. But the case is so puzzling that I hardly know what to do about it. Jack Merrill didn’t impress me as the kind of boy that would run needlessly into danger.”
“No; ther young pinto had some hoss sense,” admitted Baldy, flicking his chaps with his quirt.
“That being the case, how are we to account for his disappearance? If he had been attacked by greasers there would have been some noise, some disturbance.”
“Maybe he jes’ fell in ther Rio and was drown–ded,” suggested Baldy.
“I don’t think that. Jack Merrill is an athletic lad, and among other things, I am told, a first–class swimmer. No, we have to figure on some other line.”
“Waal, I’m free to admit that I’m up a tree, boss,” grunted Baldy.
By this time Captain Atkinson was out of his blankets and hastily drawing on his chaps and pulling his blue cowboy shirt over his head. When his boots had been drawn on and spurs adjusted he ordered Baldy to saddle his pony and bring it over. As soon as this was done the Captain of the Rangers and Baldy rode out of the camp as silently as possible and made their way to the river. But all Captain Atkinson’s questioning failed to elicit any more facts than he had been able to glean from Baldy. There was nothing left to do but to wait for daybreak to make an examination for tracks that might throw some light on the mystery.
In the meantime Ralph and Walt were informed of Jack’s mysterious disappearance. To Captain Atkinson’s astonishment, they did not appear nearly so much alarmed as he had feared. Instead, they accepted the news with almost stoical faces.
“You think that Jack is safe, then?” asked the captain of the Rangers. “At any rate, you don’t seem much worried about him.”