“I don’t know anything about that,” resumed old Barr; “but I will tell you this: two bad men, named Hank Higgins and Noggy Wilkes, did bring an auto in White Willow this morning. I suspected they’d stolen it somewhere.”
“Ha!” cried the sheriff, “I want those fellows, too. Where are they?”
“How do I know, my good man?” asked Luther Barr.
“Well, if you won’t tell, I’ve got no means of making you,” rejoined the sheriff, “although I’m pretty sure you do know. By the way the boys told me your party had two autos. Where’s the other?”
“Why—why, it’s gone on ahead,” said old Barr, who seemed somewhat taken aback.
“Gone on ahead? Then, that’s where Hank Higgins and Noggy Wilkes are, for sure,” exclaimed the sheriff. “Well, it’s no good chasing after them now, besides, there’s no reward for them, anyhow.”
“At least, you will not be so hard-hearted as not to tell us what has become of Mr. Joyce?” said Frank, seeing that it was no use to threaten old Barr, who seemed to have the upper hand just then.
“Joyce—Joyce,” repeated Barr, professing to be very much puzzled. “Oh, yes, I do remember an old man of that name—one of your friends, wasn’t he? Why, my dear boys, if you don’t know where he is how should I?”
“Base as you have shown yourself to be, I didn’t think you would carry your wickedness to this pitch,” exclaimed Frank, his fingers itching to strike Reade, who sat by with a sneering smile on his face while his aged companion mocked the boys.
“Come, Harry, there is no good waiting here,” he went on. “We must get back to White Willow. Mr. Joyce must be there. But, mind,” he exclaimed, “if any harm has come to Mr. Joyce I shall hold you responsible before the law for it.”