“Are you sure of that?”
“Sure.”
“Where?”
“Right here in this hotel. I guess they’re asleep in their little cots now, right over your heads.”
“You don’t think it possible that they can have heard any of our conversation?”
“Not on your natural, stranger. We’re as safe talking here as in the Alloff Gastorium in New York. Is that all you want me to do?”
“That’s all. I will pay you well for the information when you deliver the map to me.”
“I’ll deliver it, never fear. It was a lucky day for me I stumbled on that old mine. I’ve never been able to claim it, though, for they’d lynch me for a little shooting if I showed my face there.”
“Those cubs have made good time. We are only twenty miles ahead of them,” struck in another voice—that of Fred Reade; “if we could only disable their machine it would come near putting them out of the race.”
“What, bust their fool sky wagon. That’s easy enough,” said Wild Bill Jenkins confidently. “Listen here.”