"What's his name?"
"Gooddale—Elias Gooddale," was the reply.
CHAPTER III.
LIKE THIEVES IN THE NIGHT.
In the meantime, the Motor Rangers and their western chum had jogged into the little town, creating some excitement among the inhabitants thereof. Santa Inez was one of those sleepy, little places not uncommon along the coast of northern California, connected with the outer world only by a semi-weekly stage and by an occasional steamer. Shut in by the Coast Range to the east, and the broad Pacific to the west, its inhabitants lived an almost patriarchal existence.
Small and primitive as it was, however, the place boasted a hotel. The hostelry was not large, but still not bad of its kind, and having inquired the direction the boys made the best of their time toward it.
"I expect Captain Akers will be there already," remarked Nat, as they rode through the dusty street, shaded by feathery pepper trees with pungent-smelling foliage.
"You told him to meet us there, then?" asked Joe.
"I did—yes. It was in the expectation that he would arrive there first. But in any event, it is no doubt the first place he will make for, expecting to hear news of us."
The party had no difficulty in engaging rooms; indeed the landlord—one Calvo Pinto—appeared as if he could not do enough for them. It was not often that the Gran Hotel De Santa Inez, as it was grandiloquently called, boasted such a numerous party of guests. As Nat told Pinto that their party might be recruited by two more, the fellow was naturally obsequious enough. In fact, he was servility itself, and bowed and cringed in most abject fashion.