“But in that case he may run into grave danger,” protested Joe excitedly. “That fellow wouldn’t stop at a trifle. What are we going to do about it, Nat?”
“There’s only one thing to be done now,” declared Nat.
“And that is?”
“Raise Santa Barbara, notify the authorities of the place where we suspect Minory may be found, and let them take after him. If Ding-dong has gone to the right place, they may arrive in time to get him out of trouble. If he’s gone somewhere else, why, I don’t see that there’s anything we can do but hope for the best.”
“That’s about all,” said Joe, as he turned to his instruments. At that moment the door was flung open and in came Nate with a burst of rain and wind at his back.
“That feller off the point is no fisherman,” he declared positively. “I think that it’s up to us to keep our weather eyes open to-night.”
“For what?” asked Joe, as he tapped out the Santa Barbara call.
“For trouble,” was the brief reply. “Got any shootin’ irons on the island?”
“Only an old revolver,” said Nat. “We’ve never needed them.”
“S’pose you’ve heard about the cowpuncher,” said Nate dryly. “He had never needed a revolver for forty years, but when he did need it, he needed it durn bad!”