“Gracious, talk about counting chickens before they’re hatched! You’ve got the handcuffs on him already.”
“If it’s Mum-Mum-Minory he’ll be in safe hands before long,” declared Ding-dong stoutly.
“Well, don’t you go messing up in it,” implored the cautious Pepper. “From what I saw of those fellows this afternoon, they wouldn’t stop at much if they thought they were going to be betrayed to the authorities.”
“Oh, I’ll be c-c-c-careful,” promised Ding-dong.
The motorcycle began to hum along roads that grew wilder and less inhabited. It was still twilight, and they could see lone ranches setting back among dismal bare hills, with a few scrawny cattle or sheep grazing behind apparently interminable stretches of barb-wire fences.
“Nice cheerful sort of country,” commented Pepper. “I don’t wonder your friend figured that nobody would come nosing around here unless they had to.”
“But you rode out here this afternoon,” said Ding-dong; “go-g-g-g-good thing you did, too.”
“That remains to be seen,” commented Pepper laconically.
It grew dark. They came to a cross-roads where stood the ruins of what once had been a store. But it had long since fallen into decay and stood there deserted and ruinous like the tombstone of past prosperity.
“Are we near there now?” asked Ding-dong.