“How has he kept out of the clutches of the law so long?” asked Joe.
“He’s got some sort of political pull,” was the rejoinder, “and besides that, there ain’t hardly nobody would testify against him, they’re so all-fired scared of what would happen to them if they did. There’s a whole clan of Harleys back there at Martinez, and they’re all about as hard as old Israel, and that’s saying a heap.”
“Hullo! What’s up now? They’re slowing down!” cried Nat suddenly.
“So they are, and right by that little side passage that Minory vanished into.”
“Maybe he’s in trouble and they’ve stopped to see what’s up,” suggested Joe.
“No; look, they’ve stopped! Look there! Minory is rowing up to them and talking to them. Put the glasses on ’em, Joe, and see what they’re up to.”
Joe clapped the binoculars to his eyes.
“Crickey!” he cried excitedly, “I saw him pass something to old Harley, and he’s getting on board the black motor boat.”
“I’ll bet he’s cooked up some fairy story and that old Israel has agreed to take him some place down the coast, maybe Santa Barbara, and set him ashore where he can hit a railroad or a steamer,” suggested Mr. Anderson.
“That may be so,” was Nat’s thoughtful rejoinder; “from what Joe saw, it looks as if money had been passed. If he had kept on to Martinez he would have found himself miles out of civilization. It’s wild country back there, and I guess he is anxious to hit the railroad or the ocean right now.”