Andy gave vent to an exclamation that told of excitement revived.
"You mean the time we sighted those two skulking jewelry thieves, the fellows who had robbed Leffingwell's store, and were hiding until the row quieted down?"
"Yes, Jules Garrone, and his pal," Frank went on.
"Jules was the one who had been an aviator over in France, and who tried to steal our Bug, meaning to fly away, and leave no trail behind for the hunting police. But Frank, you can't possibly believe Jules was the fellow who fired that shot? It don't stand to reason; because you know, he was sent to the penitentiary for ten years. Oh! no, I guess we'll have to think up something else this time," and Andy shook his head vigorously in the negative.
"Well, time may tell," Frank said, simply.
"Looky here, Frank, now there's no use denying it, I know you've got some sort of idea about finding out who that rascal was," declared Andy.
"Well, perhaps there is some sort of hazy notion hovering around in my brain, that I ought to learn more about him," the other smiled back. "This thing of being made a target by any fool who happens to own a rifle is something that ought to be stopped with a jerk. Yes, I do expect to try and find out."
"And you won't tell me what's on your mind?" asked Andy.
"Not just now. It's too uncertain to speak of, yet. And perhaps, after all, it was only some boy, who thought it would be smart to give us a little shock; and who sent his bullet closer than he had meant to."
"You sure don't mean—Percy?" exclaimed Andy.