“Why are you laughing?” she asked. “Isn’t that man Joe Pompilli?”
“Not on your life. Both those men are truckers for the Peoria Cartage Co., and they make this town every few days. It’s lucky you ran into me before you went blabbering your suspicions to the State Highway patrol. If you’d accused those two of being hi-jackers, they might not have liked it.”
“But I can’t understand it, unless I was misinformed by the state highwaymen,” Judy stammered, completely crushed by the mistake she had made. “That man certainly was hurt in an accident. He’s wearing a wrist bandage and there are cuts on his face! The other Scouts and myself gave him first aid treatment.”
“I don’t know about that,” Ranger Diethelm replied with a shrug. “The state patrolmen either made a mistake in identifying him, or gave you the wrong dope.”
“Shouldn’t I call Highway headquarters to make sure?”
“You’ll be making a silly mistake if you do,” warned the ranger. “A mistake that will make your Scout organization the laughing stock of the community. Take my word for it, those two men are Jim Brady and Donald Fine, two highly respected truckers. But go ahead if you want to make the call.”
Lowell Diethelm’s words, and particularly his air of amusement, robbed Judy of all desire to risk action which might hold up her organization to possible ridicule.
She hesitated. The ranger mistook her silence for unwillingness to follow his suggestion.
“Instead of trying to track down criminals, you Scouts would do better to look after affairs around your own camp,” he said cuttingly.
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Judy, startled. She had detected a hostile note in the ranger’s voice.