The spy in the tree stared harder than before.
One of their members had been with the mob in front of the Flash Light when the explosion came, and he had told about it to the other members of Panther Pete’s gang, narrating a wonderful story.
So the rascal in the tree knew what was meant by the singular words of Silas Deland—knew quite as well as did young Denton.
“It was strange,” Denton assented wearily.
It was plain he was not interested. He was thinking of the perils of Ellen West, and was chafing at what seemed an enforced and needless delay. He wanted to be hurrying ahead, instead of resting there under that tree.
“You’ve heard about my rain-making experiments?” said Deland.
“No, I don’t think that I have, except what you’ve told me,” Denton answered.
Deland looked surprised and disappointed. He had fancied that his fame had preceded him.
“Well, it was at White Cloud, Arizony, where I made my biggest experiment. No rain there for nigh about a year, and everything dry as a powder mill. There wasn’t a speck of cloud in the sky when I went there. I says to the people of White Cloud, ‘Give me a thousand dollars after it’s done, and I’ll bring you all the rain you want inside of twenty-four hours.’”
He stopped and looked at the sky, and then pointed a finger, seeming to the spy in the tree to be pointing straight at him.