Ken wondered how Jed Tucker could be mixed up in a thing like this. His father was president of the bank and owned one of the best homes in Mayfield. Jed and Ken had played football on the first team together last year.
"Jed," Ken said quickly, "give it up! Don't go through with this!"
"Shut up!" Jed snarled. He reined the horse nearer, threatening Ken with the thrashing front legs.
When Jed's companions arrived, Jed dismounted from the horse.
"Who is it?" a panting voice asked.
A cold panic shot through Ken. He recognized the voice. It was that of Mr. Tucker himself. The bank official was taking part in the looting of the warehouse.
The third man, Ken recognized in rising horror, was Mr. Allen, a next-door neighbor of the Tuckers. He was the town's foremost attorney, and one of its most prominent citizens.
"We can't let him go," Allen was saying. "Whoever he is, we've got to get him out of the way."
Mr. Tucker came closer. He gasped in dismay. "It's young Maddox," he said. "You! What are you doing out this time of night?"
Under any other conditions, the question would have seemed humorous, coming from whom it did now. But Ken felt no humor; he sensed the desperate fury in these men.