“Where is Sing now?”
“Where we can get him when we want him,” answered Howden. “I put him under lock and key right away.”
“The best place for him,” remarked Jim.
“He’s whimpering like a baby-monkey, too. We’ll get all we want out of him before he’s long there.”
“Did you find out how they got into the bank?”
“That’s the fishy bit! Sing says he opened the door and looked out for a breath of air, when someone hit him over the nut. The next he says he remembers was being tied up. His head is cut open all right, but all the same, I wouldn’t wonder if the Chink’s a liar.”
“They say they have a reputation for that kind of thing,” put in Phil.
Jim’s brain was busy, but he remained silent.
They galloped hard along that part of the road which diverged from the Lake, keeping their eyes to the right in the direction of the old trail between the hills to the Landing, and straight ahead also where the road ran parallel again three hundred feet above the water.
There was no moon. The night was dark, but away over Blue Nose Mountain the grey of dawn was slowly creeping.