Curt Newsom was one of the first to answer the call and he muttered to himself when he heard the news.
“There’s trouble brewing,” he told Helen. “You stick close to me.”
“What do you mean, Curt?” asked Helen, her voice filled with anxiety.
“I mean this picture promises to be too big and someone is trying to throw a wrench in the proceedings.”
“Some rival company?”
“It could be that. I’m not saying, but I’m certainly going to keep my eyes open.”
Under the brisk commands of Helen’s father, the ghost town awoke. Men who had been asleep were routed out, cars commandeered, and parties swept away over the desert in search of the missing girl.
Curt Newsom, who had brought several horses with him, preferred to ride and Helen went with him. Curt saddled the horses and they swung away into the desert together.
Across the almost level floor of the desert they could see the cars swinging in great circles.
“They won’t find anything,” said Curt, and after that they rode on in a silence broken only by the steady shuffling of the horses through the sand.