"I'll not let him touch you," answered Bascomb, stooping to pat the dog's neck. "His recollections of you aren't of the pleasantest, I reckon. Quiet, Bolivar!" he added.
The next moment Bascomb had untied a cord from the dog's collar and removed a note. He read the note quickly, then tore it in fragments and threw the pieces away. Taking a note-book from his pocket, he proceeded to pencil some words on a leaf. Tearing out the leaf he folded it compactly and carefully secured it to the leather band.
"Clear out, Bolivar!" he cried, when he had finished. "Off with you, old boy!" he added, and waved his hand toward the hills.
The dog got up, gave a final snarl at Matt, then leaped away. In a few moments he had whisked out of sight.
Matt was somewhat in doubt as to whether or not he ought to stop this proceeding. It was dear that Bascomb had received a communication from some of the scattered gang, and had sent one in return. Was he planning to help them evade Burke and his posse?
Bascomb must have divined what was going on in Matt's mind, for he turned to him as soon as Bolivar was out of sight.
"There was nothing lawless about that note, or the one I sent back, King," said he. "It was private business, entirely. Now I'm going to scribble a few lines for you, and you can read them in a few days, or any time after we get to Phœnix."
More pencil work followed in the memorandum-book. Another leaf was torn out, folded, and handed to Matt. He put it into his pocket along with the envelope returned to him by Burke.
The winding up of this incident seemed to give Bascomb a good deal of relief.
"Now," he observed, "I'm ready for a quick trip to Phœnix, and for whatever happens there."