"Vell," returned Carl, running his fingers reflectively through his mat of tow-colored hair, "I vas making some reflections on der soobjeck. Leedle Efa don't seem to cut mooch ice mit Legree, hey? Or meppy he cut a whole lot dot ve don'd know aboudt."
"You knew the boy in Denver?" went on Matt.
"Yah, aber I forged vat his name vas, or vat he dit. Und I ditn't know vedder he hat a fader."
"Well, I don't think we ought to go on to Flagstaff until we find out something as to what becomes of the boy."
"Me, neider; aber how ve find oudt, hey?"
"We'll take the Flier and see if we can't track the runabout."
"Und oof ve come too close py der runaboudt, den vat?"
"We'll take some old bottles along. If the runabout shows up and tries to chase us, we'll make a run of it and smash the bottles in the road behind us."
Carl chuckled. That was an expedient to which Motor Matt had already had recourse—and with brilliant success.
"Pully! I vill go findt der pottles, Matt, vile you ged der macheen retty."