Carl let off a whoop. "Slocum, py shinks!" he called.
Slocum gave a jump and started to run. Matt and Carl at once trailed after him.
The passengers on the station platform got out of the way and stood and gaped at the flight and pursuit. They could not understand what it all meant, of course, and, while it was sufficiently exciting to claim their attention, there was only twenty minutes allowed them for breakfast, and they could not waste much time.
When the shabby man, with the two boys hot after him, had vanished around the corner of the station-building, the passengers began filing into the eating-room.
To say that Matt was startled to catch a glimpse of Slocum would describe his feelings too mildly. If Slocum had taken an early train with the rest of the drivers, what was he doing there in Dodge City? He should have been several hours further along the road.
Matt was not looking for more trickery. The fact that Higgins had watched him and Carl in Denver, and had sent a message to Sercomb, was, of course, unknown to the young motorist. Had that point been brought to Matt's attention he might have suspected something underhand in this strange appearance of Slocum.
Slocum's legs were long and he was making good use of them. After whirling around the corner of the station, he set off across the tracks toward some trees and bushes that lined the edge of the switch-yard.
Matt and Carl were overhauling the rascal steadily, and were not more than a dozen feet behind him when he vanished into the bushes. Matt led Carl by a yard, and when Matt had crashed through the brush and into a little cleared space, Slocum was still out of sight.
Directly in front of Matt was a small tool-house such as a section-gang uses for storing tools and hand-cars. The door of the tool-house was swinging wide, and an open padlock hung in a staple at the edge of the opening.
As Matt stood for a second looking at the tool-house, he fancied he heard a stir inside the small building and a sound of whispering voices.