“Well, they were hanging around, all right,” declared the sad actor, “though they may not be here now. But, just the same, I wouldn’t mention about having so much money—not in public. Something might happen, Mr. Ringold.”
“I think there is little danger. I have only a small part of it in cash. The rest is in letters of credit, that are only good when I have signed them. I’m not worrying.
“But as to plans. The only thing I see to do is to go direct to Hannibal, and see if we can get on the trail of the missing ones there.”
“That does seem to be about the only thing to do,” agreed Blake. “I wish we were there now. It’s maddening to know you’ve got a lot to do, and not be able to do it. I want action!”
“And so do I!” cried his chum.
However, there was nothing for it but to wait until they reached the flooded district. On and on sped their train, making but few stops. When they did reach a large city, the boys would go out and buy the latest papers, to get news of the flood along the Mississippi.
The reports were not reassuring. The rains still continued at intervals, and the rivers, not only the Mississippi, but tributary streams also, were rising, which added to the swollen condition of the big waterway.
Pitiful tales of suffering of men, women and children began to filter in, and it was reported that relief measures were being undertaken by the various states. In some places the National Guard was being ordered out, to aid in rescue work, and several detachments of the Regulars had been sent to the flooded districts.
The first day and night passed without incident to our friends speeding to the West. No trace was seen of Munson, or any of his tools, and it was certain that if he had not boarded the train in New York, at which station the actor said he had seen him, the rival was behind, and not ahead of our friends.
“What’s the matter, Blake?” asked Mr. Ringold, on the second day out. “Are you restless?” for the youth was pacing up and down the aisle of the car.