“We are looking for Jed Warren,” explained Bob Somers, “and thought possibly you might know something about him.”
“Jed Warren!” repeated the man. “What should I know about Jed Warren?”
“Didn’t you ever meet him—a mounted policeman?” cried Tom.
“Well, I’ve seen lots of the redcoats around; an’ maybe I have, an’ maybe I haven’t. Who sent you here?”
“Nobody sent us.”
“Well, then, you’d better go away. Ask somebody else.”
“See here, Mr. Styles,” interposed Dave, “would you have any objection to our resting a short time in your house?”
This request brought a sudden change of expression into the ranchman’s face.
Of all the boys lined up before Mr. Styles no one was surveying the situation more keenly than Tom Clifton. He was vaguely impressed with a feeling that something was behind the man’s peculiar manner; and this idea growing, as ideas usually did with Tom, he sprang to the ground, exclaiming:
“A good scheme, Dave. No objections, I suppose, Mr. Styles? Come on, fellows!”