It was a sweltering night and people were mostly outdoors. Under the vines in front of a small Mexican house a man played a guitar and a woman hummed an accompaniment. Across the street a little Holiness Mission was holding prayer meeting, and through the open windows an organ and twenty voices wailed out a religious tune.
Bob turned and walked back rapidly, and crossed the Mexican line. At the Red Owl he might hear something.
It was so hot that even the gamblers were listless to-night. The only stir of excitement was round one roulette wheel. Bob started toward the group, and saw the centre of it was Reedy Jenkins with his hat tipped back, shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled to elbows, playing stacks of silver dollars on the "thirty."
Bob leaned against one of the idle tables and talked with the game keeper, a pleasant, friendly young chap.
"Wonder what the Mexicans are going to do with so many motor trucks?" the gamester asked casually.
"Motor trucks?" Bob repeated.
"Yes, they unloaded a whole string of them over here to-day. One of the boys said he counted twenty."
As Bob left the gambling hall Reedy was still playing the roulette wheel at twenty dollars a throw.
Rogeen got his car and started south. He would see for himself if there was any basis for Jenkins' claim that immediate work must be done on the water system. It was late and there were no lights at any of the little ranch shacks over the fields.
Chandler's place was dark like the rest. They were sleeping. Their notice would not come until to-morrow or next day. He would not wake them. Anyway to-night he had forgotten his fiddle, but he grimly remembered his gun.