"And, in the second place, two men can keep a secret, but six or eight can't. Some one of them is bound to talk to his sweetheart or wife or friend."
"True enough. That five hundred dollars might get one of 'em, too."
"Somehow I believe he is alive. His enemies have taken him away somewhere—probably up into the hills."
"But why?"
"You ought to know that better than I do. What could they gain by it?"
He scratched his gray head. "Search me. They couldn't aim to hold him till after the trial. That would be a kid's play."
"Couldn't they get him to sign some paper—something saying that he would give up his claim—or that he would sell out cheap?"
"No, they couldn't," the old man answered grimly. "But they might think they could. I expect that's the play. Dick never in the world would come through, though. He's game, that boy is. The point is, what will they do when they find he stands the acid?"
Miss Underwood looked quickly at him, then looked quickly away. She knew what they would do. So did Davis.
"No, that's not the point. We must find him—just as soon as we can. Stir this whole town up and rake it with a fine-tooth comb. See if any of Miss Valdés' peons are in town. If they are have them shadowed."