“Hullo, Ike Carter,” exclaimed the agent. “What’s up?”
“A good deal, I reckon,” replied the other. “I jist heard that you an’ Mowry are lookin’ fur Silas Raikes. I seen him this mornin’ in Hiram Bobb’s tavern at Wytopitlock. His mustache was shaved off, but I knowed him all ther same. He was with a swell-lookin’ cuss with a beard an’ shiny black togs——”
“That was Mr. Glendale,” interrupted Tom, rising eagerly to his feet.
At first the news caused great excitement, and it was some time before it could be allayed. Then wise counsels prevailed, and the agent’s carefully concocted scheme was adopted.
“There are enough of us here to arrest Raikes without any trouble,” he said. “We won’t say anything about it outside, but we’ll just go quietly to the station, and take the first train to Wytopitlock. It goes in twenty minutes.”
This programme was carried out. The party of seven managed to reach the station and board the train without attracting much attention. Wytopitlock was even a less important place than Kingman. It boasted half-a-dozen houses, a store and a tavern. The latter was nearly a quarter of a mile from the station, and stood on the edge of the wilderness. Here bad news awaited the party.
“The men you’re inquirin’ fur hev been here mor’n two days,” said Hiram Bobb, “at least one of them has. Arter dinner they started into the woods. They said they was goin’ huntin’. Thar’s somethin’ queer about it, though. I heard them whisperin’ this mornin’, an’ one, he says to t’other, ‘we must git thar by sundown. The place is a big rock about three miles up the valley.’”
Jerry and Tom exchanged meaning glances with the men.
“I know whar that rock is,” exclaimed Mowry, “an’ I understand the hull thing. Thar’s ter be a meetin’ at sunset, an’ the lad an’ the money will change hands.”
“And the sun will set in a little less than half an hour,” cried the agent. “We’ve got just about time enough to reach the place.”