"Wait a minute," said Charley, as the youth turned to go. "There may be an answer to this."
Hastily tearing open the envelope, the lad read:
"Better get back as soon as you can. Bunch of New York toughs or gunmen just got off train. Met by wagons. Gone out direction of your camp. Saw Jones talking to some of them. Bad-looking characters."
There was no name signed to the message, but the lad knew it was from the friendly agent at Jupiter, and, turning it over, he wrote on the back.
"Can't get up until morning train. Many thanks."
He gave the message to the boy, together with a half dollar to pay him for his trouble, and, as soon as the boy had departed, he undressed and went again to bed, where he lay awake half the night, worrying over the agent's message.
He was waiting at the sheriff's office next morning when that officer arrived, and to him he laid bare the whole story of their trials since he and his chums had bought the machine.
The sheriff listened with deepest interest, and when the lad concluded he said to him frankly: "I would like best in the world, lad, to help you, but you have no direct evidence against anyone, and I can make no arrests without proof. I would advise you to see a good lawyer. Maybe he will be able to untangle this mess for you."