"Jake shot to frighten them?" inquired Lenore.
"Not much. He stung one I.W.W., that's sure. We heard a cry, an' this mornin' we found some blood."
"What do you suppose these—these night visitors wanted?"
"No tellin'. Jake thinks one of them looked an' walked like the man Nash has been meetin'. Anyway, we're not takin' much more chance on Nash. I reckon it's dangerous keepin' him around. I'll have him drive me to-day—over to Vale, an' then to Huntington. You can go along. That'll be your last chance to pump him. Have you found out anythin'?"
Lenore told what had transpired between her and the driver. Anderson's face turned fiery red.
"That ain't much to help us," declared, angrily. "But it shows him up.… So his real name's Ruenke? Fine American name, I don't think! That man's a spy an' a plotter. An' before he's another day older I'm goin' to corner him. It's a sure go I can't hold Jake in any longer."
To Lenore it was a further indication of her father's temper that when they went down to enter the car he addressed Nash in cool, careless, easy speech. It made Lenore shiver. She had heard stories of her father's early career among hard men.
Jake was there, dry, caustic, with keen, quiet eyes that any subtle, clever man would have feared. But Nash's thought seemed turned mostly inward.
Lenore took the front seat in the car beside the driver. He showed unconscious response to that action.
"Jake, aren't you coming?" she asked, of the cowboy.