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"Ugh!" said Piute, pointing across to the dark line of cliffs. "Of course he'd see it first," laughed Naab. "Dave, have you caught it yet? Jack, see if you can make out a fire over on Echo Cliffs." "No, I don't see any light, except that white star. Have you seen it?" "Long ago," replied Naab. "Here, sight along my finger, and narrow your eyes down." "I believe I see it yes, I'm sure." "Good.
Darkness had again fallen before Dave found his car threading the streets of the city, still feverish with its new-born excitement of war. He returned his car to the garage; an attendant looked up curiously, it was evident from his glance that Dave had already been missed but no words were exchanged. He stood for a moment in the street collecting his thoughts and rehearsing his resolves.
"What are we to do this afternoon?" asked Dave, seating himself beside Prescott as three of the chums started for the swimming pool. "Gymnastics," Dick replied. "Especially bar work. And some boxing, of course." "You ought to be excused from boxing for the present," grinned Darry. "You look as though you had had enough for a while."
Dave Law slept for twenty hours, and even when he awoke it was not to a clear appreciation of his surroundings. At first he was relieved to find that the splitting pain in his head was gone, but imagined himself to be still in the maddening local train from Brownsville. By and by he recognized Paloma and Mrs.
"Yet, after all, Darry, I can't for the life of me see where Prescott and Holmes are in any way superior to yourself and Dan Dalzell." "Except," smiled Dave, "that Prescott and Holmes, last year, got by us a good deal oftener than we got by them -and so the Army lugged off the score from Franklin Field." "But you won't let 'em do it this year, Darry!"
Grandma and Grandpa Keeler, by the way, were good Methodists, but Madeline was not a "professor." "Seeking religion, eh?" inquired Grandpa Keeler. "She'd better let Dave Rollin alone, then," he added. "Let us hope that we shall all on us be brought to a better state of mind," concluded Grandma Keeler, with solemn pertinency.
It was a thrilling moment, Dave and Roger side by side, Phil at their heels, and Sid Todd further back, firing another shot or two, "just for fun," in true cowboy fashion. But Roger had urged his horse to the limit and could do no better. As Dave clucked again, Hero shot ahead, a foot, a yard, and soon several yards.
"We could keep the skin or have him stuffed," suggested Phil. "Let us take him back to the ranch so that the folks can see we really killed him," said Dave. "Then we might have him stuffed and sent to Oak Hall, to put in the museum." "Just the thing!" cried the senator's son. "That will please Doctor Clay, I am sure."
Unless he'll clear that up, I vote to finish the job." "Maybe we'd better," agreed the cattleman. "I'll tie the rope to the trunk of the tree and you lead the horse from under him, Dave." Miller broke down. He groveled. "I'll tell. I'll tell all I know. Dug Doble and Shorty held up the stage. I don' know who killed the driver. They didn't say when they come back."
Heretofore their formal relations had made life at least tolerable to Alaire, but now she experienced a feeling of guilt at finding herself under the same roof with him. Oddly enough, it seemed to her that in this she wronged Dave and not her husband; for she reasoned that, having given her love to one man, her presence in the same house with another outraged that love.
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