Part 3 (1/2)
They pa.s.sed out on the country road and were soon tramping along in the direction of the old Potts place. As they went on they talked over the proposed trip to the West.
”We ought surely to have the time of our lives,” said the s.h.i.+powner's son. ”Just think of riding like the wind on some of those broncos!”
”Or getting flung heels over head from a bronco's back,” added Roger.
”I rather think we'll have to be careful at first.”
”One thing I don't like about this trip,” said Dave.
”The fact that Link Merwell's father owns the next ranch to the Star?”
”Exactly.”
”Oh, ranch homes out there are sometimes miles apart,” said Roger. ”You may not see the Merwells at all.”
”That will just suit me,--and I know it will suit Laura, too. She is awfully sorry that she once corresponded with Link.”
”Well, she didn't know what he was,” answered the senator's son. Ever since he had met Laura he had been much interested in Dave's sister.
The three chums had covered about half the distance to the old Potts place when they saw a horse and buggy approaching. As it came closer they saw that it contained two men.
”It's Mr. Poole!” cried Dave, and then, as he caught sight of the other man's face, he turned a trifle pale. ”Step behind here!” he called to Phil and Roger, and pulled them back of some handy bushes.
The horse and buggy soon came up to them and pa.s.sed on, the three boys keeping out of sight until the turnout was gone. Dave gave a deep sigh.
”I guess Mr. Poole means business,” he said.
”What do you mean?” questioned the senator's son.
”I mean he is going to have me locked up.”
”Why?” asked Phil.
”That man in the buggy with him was Mr. Mardell, the police justice.”
CHAPTER III
AN INTERVIEW OF INTEREST
”Well, I shouldn't go back home until your father and your uncle return,” said the senator's son. ”Then, if you are arrested, they'll know exactly what to do.”
”It's too bad it happened!” murmured Dave. ”I wish I had gotten off to the West without seeing Aaron Poole. But I suppose there is no use in crying over spilt milk. I'll have to face the music, and take what comes.”
The three lads went on, and presently came in sight of the farm where Caspar Potts and Dave had once resided. The ground was now being cultivated by the man who had the next farm, and the house was tenantless.
”I've got the key of the house,” said Dave. ”If you'd like to take a look inside I'll unlock the door. But it's a very poor place--a big contrast to the Wadsworth residence.”
”And so you used to work here, Dave?” said Phil, gazing around at the fields of corn and wheat.