While the boys were discussing the situation in the outer chamber of what appeared to be a subterranean, prehistoric temple, or at least an ancient habitation or place of shelter, George Fremont was moving down the slope of the mountain at a slow pace, the outlaws showing signs of exhaustion.
The big Englishman, known as "Big Bob" by the messenger who had identified the boy for him, had ordered the boy's bonds removed, and so he was scrambling along in comparative comfort, the way being quite free of dangerous cliffs and fissures.
Occasionally Big Bob approached him with some question connected with the night of the tragedy, but at first Fremont refused to talk on the subject, well knowing that the big fellow would only criticize what he said.
After a time, however, Fremont decided that it might be to his advantage to draw the fellow out, and the next time he came up he asked, abruptly:
"What do you know of Nestor's movements that night?""Did I say that I knew anything of them?" was the astonished reply.
"When you thought you had captured Nestor you said you knew of every move he made that night. Not my movements, but Nestor's.""Don't get gay, now," growled the other. "I'll talk about that with Nestor, when I find him. I'll talk about your movements with you. There's plenty of proof that you did the job there.""And you've got it, of course?" said Fremont, with a shrug of disbelief.
"Of course I've got it. The only thing I can't dope out is the motive you had.""You ought to be able to find that," sneered the boy. "Your imagination seems to be working well to-day. Were you there that night? If not, how does it come that you know so much about what didn't take place?" he added, provokingly.
"You were seen to strike the blow," was the blustering reply.
"Where were you at that time?" asked Fremont, knowing, of course, that the fellow was lying to him, and hoping to confuse him by the abruptness of the question.
"That does not matter," was the reply. "It is known that you sneaked into the building after the elevator stopped, and went up to the Cameron suite. After stopping there for some moments, long enough to create the disorder that existed there, you returned to the lower floor. Then you started up, giving notice of your approach by whistling."Fremont could not repress a smile at the positive manner of the man as he described a situation which was purely imaginary. Then, anxious to learn what other untruths the fellow would relate, he asked:
"You know Jim Scoby, the night watchman, and Felix, the Mexican?""I know nothing of them," was the reply.
The two walked on side by side for some time in silence, the big fellow turning now and then to look with disapproval at the smiling face of the boy. Indeed, if the proof against him was no stronger than this, the boy could well afford to smile, for lies in evidence discredit any truth there may be on the side of the falsifiers.
"Where are the men you refer to?" the big fellow asked, at length.
"They are down here looking for the Tolford mine," was the reply.
"They stole a description of it that night. Ever hear of the Tolford mine?" he added abruptly.
The renegade gave a quick start at the question.
"How do you know they are down here?" he asked.
"Nestor says they followed on down after us. Were you there when they got into the office and got the description?" he continued.
"I've heard of this mysterious mine," was the guarded reply, "and I understand that this boy Nestor has a copy of the description.""Is that why you wanted Nestor?" asked Fremont. "Are you after the mine, too?"The big fellow walked on in silence. It was plain to Fremont that his abrupt questions were irritating him, so he decided to go on with them.
"Are you one of the Tolford heirs?" he asked.
No reply, save a threatening scowl.
"Are you the heir who has been ****** Mr. Cameron so much trouble?" persisted the prisoner, glad to note that Big Bob was fretting under his cross-examination.
"Do you expect to find the mine down there in the sand?"continued Fremont. "That doesn't appear to me to be a good place to look for gold.""It is a good place to look for a reward for a fugitive from justice," snapped the big fellow. "Now cut out the gab!""You think you can get me across the border without meeting with opposition from my friends?" asked Fremont, not obeying the latest command.
"Your friends!" ejaculated Big Bob. "Who are your friends?
A mess of school-boys who get lost in the hills! A gang of high-brows who can't take care of themselves off Broadway!
Your friends!"
The idea of meeting with any effective opposition from Fremont's boy friends was so amusing to the big fellow that he burst into a hearty laugh.
"Your friends!" he repeated. "Ho! Ho! Baby dudes!""About this reward," Fremont went on, resolved to keep Big Bob talking if he could, "about this blood money!
