"
Westcott nodded.
"Well, he was doin' most of the talkin', an' I was foolin' round the
sideboard yonder, pretendin' ter clean it up. Nobody thought I was in
ear distance, but I got hold ov a word now an' then. He kept tellin'
'em, 'specially the blonde, 'bout this Mexican, who's a friend of Bill
Lacy, an' I judge has a place whar he hangs out with his gang somewhar
in the big desert."
"Was anything said about Miss Donovan?"
"Not by name; they was too smart for that; but that was the direction
Matt Moore drove off last night--there's Enright comin' down-stairs
now; won't yer hav' some more cakes, sir?"
Westcott pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He had extracted
all the information the girl possessed, and had no wish to expose her
to suspicion. There was no longer a doubt in his mind as to the fate
of Miss Donovan. She had been forcibly abducted by this gang of
thieves, and put where her knowledge could do them no harm. But where?
The clue had been given him, but before it could be of any value he
must learn more of this Mexican, Mendez.
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