Читать книгу Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona; or, Clearing a Rival's Record онлайн

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Merriwell and Bleeker took a northwest course among low, rocky hills. They traveled rapidly, keeping their ears open for another report, which might serve further as a guide.

“That was a revolver shot,” asserted Bleeker, as they hurried on, “but it may have been farther away than we think. In this clear, still air a report will carry a long distance.”

“Did Lenning or Shoup have any weapons, Bleeker?” asked Frank, in a worried tone.

“I don’t think so; at least I didn’t see any when I sent them away from the camp, last night. If they had had any guns, they might have tried to use them then and make a bluff.”

“Probably,” said Frank, with a feeling of relief. “It’s possible, too, that some one besides Blunt was doing that shooting. There may be others in this vicinity, don’t you think?”

“Sure thing, but it’s hardly likely. I don’t believe there’s a soul nearer our camp than Dolliver’s.”

“Some cowboy might be riding down Mohave Cañon from the Fiddleback Ranch.”

“Yes; but I don’t know what he’d find to shoot at. Cowboys don’t carry revolvers all the time, like they used to; and, if a Fiddleback man was going to town, he certainly wouldn’t pack a six-shooter. But that couldn’t have been Blunt doing the shooting. He wasn’t on the track of Lenning and Shoup, at last accounts.”