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

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“Blunt has had plenty of time to pick up the trail. He’s a determined chap when he sets out to do anything.”

“Hotch jumped at the conclusion that Lenning and Shoup were doing the shooting. But if they didn’t have anything to shoot with, Hotch, of course, is wrong. Whoever pulled the trigger was easily satisfied. Only one shot was fired.”

Just at that moment, Merriwell glimpsed something a few yards to the right of him. It was an object that lay on the ground and gleamed brightly in the sun. Swerving to one side, he picked the object up.

“What have you found, pard?” called Bleeker.

“An empty sardine tin,” Frank reported.

“That’s right,” said Bleeker, coming up and peering at the flat can with its ragged flap. “It’s bright and new, and hasn’t lain where you found it for very long. We gave Lenning and Shoup a couple of tins of sardines, and I reckon they must have camped somewhere near this place last night.”

The lads examined the ground in the vicinity with some care. They found a thicket of mesquite, which had been trampled by horses—and Bleeker’s theory that Lenning and Shoup had spent the night in that place was all but proved.