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

61 страница из 92

“It’s too late to think of our horses now,” returned Frank. “Why do you suppose they stole your canoe, last night?” he queried. “If they have horses, what use would they find for a canoe?”

“Well, they might have taken that seventy-five dollar boat just to get even with us for not letting them stay in the camp.” Bleeker came to a halt. “We’ve come twice as far as that revolver shot would carry,” he went on, “and it’s a cinch we’ve had our trouble for our pains. Suppose we give up, and go back?”

“I don’t think we’re going to have any luck,” was Merry’s answer, “so there’s nothing for us to do but to return to camp. But that shot is bothering me a lot,” he added, sitting down on a convenient bowlder.

“I’m puzzled a heap, myself,” said Bleeker, hunting a seat and dropping down on it disgustedly. “I reckon, after all, we’d better make up our minds that some prospector took a chance shot at a coyote. That’s as good a guess as any, Chip. It’s fair to suppose that Barzy Blunt is all at sea, and hasn’t a notion where to look for Shoup and Lenning. So he couldn’t have done the shooting. Shoup and Lenning are out of it, because they hadn’t a gun. We’ve taken this little trip through the hills all for nothing.”