"No. Why?"
"I've just been looking out of the window. We're not on a
trestle."
"No? Well, what of it?"
"Only that the guard was lying. What did he do it for?"
"I don't know. Because he was a Mexican, I guess. Go on to
sleep."
"That isn't the answer, although it's pretty good. They have some
scheme. I wouldn't be surprised if they were going to keep us
prisoners somewhere around here."
"Nonsense. Go on to sleep."
But Billie was not satisfied. He leaned over and tried to talk to
Donald, but he was fast asleep.
"I think I'll go on a little scouting expedition," he muttered.
"I need some exercise."
He arose, stretched himself and walked slowly toward the door,
which stood wide open.
"I wonder where the guard is?" he thought. "It's mighty funny
he'd go and leave the coach like this."
He stepped on to the coach ahead. The same condition existed.
Billie's curiosity got the best of him and he jumped out onto the
ground. It was pitch dark, but he had not advanced more than
twenty steps before he discovered groups of men seated upon the
grass. A second glance convinced him they were armed.
He drew back and stood beside the coach, where he thought fast.
"There's one of two things," he soliloquized.
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