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CHAPTER XII The Umbrella Adventure,

At last he was about to get up and go home when he saw a figure dodging from shadow to shadow and making up the hill in the general direction of his position.,

Panting, struggling, gasping, he fought on. His mind was filled with the horror of what would happen should he be too late. There was no way of telling how far Miguel had gone. The dam that kept him hidden from the Mexican, also hid the Mexican from him. He must—he must go on until he was well past the center of the dam—Miguel would do the job thoroughly if at all. Once there he must go through a fresh ordeal. He must climb out of the water and look over the edge of the dam in order to get his bearings and to find out where the Mexican had lit the fuse. Should he look over at the wrong spot and Miguel see him, it was the end—the end probably of his life and surely the finish of the coffer dam.,

When he came to the surface, Bob’s first sensation was one of extreme weariness. So spent was he that it was all he could do to keep himself afloat. The possibility of another shot from Miguel did not spur him to dodging in the water. If the shot was to come, it would. Bob knew that he was alive, therefore the danger which threatened the dam was over. This being the case, a great contentment came to him—what could happen to him now mattered very little.

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“Well, then, it’s just this. Jerry was the first one of all of you to smell trouble brewing. He had been coming up to the ranch and had heard the rather good-natured grumbling that passed between all of us about the damage the dam would do to our particular kind of business. Then when Harper and Wesley—the men Hazard has told you about—began to talk seriously to him he decided that it would be best if he did some ‘secret service’ work by seeming to fall in with their plans—”,

Johnny Blossom made no answer to this remark, but got up quickly from his chair by the door and went over to the window where Aunt Grenertsen sat.,

Bob gasped. He was sure that the match’s usefulness was over, but feverishly, throwing caution to the winds, he rasped the head against the planking of the door.,

“Sorry,” was the short response, “but orders are orders. Nothing doing.”