The boy thought best to tell him the truth, and did so.
It may be all right," the secret service man said, after hearing the
story. It strikes me that the Greasers mistook Fremont for Nestor. In
that case, they may release him as soon as they discover their mistake."
"Don't you ever think that," the other man cut in. "They are more
likely to stand him up against a wall and shoot him. When the
lieutenant comes back we'll see what can be done about it."
"But why should the Greasers want to capture Ned Nestor?" demanded
Jimmie. "You said they might have mistaken Fremont for Ned."
"I can imagine that the man responsible for this gathering is
interested in papers Nestor has," was the reply.
Jimmie and the drummer were now advised to get what sleep they
could, the guards explaining that they were "expecting company,"
and that the talking might frighten the prospective callers away.
It was now nearing midnight, and Jimmie tried hard to lose himself
in sleep, but, tired as he was, this seemed to be impossible.
Fremont might be in deadly peril, and Nestor and Shaw were still
unaccountably absent. His idea now was that the secret service
man had advanced the correct theory regarding the abduction of
Fremont. He had no doubt that the boy had been mistaken for Nestor.
Besides, the boy's mind was naturally excited over the strange
revelations of the night. The arrival of the secret service men,
the announcement that Nestor was working with the War department,
the story that he had been in communication with the government at
Washington ever since leaving New York, the hint that he held very
important papers in his possession, all these supplied food for thought.
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