Where he might be none knew, of course, but Ted was of the opinion that
he was still somewhere in Arizona, and not far away, either.
He could not have told why he believed so, but he had one of his
"hunches" to that effect, and believed it as surely as if he knew it for
a fact.
Ted had seen his hunches turn out true so often that he did not attempt
now to distrust them.
Somehow, he felt that everything was to come out all right some day, and
that he would find Farnsworth, or Frederic Caruthers, to be more exact,
and Ted always reproached himself when he thought of the young fellow by
his false name.
One morning Ted awoke before the dawn, sitting upright in bed, listening
for a sound, but heard nothing unusual.
This was one of Ted's habits--to be aroused by some unknown sense in the
night when danger threatened.
Hearing nothing, he got out of bed, and sat on its edge and listened
again.
"Wonder what waked me?" he muttered to himself. He was not in the least
sleepy, as he would have been if he had wakened naturally.
"I don't think I was dreaming," he continued to mumble to himself. "And
it wasn't a noise. Must have been a hunch. Guess I'll get up and see if
there's anything wrong about here."
He slipped swiftly into his clothes, and sauntered through the living
room.
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