Ralph, with Mr. Hopkins, Adair, and several of the latter’s assistants, got aboard a dirt train going across to the Devil’s Den where the replaced pillar under the trestle was still in course of construction. Once there, they could easily walk up the grade to that point where the young engineer had seen fluttering from the bushes on the side of the cliff certain articles of apparel which he believed belonged to his friend, Zeph Dallas.
The ragged remains of the vest and shirt still clung there. The cap had probably been blown away. The forest fire had not run up the face of the crag, so the wearing apparel had not been destroyed.
“Now, it is a fact,” Ralph put forth, “that Zeph hasn’t been seen since the night the Flyer was pulled down here for that flaming scarecrow when the pillar at Devil’s Den was blown out. Nor has he been heard from, has he?”
“Not a sign of him,” agreed Adair.
“Then make up your mind he went up this cliff, and by that path. He probably followed the rascals who dynamited the pillar. He was so eager that he could not even wait to see if I got his fire signal and stopped the train.”
“That would be just like him,” admitted Bob Adair again.
“Zeph discarded his vest, and then his shirt and cap, to mark his trail. I believe it should have been followed before.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said Mr. Hopkins. “But that was some time ago. What do you suppose has happened to him since?”
“He was captured by the men he followed. That goes without saying. I don’t believe they would have killed the boy,” said the chief detective. “But they would hold him prisoner.”
“Just as they are holding my daughter,” groaned out Mr. Hopkins.