“Perhaps you’ve hit it off, Red, but I wouldn’t be sure about it. Right now we’ve got to think of getting on to the mine. If Shoup and that other fellow should make up their minds to come back here and get the bag, you and I would be in a fine row of stumps.”
This was a point that hadn’t occurred to the lads until that moment. It helped to spur them on toward the mine with the bag of bullion. Each holding an end of the sack, they made their way out of the chaparral and back to the trail; then, looking behind them in the direction taken by the two riders to make sure they were not returning, they crossed the rise and started down the slope beyond.
At this point, three or four lanterns appeared at a little distance, bobbing around like so many fireflies. The lights, it soon became manifest, were converging toward a certain place—and that place was the ground on which Clancy and Ballard were standing.
“There are some of the miners, now,” said Clancy.
“They’re coming this way, too,” added Ballard. “Aiming for us, Red, if I’m any prophet.”
“Listen!” exclaimed Clancy.
“Halt, there!” bellowed a voice, making itself heard above the stamps. “Don’t try to run, or you’ll be sorry for it.”
“Just as though we could run with a load as heavy as this!” said Clancy, in a disgusted tone. “What do those miners take us for?”
Four lanterns clustered close, drawing in upon the two chums from four different directions.
“Try to shoot,” threatened a voice, “and we’ll beat you to it. You’re prisoners.”