[CHAPTER III.]
A FRIEND IN NEED.
“Well, fellows,” said Ellis Darrel, after Merry had introduced him to all the other fellows, “it looks a whole lot as though I had dropped into the wrong pew. If I haven’t forgotten the country hereabouts, this is sure Tinaja Wells.”
“Surest thing you know, Darrel,” smiled Frank.
“I was told in Gold Hill that a bunch of athletes belonging to the Gold Hill Athletic Club had gone into camp here.”
“Some one got mixed,” put in Clancy. “It’s an Ophir outfit that’s taken over the Wells.”
“Blamed queer,” muttered Darrel, “and I’ll be hanged if I can sabe the layout at all. The man in Gold Hill who gave me the information is an officer of the club there. It’s a cinch that he ought to know.”
“We’ve been here for four days,” observed Ballard, “and we haven’t seen a thing of the Gold Hill chaps.”
“Live in the town, Darrel?” asked Frank.
“Used to,” was the answer. “Don’t live much of anywhere now. Home’s wherever I hang my hat. I——” He broke off abruptly, hesitated, then recovered himself and went on. “I trained with the Gold Hill crowd something like a year ago. When I drifted into town last night and heard the gang was off in Mohave Cañon, I kind of warmed up on the subject of athletics, bundled up my track clothes, and moseyed in this direction.”