“Now, you see,” persisted the madman; “now you know they were here! Now you know you must be on your guard!”
“Yes, yes,” nodded Merry impatiently. “Don’t worry about that, Worthington. I will be on my guard. They will not take me by surprise.”
This seemed to satisfy the poor fellow for the time being, and they returned to the tent. There a fire was again started and supper was prepared. Shadows gathered in the valley and night came on. Overhead the bright stars were shining with a clear light peculiar to that Southwestern land.
After supper they lay about on the ground, talking of the Enchanted Valley, as Merry had named it, and of the mysterious smoke seen rising from it. Later, when little Abe and Cap’n Wiley were sleeping and Worthington had sunk into troubled slumber, through which he muttered and moaned, Frank and Bart sat in the tent and examined the map by the light of a small lantern.
“Beyond question, Merry, the mine is near here. There is not a doubt of it. Here to the east is Hawley Peak, to the south lies Clear Creek. Here you see marked the stream which must flow through that valley, and here is the cross made by Clark, which indicates the location of his claim.”
They bent over the map with their heads together, sitting near the end of the tent. Suddenly a hand and arm was thrust in through the perpendicular slit in the tent flap. That arm reached over Frank’s shoulder, and that hand seized the map from his fingers. It was done in a twinkling, and in a twinkling it was gone.
With shouts of astonishment and dismay, both Frank and Bart sprang up and plunged from the tent. They heard the sounds of feet running swiftly down the valley.
“Halt!” cried Merry, producing a pistol and starting in pursuit.
In the darkness he caught a glimpse of the fleeing figure.
“Stop, or I fire!” he cried again.