“Don’t you try to get away, or something will happen that you won’t like, mister,” Bob said, threateningly; for from the disgusted expression on the face of the man he feared that he might make a bolt.
Frank searched as long as the match burned; but, as Bob did not hear him utter any exclamation of satisfaction, he concluded that success had not as yet come to him. The fugitive must have tried to hide the sack of treasure, thinking that if he got away he could come creeping back later on and recover possession of the spoils.
But Frank had other matches. And he was not the boy to let one little failure discourage him. Having covered about all the ground in the immediate vicinity he conceived the idea of retracing their steps, and keeping a bright lookout as they went along.
“Stir him up, and make him go ahead, Bob;” he remarked. “If he tries any funny business you know just what to do; and don’t be afraid to give it to him straight.”
Such talk as this was apt to make the prisoner think twice before attempting to escape. He must evidently believe that while his captors might only be boys, they had been in touch with men of the ranch and the mine so long that they knew all the ropes, and were not to be treated lightly.
“Get along!” said Bob.
Grumblingly the fellow obeyed. He seemed to have no choice in the matter, since, with his arms bound, he was practically helpless.
They started up the hill. It was slow work climbing, not nearly so easy as their descent had been. But Frank had an object in what he was doing. From time to time he would strike a match, and take a keen observation. Not a tree trunk escaped him, for he imagined that when the fellow got rid of his bag he would naturally enough fling it behind some such object.
Bob, walking alongside the prisoner, and giving him an occasional punch with his elbow just to remind him that he was on the alert, heard his chum give utterance to a little laugh.
“Found it, Frank?” he cried, all excitement.