“That’s good,” said Frank, though he did not cease his efforts to follow the plainly-marked trail.
Presently they were overtaken by Mr. Riley and the other man, whom he introduced as Sim Garrison, once something of a noted character among the Indians, with whom he had lived many years, and who, the former superintendent declared, had no superior as a trailer.
“All we’ve got to do, boys,” said Mr. Riley, who was mounted on a big and powerful bay horse, and seemed to be heavily armed, “is to plug along behind Sim, leaving him to do the work. If the time should ever come when we could overtake those three thieves, then we’ll have a chance to show our hands.”
And that was what they started out to do, as the sun sank lower and lower in the glowing west. Through the basin or valley in which the famous mine lay, they pushed.
“Seems to know his business, all right,” commented Bob, as he ranged alongside his chum; the two horses had been relieved of much of their loads so that they felt fresher than when the boys arrived, a short time before.
“I reckon yes,” replied Frank, who had been observing Sim Garrison closely for some little time. “And these experienced trailers can even follow the track of a man on the darkest night, you know.”
“You mean by the use of a lantern or a torch?” remarked Bob. “I can well believe that, because already I’ve seen you do the same stunt. These fellows may get away from us, Frank, but they’ve got to hustle to do it, let me tell you.”
“That’s what, Bob. But look at Sim halting now.”
“Perhaps he’s run up against a snag already. You’ve often told me there are lots of ways to hide a trail; perhaps these sharp thieves have done that same thing!” Bob ventured to remark.
“But all the same I don’t believe so,” Frank went on, as he urged the led horse which the trailer was to ride later on, to increase its speed from a walk to a little canter.