“How about it, Mr. Riley; you ought to know better than a fellow whose home is about two hundred miles to the north of this, and on a cattle ranch at that?” and Frank turned to the ex-superintendent of the Cherry Blossom mine as he spoke.
“There are no mines here that I know about,” replied Mr. Riley. “But every little while we hears about some prospectin’ party strikin’ copper, or somethin’ over here. Reckon now there might be a camp or two around inside of fifty mile; with a bunch of happy-go-lucky fellers holdin’ out. P’raps we’ll strike one above, an’ find our birds minglin’ with the rest.”
“It might be worse,” admitted Frank. “I had an idea we would find that they belonged to some bunch of outlaws from the other side of the border, and come up here just on purpose to rob the Cherry Blossom strong box every month.”
“It’s all guessing in the air, you see,” Mr. Riley remarked. “So let’s get a move on, and find out how things stand.”
They now left the spot where the three horses were grazing, secured with their ropes; and began to climb upward, following the course of the little stream.
It was not so easy as they might have anticipated, for the trees soon began to shut out what little light came from the clouded heavens, and made it doubly dark.
Bob of course brought up the rear, and Frank was careful not to proceed at such a pace as he fancied might distress his chum, unused to such work.
They had been climbing in this way for some little while, when those in the advance halted, as though they wished the tail-ender to catch up. And when Bob did come along, he was not quite sure whether it had been decided to turn back, or that one of his companions had found out something worth investigating.
“What is it?” was his natural query as he drew up alongside the others.
“Bend your head down, and then look up the hill under these lower branches of the aspen tree. What do you see, Bob?” asked Frank, quietly.