“We told the miner who put us on to this canyon that we were coming here,” the stout lad replied.
“Yes, I reckon if we don’t get back by night Tinny will organize a searching party,” admitted Jerry. “But we don’t want to have that happen. We ought to be able to get out of here ourselves. Looks silly for them to have to rescue us. Come on, Ned, I’m willing to admit I was wrong. We’ll head north.”
So they swung about, the gloom in the deep canyon deepening as the sun sank farther and farther down in the west. They passed the place where they had eaten the sandwiches, and Chunky felt in his other pocket to make sure he had not lost their second meal. It was safe, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’ll soon be out now,” declared Ned, for he had faith in his judgment.
But when they had gone on for twenty minutes even Ned was willing to call a halt, for the canyon was getting wilder and more rugged in this section, and they now found that the trail was hardly passable.
“Wait a minute!” called Ned, rubbing his forehead in puzzled fashion. “I don’t believe there’s any use going on this way. We sure never came in here!”
“No,” said Jerry, “I don’t believe we did.”
They turned back a little way. It was getting darker. Bob was about to propose that they eat again, but, just when he was going to speak, he came opposite a defile leading off in the general direction of south-east.
“Why not try this?” he asked, pointing to it.
“Chunky, I believe you’ve struck it!” cried Jerry. “Come on!”