“They’re miners, that’s what they are!” cried Nestor, after a long look. “Every one has his pack on his back, his washing-pan and his pick and shovel.”
“What are they coming this way for?” asked Ned.
“They are on the rush, seeking gold,” explained the miner. “Word has come to the camp where they were that rich pay-dirt has been struck in some locality. They all want to get at it, so they pack up and leave for the new field. Many’s the time I’ve done it.”
In a little while the foremost of the miners reached the auto camp. They seemed surprised to see the machine, but did not stop.
“What’s your hurry, mate?” asked Nestor, of one big, brawny chap who was walking fast.
“Want to make as many miles as I can before sundown,” was the reply. “There’s rich diggin’s ahead, an’ I want to stake a good claim.”
“Where might they be located?” asked Nestor.
“Why, ain’t you heard? I thought every one had,” answered the other. “They’re in the lower part of Arizona, in what they call the Hop Toad District.”
Nestor gave a start. The miner passed on, fearful lest even his brief stop would cost him his place in the cavalcade.
“The Hop Toad District!” muttered Nestor. “That’s the district where my lost mine is located! I hope that hasn’t been discovered. If it has it means all our work has gone for nothin’!”