“I wonder who it is?” asked Bob.
“Maybe we can tell,” answered his chum. Jerry switched on the searchlight in the front of the auto. A dazzling pencil of illumination shot down the road.
In the white glare the figure of the motorist stood out sharply, and the red motor he rode could be plainly seen. At the sight both boys gave a start.
“Jack Pender!” exclaimed Bob.
“As sure as guns!” cried Jerry. “We must catch him!”
He was about to take chances and put on the third gear, when Pender, on his cycle, suddenly turned from the main road, and took a path leading through the fields.
“That ends it!” exclaimed Jerry. “No use trying to follow him. Our auto isn’t built for ’cross-country riding.”
He slowed up, turned around, and, with a last glance in the direction Noddy Nixon’s former toady and friend had taken, sent the car back toward the lonely hut.
Meanwhile, Ned, after his companions had started on the chase, had struck a match and lighted the candle in the cabin. He found the old miner, for such the boys correctly guessed him to be, lying unconscious in a corner. The belt, with the gold-dust was gone, though a few grains of the precious metal were scattered over the floor. Ned found a pail of water in the place. He bathed the old man’s head and poured some of the fluid down his throat.
“Where am I? What happened?” asked the old man, opening his eyes. Then he passed his hand over his head. His fingers were stained with blood.