"Good for Uncle Maurice!" cried Roger.
"That shot came just in time," went on the old miner. "If it hadn't—well, I wouldn't be here, lookin' for the Landslide Mine," concluded Tom Dillon.
"I don't know that I want a bear to corner me," said Phil, with a shiver.
"No, we'll leave the bears alone, if they'll leave us alone," returned Dave.
It was a little before nine o'clock when they came in sight of Black Cat Camp, a typical mining community, perched on the side of one of the foothills leading to the mountains. There was one main street, stretched out for the best part of a quarter of a mile. All the buildings were of wood and none of them over two stories in height.
"We'll go to Dick Logan's place," said Mr. Dillon. "That is where Abe Blower used to keep his outfit."
The boys found Logan's place to consist of a general store, with a sort of boarding-house and stables attached. Dick Logan was behind the counter of the store, in his shirtsleeves. He greeted the old miner with a smile, and shook hands cordially.
"Is Abe Blower around?" demanded Tom Dillon, without preliminaries of any kind.
"He was around, Tom, yesterday," was Dick Logan's answer. "But he left here about the middle of the afternoon."