“Where in thunder is Rolling Thunder?” demanded Fred. “I never heard of such a gold mine.”
“I have,” put in Jack quickly. “It’s the one Uncle Tom invested in a couple of years ago. I’m right, am I not?” he questioned of the twins.
“That’s it. It’s away out in the Rocky Mountains near a place called Maporah. It’s on what is known as Sunset Trail.”
“Gee, that sounds good! Sunset Trail!” murmured Fred.
“How are we to go? In an auto?” queried Jack.
“Hardly! We’re to take the train to Chicago and then another train to Maporah. From there we take horses and ride to a place called Gold Hill Falls where the mine is located. Dad says we ought to have a dandy time on Sunset Trail.”
“He says it’s a very wild country, with plenty of good hunting and fishing, and all that sort of thing,” came from the other twin. “He says we can go out either with a guide or by ourselves, just as we please.”
“That sounds mighty good to me,” said Fred, his eyes brightening. “I’d like to spend a few weeks in the saddle, and I’d like to go where there is some real fishing.”
“Suppose some Indians catch you and scalp you?” put in his sister mischievously.
“Indians! Humph! If there are any Indians out there more than likely some of them are from college and on the baseball or football teams,” was the quick retort. “The old-fashioned Indians exist only in the story books.”