"Look for yourself," replied Roswell, swallowing a lump in his throat and turning his eyes pitifully toward his comrade.
A strange fear held Frank motionless for several seconds. Despite the startling declaration of his cousin, a faint hope thrilled him that he was mistaken, and yet he dared not peer into the interior through dread of finding he was not.
Reflecting, however, upon the childish part he was playing, he pulled himself together, and with the deliberation of Jeff Graham himself bent his head and passed through the door.
Enough sunlight penetrated the cavern to reveal the whole interior in the faint illumination. When they left that morning the row of canvas bags was neatly arranged along the farther wall, where they stood like so many corpulent little brownies.
Every one had vanished.
Frank Mansley stared for a moment in silence. Then he stepped forward and called in a strong, firm voice:
"Come, Roswell, quick!"
The other roused himself and hastily advanced.
"Take your revolver," said Frank, as he shoved his own into his hip-pocket, and begun strapping Jeff's cartridge belt around his waist. As Roswell obeyed, his cousin took the Winchester from where it leaned in one corner.
"Now for those thieves, and we don't come back till we find them."