The burro was accustomed to graze over an area several acres in extent and enclosed by walls of rocks. Since the first-mentioned brook ran alongside, the indolent creature could be counted upon to remain where the pasture was succulent and abundant. The place was not far off, and the boys hurried thither.
A few minutes later the suggestive fact became apparent—the donkey was gone.
"And he helped take the gold!" was the exclamation of Frank. "They loaded part of it on his back and carried the rest. I don't believe they are far off."
It was certain the thieves had not gone in the direction of the diggings, and it was improbable that they would attempt to reach Dawson City, at least, for an indefinite time, for they must have known that Jeff Graham and Tim McCabe had gone thither, and that there they were likely to be seen and recognized. At any rate, it would be hard for them to get away through the town for a considerable period, during which the grim old miner would make things warm for them.
The conclusion of the boys, therefore, after briefly debating the problem, was that the men had turned into the mountains. These stretched away for many miles, and contained hundreds of places where they would be safe from pursuit by a regiment of men.
"But if they took the burro," said Roswell, "as it seems certain they did, they must have followed some kind of a path along which we can pursue them."
"Provided we can find it."
They were too much stirred to remain idle. Frank led the way to the corner of the enclosure which was bisected by the brook. There the moistened ground was so spongy that it would disclose any footprint. The marks made by the hoofs of the burro were everywhere, and while examining what seemed to be the freshest, Roswell uttered an exclamation.
"What is it?" asked his cousin, hurrying to his side.
"Do you see that?" asked the other in turn, pointing to the ground.