Larry made no comment upon the very evident piece of lawless sabotage or the manner of its accomplishment. His brain was busy with something more important.
“They say curiosity killed the cat, but this is one time when it is going to save the cat’s life,” he announced, struggling into his coat. “If we hadn’t climbed up here out of sheer fool curiosity——”
“‘We’!” Dick protested; “you, you mean. I’d never have thought of it in a thousand years!”
“Never mind who thought of it first: we’re here, both of us, and we know what’s been done, and what will, most likely, be done again. It’s our job to find out who’s doing it, and to spike his gun for him. That old clay pipe you found is the clue. Let’s get busy and follow it up.”
Accordingly, they made the long circuit again and went back to the place where the pipe had been found, where they became trailers, working about in widening circles until, well along toward evening, they made the hoped-for discovery.
At the foot of a low cliff, only a few hundred yards from the head of the shale slide they saw a weather-worn army tent pitched under the cliff shelter, and a shallow, tunnel-like opening in the cliff itself which appeared to be either a prospect hole or a mine. In front of the tent there was a small camp fire, and over the fire two rough-looking men were cooking their evening meal.
At the sight Larry grabbed Dick and dragged him back behind a concealing shoulder of the rock.
“We’ve got ’em!” he whispered. “We’ve covered the ground well enough to be sure that there isn’t anybody else on this whole mountain side.”
“But we can’t be sure that they’re the ones that are doing the dynamiting,” Dick put in.
“We are going to be sure of it before we quit,” said Larry grimly; “and it’s going to cost us something, at that.”