That was a question which apparently didn’t mean to get itself answered—not in any hurry, at least. The guns had been wrapped in the packs; they were all three sure of that. But now they were nowhere to be found; and since one discovery leads to others of a like nature, they were not long in finding out that the cartridge belts had disappeared with the rifles.
“That looks pretty bad,” said Larry, after they had searched all around the flat boulder upon which the packs had been left in the morning. “A bear wouldn’t steal three Winchesters and all the ammunition we had.”
“What’s the answer?” Dick demanded anxiously.
“Sort it out for yourself,” said Larry. “The bear couldn’t have taken them—that’s all.”
“But if some man or men were here, why wasn’t something else taken?”
“Perhaps the man—or men—didn’t think there was anything else left worth carrying off,” Larry said; and then he repeated: “It looks pretty bad, fellows; looks as if somebody wanted to disarm us.”
Purdick’s jaw dropped.
“There’s only one bunch that might want to make sure we couldn’t fight back—those three hold-ups,” he thrust in. “Do you suppose they’ve followed us away in here?”
“We can suppose anything we like,” Larry answered. “There’s sure room enough. But let’s see if we can find those jacks. That’s the first thing to do. I only hope the gun-stealers haven’t run them off—stolen them, too.”
In the absence of any real weapons the three armed themselves as they could, Larry taking the axe, Purdick the geologist’s hammer, and Dick, knocking the pick from its handle, took the handle for a club. Just beyond the felled pine they picked up the burros’ tracks, and were somewhat relieved when they found, from the distance between the hoofprints showing the length of the stride, that the little animals had left the gulch on a “dead” run.