“Plum’ sure. Three men came in over it two days ago, did just what you boys are doin’—stocked up—and went back. They’re prospectin’, like yourselves, I take it.”
All three of the boys exchanged glances at this mention of three men.
“Did you know any of those men, Mr. Wilkins?” Larry inquired.
“No; kind of a rough-lookin’ bunch, and one of ’em was a cripple, though he got around on one leg and a crutch sprier than either of the other two.”
Larry took Dick aside while Purdick was checking the list of supplies with the storekeeper.
“They’re our three,” Larry said in low tones. And then, impatiently: “[I wish there were some way of letting those scamps know that they are barking up the wrong tree]; that we don’t know any more about the Golden Spider than they do!”
[“I wish there were some way of letting those scamps know that they are barking up the wrong tree.”]
“There doesn’t seem to be any way,” Dick countered. “But I can tell you one thing, Larry: I’m not going back into the mountains where they are without something to defend myself with, if it’s nothing more than a potato popgun.”