"We've got one of 'em behind the bars now," said Dawson, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. "I only wish we had 'em all."
"Perhaps we will have them all before long," remarked Frank. "We've run across a few clues that may lead to something."
"That's good! That's good!" declared the old man. "Do your best, lads, and you may be sure Bart Dawson won't forget you."
Frank and Joe forbore any mention of the name of Jadbury Wilson. It was best, they decided, to keep that information to themselves until they should learn more about the affair of the stolen gold. They had long since learned that one of the axioms of successful detective work is to listen much and say little. Accordingly, they bade good-bye to Bart Dawson and left the jail.
"Where to?" asked Joe.
"Back to where we caught Slim Briggs. We were on the right trail to the camp."
"But if the outlaws have left there isn't much use going up there now."
"We never know what we'll find."
The boys made their way up into the mountains again and, after about an hour of steady traveling, found themselves on the trail that led into the defile where they had trapped Slim so neatly. On the way they discussed their meeting with Bart Dawson.
"I can't imagine that old fellow being the kind of man who would desert his partners and steal their gold, the way Jadbury Wilson described," said Frank, for the tenth time. "I just can't figure it out at all! You can tell with half an eye that he isn't a crook."