"How was that?"
The boys then told their father of their meeting with the man who called himself Hopkins, of being locked in the compartment on the wrong train, of their fight on the road and of their eventual return to Chicago. When they told him of their simple disguise on the trip westward he nodded approval. When they told him of the rough-looking man who had searched the train for them at the mining village he frowned.
"Just as I expected," he remarked. "Some one must have got their hands on a copy of that telegram I sent you."
"The operator wouldn't give it out."
"No. But they may have tapped the wires. They would know that if I sent a message it would be to bring some one out here to help me. And this gang I have been fighting are capable of anything."
"Who are they?"
"It's a long story, boys. But seeing that you're going to be working on the case, I may as well give you all the information I have. This case concerns a quantity of gold that was stolen from three miners. One of these men, called Bart Dawson—"
"Bart Dawson!" exclaimed Frank and Joe simultaneously.
Their father looked at them in surprise.
"Yes. Do you know him?"