"Well, what if they do get ahead of us? Tap is on the claim, and——" Gleeson began.
"Tap? Yes. Will he collar my horse?" Walker snarled.
"He'll keep your claim, and that's better. Anyhow, they can't find the field till we're there; so hurry along with breakfast. There's the last of the mob on the move."
While they had been bemoaning the robbery, of which they were satisfied as soon as they saw the bridles were gone, Tony had wandered up the creek watching the tracks the horses had made the night before. They were still some miles from the field, and he had all the native objection to walking while there was a chance of having a horse to ride. He followed the track until he found the hobbles lying on the bank of the creek, and the hoof-marks, with the footprints of a man beside them, going from the stream and from the direction of the field. He saw where another man's footprints joined them, and then only the marks of the horses, going down the hill, were visible.
Hastening back to the camp, he reached there just as the last of the fossickers, moving away from the fire, gave rise to Gleeson's remark.
"Some one's lifted the horses in the night and ridden them down the hill," he explained, as he came up. "Here's the hobbles, and the tracks are quite plain. There were two men, and they led two of the horses. I followed their track a quarter of a mile down the slope, and it was still showing clear."
Gleeson looked up quickly.
"They're old tracks you saw," he said.
"They're fresh tracks; the ground is still moist where it's turned up," Tony retorted.
"What did they want to go down the hill for? That ain't the way to the field, and we told every one where it was," Walker put in.