Ned remained silent for a moment and then abruptly asked:
“What kind of footwear made those heelless prints?”
“You may search me!” Jack cut in.
“Must have been Indian moccasins,” Frank observed.
Jimmie, who had been standing by the small fire, listening to the talk, now advanced to the little circle about the machine and uttered one word: “Chinks!”
“It is always Chinks with Jimmie,” grinned Frank. “When there is a cyclone in New York the Chinks are to blame for it, if you leave it to him.”
“What would Chinks be doing up here?” demanded Pat.
“Don’t they get gold by washing it out?” asked Jack, with a nudge at Jimmie’s side. “Perhaps they’re going to start a laundry!”
While this chaff was in progress Ned stood looking thoughtfully in the direction of the lake. Not a word did he say regarding the sudden and brief communication Jimmie had presented.
“Any forest fires in sight?” asked Pat, finally breaking the silence.