"Say, I wonder, Frank!"
"What's struck you now, Lanky? Don't move, for that fellow's staring straight at this window! Gee, I'm glad our fire's died down! There! he's moving off again. What were you wondering about?"
Lanky Wallace snickered, as though amused by his thoughts.
"Why, don't you see, Frank? he's trying to find some way of getting hold of the map we grabbed, along with the gold nuggets when we watched Nash Yesson and Lef Seller dig up that rusty iron chest in the underground cellar."
Frank Allen considered the suggestion seriously, waiting a full minute before replying.
"Sounds reasonable, I must admit," he finally agreed. "We know that it was the crude map Josh Kinney left hidden there, that pair was so anxious to lay their hands on."
"Sure! It contains valuable clues that would help a prospector locate the long-lost gold claim Josh worked years ago."
"Now he's moving off, for some reason or other," went on Frank Allen. "It might pay us to slip outside and see if we can't get a line on his scheme."
"Bully! I was just wishing you'd say something that meant action," whispered Lanky Wallace. "But I hope you're not thinking of rousing a hornet's nest around his ears by poking a stick in the bunk-house and stirring up the Rockspur punchers?"
"Nope. We'll play this game by ourselves, Lanky. Sorry Paul happens to be asleep and nursing his lame ankle. He's going to miss all the excitement."