"Don't pass along that old chestnut that 'angels can do no better,'" grimaced Dave.
"Well, could they?"
"I don't know. But do you expect that we'll ever find Greg, moving along in this fashion?"
"Honestly, I don't," Dick called across. "But we're following the scheme laid down by wiser and older heads than ours, and I haven't any better plan to suggest. Have you?"
"I——" began Dave, but finished with: "Hang that branch! It flew back and hit me!"
"Look where you're going," called Prescott, as he climbed over a wall. "For your information, Dave, I'll say that we're coming to a road now."
Tom Reade, on Dick's right hand, and Harry Hazelton, on Dave's left, were also jumping into the road, which they started to cross hurriedly.
"Halt!" cried Prescott, and stood like one transfixed, staring down at the ground.
"What have you found?" jeered Tom. "A gold mine?"
"Better—I believe!" cried Dick joyously. "Hustle here, fellows! No—don't crowd too close or you'll trample it out."