“Where will they go?” asked Clay. “I’d like to surprise them.”
“If they follow along that shelf, after once getting to the top of it,” Don went on, “they will come out in time near the old mine, at the shack where Uncle David lived so long. They will go into the house and look for the ghost. Let us get there first!”
“All right! We’ll go just as soon as it gets light.”
But with the first glimpse of the summer sun came two husky men in a shell of a boat. They rowed up to the shore and stepped out close to the place where the Rambler was anchored. They were rough-looking fellows, with half-breed faces and cruel black eyes. The boys felt for their guns as they approached, although their movements were intended to be friendly.
“Hello!” one of the men shouted. “Hello, strangers!”
“Come aboard,” Clay said, thinking that he could do no less than invite the unwelcome guests to join in a cup of coffee, as the beverage was then bubbling on the electric coils at the back of the cabin.
The strangers re-entered their boat, pushed over to the Rambler, and mounted to the deck, their snaky eyes taking in every detail of the craft as they did so. Clay served them coffee and such food as had been prepared for breakfast, and waited for them to make their business known. At length one of them broached the subject.
“You’re Don Durand?” he asked, facing the boy.
“Yes; but how did you know that?” answered Don.
“I was about here when you lived with Dave.”