“Worthless without No. 3!”
“There you are,” Don went on. ‘Worthless without No. 3.’ Josiah Trumbull and King found that line, and they are, or were, hunting for No. 3, just the same as we are! Now, if you boys think this mystery will spoil your trip, just put us off and we’ll get to the canyons some other way, but, still, we’d like to go with you!”
“I’m so seriously interested in the mystery,” smiled Clay, “that I wouldn’t feel like making the trip, now, without you and the two pieces of paper. How do you feel about it, boys?”
How did they feel about it? What would two healthy boys naturally say to a mysterious adventure of the sort proposed? Hunting for the buried gold of Captain Kidd looked like a summer afternoon game of marbles compared to this! The Grand Canyon and a mystery! Marks on a rock, perhaps thousands of feet below the level of the plateau! A missing paper and a contest as to who should get to it first! Surely, no game could be more exciting. And the boys said so, and all shook hands on the proposition, after which they ate dinner and Clay went on shore to see about buying gasoline, provisions and a small rowboat.
He returned just before nightfall, perspiring with the heat of the desert sun, and the articles he had bought were soon on board.
“I saw the last of King,” he reported. “At least the last of him for some days to come, as he took train for Phoenix. He’s a good sort, is King, but if he thinks his conscience will hurt if he doesn’t know more about the secrets of the Grand Canyon, he’ll hire a motor boat and follow us. I imagine he has telegraphed to Trumbull, for I saw him waiting at the office for a message. I heard him tell the clerk in the office to query Chicago.”
“Good luck to him!” laughed Don. “He is loyal to that thief of a Trumbull, all right, for he made us promise not to prosecute him if it should be discovered that he had committed some crime in connection with his dealings with Uncle David, also to restore the money to him if it did not prove to belong to Tom and myself.”
“Some one ought to be in Chicago, watching Trumbull,” suggested Tom. “Suppose I go? I can get there if the rods hold out! What do you say?”
“It would be a great idea,” Don agreed, “but we have had enough of riding on the rods, and we have no money.”
“But the bonds!” laughed Alex. “What about them? How much are they worth, Clay?” he added. “You handled them.”