It was nearly night when the travelers, foot-sore and weary, with aching bones, reached the mine camp. Ruddy, panting and tired, stretched out in his accustomed place and promptly went to sleep.
“Well?” asked Sam Rockford inquiringly. “What did you find?”
“Nothing,” answered Uncle Tod.
“I thought you would,” was the gloomy one’s comment. “Well, what you goin’ to do now, Tod?”
“Nothing, I reckon. I’ll let the boys have a good time, and then I’ll go back east with ’em. This mine isn’t worth the powder to blow it up—without water to wash out the pay stuff.”
“I reckon not,” assented Sam. “But what did you hear in the tunnel, Tod; any strange ghost voices?”
“Nonsense! Of course not! But we came to the farther end which you and I never reached. The tunnel just peters out at a place where Lost River, apparently, ran both ways. But just now it isn’t running either way. It’s gone!”
“Doesn’t take a weather prophet to see that,” grunted Sam. “Well, you’ve got a few other claims around here. Might as well work them while the boys are having a vacation.”
“I reckon so,” agreed Uncle Tod, and his voice was almost as gloomy as that which Sam so often used.
As for Rick and Chot they were too tired then to think much about it—all they wanted was “grub,” and Sam prepared an unusually good supper. As least so it tasted to Rick, Chot and Ruddy.