“Where do you think they came from?” asked Chot.
“From inside the tunnel that we’re going to find,” was Rick’s ready answer. “The stones were blasted out of the tunnel and piled here to cover up a hole, I’m sure.”
“Maybe so,” agreed Chot.
It was about the middle of the afternoon that Chot, again straightening up, looked at his hands and asked, ruefully:
“What’s good for blisters, Rick?”
“You getting some?”
“Sure! Aren’t you?”
“A few, yes. Say, what we ought to have are leather gloves, or leather pads like those the men wear when they’re paving a street with granite blocks.”
“All right, chase down to the five and ten cent store and get a couple of pairs,” chuckled Chot as he gazed around on the deserted and desolate valley, for not a human habitation was in sight.
Rick looked at Chot a moment, as if he did not understand, or was not thinking of what his chum was saying. Then Rick cried: