For there was almost the same outfit as that at Uncle Tod’s camp—the log shack, a tent—and, scattered about, were some mining implements, while at one side a flume box had been set up.
But there was this difference—there was water running into this flume box, while back at Uncle Tod’s camp his box was dry.
It was this welcome sight of the much-needed water that first convinced the boys they were looking at another camp—a strange one—rather than at Uncle Tod’s, though both outfits were much alike. But one camp was dry and the other was wet. Lost River seemed to be favoring this camp as against the other.
Then, too, as the boys looked with less excitement pumping at their hearts, they noticed that all the men were strangers. Neither Uncle Tod nor Sam Rockford was among them, and no men that the boys had ever seen before, though they had met several friends of Uncle Tod and his partner.
Also, as their eyes took in further details of the strange camp, they saw very many points of difference. The log cabin was much smaller and was not so well built, nor was the tent the same. The flume box was much larger, though not so solidly constructed—in short hardly any details of the two camps were alike, though in general one resembled the other. Of course the men were totally different.
“It’s another place all right,” whispered Chot.
“Yes,” agreed Rick, while he cautioned Ruddy, in a low voice, to remain quiet. He did not want a whimper, whine or bark of his dog to betray their presence back there in the tunnel. “Did you think it was our camp?” asked Rick.
“For a minute I did,” assented Chot. “Didn’t you?”
“Yep. I thought we’d doubled back through the tunnel somehow.”
“So did I. But what’s it all about, Rick?”