The stream, it seemed, was a peculiar one. At times it flowed along in the open, like any other river or creek. Then it would dive underground, proceeding through a tunnel, or a series of tunnels. Then it would emerge again. The boys had been through some of the tunnels of Lost River, and there might be more further up the mountain. Of this they could not be certain.
At any rate they had come out at the end of one tunnel through which could be seen the strange camp, and as water was flowing in the flume box here, probably washing out “pay dirt,” it was reasonable to suppose the men had turned the river for their own use.
Just how such a big undertaking could be accomplished without considerable engineering work the boys did not know. But they had made up their minds to find out.
“We’ll just stay here until after dark,” suggested Rick, “and then, we’ll scout around a bit.”
“Have to go slow on the grub though,” proposed Chot, as, in the dim light that filtered in through the tunnel opening he inspected what food they had left. “We’ve got to get two or three more meals out of this.”
“We can, I guess,” said Rick. “And maybe we can shoot something,” for the boys had brought guns with them, and knew how to use them.
“Won’t they hear us if we shoot?” asked Chot. “Besides, there’s no game in here.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to shoot in here,” chuckled Rick. “We’ll go outside—farther up the mountain where they won’t hear the guns. Besides, we got to work our way farther up to find the dam, or whatever it is that has changed the river.”
“I see,” agreed Chot. “Well, what say we eat now? It’s most supper time.”
“I guess it is,” assented Rick. “They’re getting their grub ready.”