"I don't want you to say much to the others. But if you find they ain't goin' to foller up that trail we lost in them burnt woods, 'count of the rain, I'm goin' to foller it myself. Say, Nels, I want to get your wife to cook me up some grub–on the quiet, see?"
"On de qviet–heh? V'ot for you bane goin' to do?" Nels was vaguely suspicious but kindly.
"They've gone for the sheriff and the dawgs. But they won't get back afore ter-morrer. I want that grub right away–see?"
Nels grunted a surly assent, adding: "Don' you forget to bring dat grub."
This Chip proceeded to do, managing to secure through Billy Worth and Phil Way a limited amount of flour, bacon and one or more minor ingredients. But both were curious, naturally.
"Look here, Chip," remarked Phil casually. "You ain't going to leave us, are you? We–we rather like you, boy."
Chip took them both aside as he explained his purpose to some extent.
"You know Paul found a gold piece where that suit-case was picked up. That shows as how Murky, or whoever it was, must 'a' been puttin' the money in something else. It's rained on that trail, and even if the sheriff comes with his dawgs, they can't foller it to do any good."
"Well then, how the mischief can you follow it?" demanded Worth. "You just can't! Believe me, Chip, you're going up against a hard thing."
But Chip persisted. The sooner he got off, the better. After all, seeing he was bound to go, they wished him luck. But meanwhile Paul had come up and was listening eagerly. When Phil and Billy turned away, he clapped Chip on the back, saying: