“The railroad has had Pinkerton detectives after that gang for a long time, on account of an express robbery, which makes the gang rather touchy about strangers being in the mountains.”
“Where does this Jones crowd make its headquarters?” questioned Hippy.
“That’s just the point. Nobody seems to know, but they are supposed to hang out to the eastward of this place. We have never seen any of them since I have been on this range, which is going on five years.”
“Then we do not have to bother our heads about them at all,” announced Tom. “We are not going in that direction.”
“You’re going to the peak, aren’t you?” asked Giddings.
“Yes,” replied Grace.
“Hm-m-m-m-m! I’ll bet I know what you folks are after. You’re after golden trout. You’re not the first parties to come up here looking for those shiny fellows.”
“Eh? What’s that?” questioned Hippy, instantly on the alert.
“Where are they? I’m the boy that is looking for gold,” spoke up Stacy.
“Maybe there ain’t any such thing,” laughed Giddings. “But they do tell a story about a prospector coming across a stream up Farewell Gap way, where the golden trout were as thick as pollywogs in a mud puddle.”