CHAPTER XII
A MYSTERIOUS TEN DOLLAR BILL
On the afternoon of the day following the disappearance of the two packers, the ravine narrowed down to a mere gully, and the three boys, leading the pack-horses, scrambled up the precipitous slope to find themselves looking out across a broad and fertile meadow.
Off in the northwest, a low-lying haze or ribbon of mist indicated the presence of a body of water.
“It’s probably Thunder River,” Dick surmised. “According to the map, there’s no other stream of any importance we have to cross. That means, Sandy, that we must be very close to the end of our journey.”
Sandy raised one hand and clapped Dick on the back as he spoke.
“I’m glad for all of us. But I must say, Dick, that this trip hasn’t been so unendurable after all. On the whole, I’ve rather enjoyed it.”
“With the exception of the arrow and the disappearance of those cowardly packers, I’ve enjoyed it too,” said Dick.
“Queer about that arrow,” mused Sandy, as they started off again. “You know, Dick, I’ve been thinking a good deal about that ever since it happened. It’s so terribly mysterious. I wonder who shot it?”
He paused for a moment as he hurried forward to keep abreast of his much swifter companion.
“Do you suppose,” he resumed, “that the person who shot the arrow intended to kill one of us, or merely wanted to give us a good fright?”