“That’s the point,” drawled Dan. “I don’t think this trail ever was on the map.”
“Got it with you?” Brad asked.
“The map?” Dan dug in one pocket after another. “I don’t think I have—yes, here it is!”
Emerging from the path so as to obtain a better light, Brad studied the map. In the deepening shadows, he barely could make out the markings, and was unable to locate the trail.
“You’re right, Dan,” he said finally. “This trail doesn’t appear on Silverton’s map.”
“Anything so remarkable about that?” Chips demanded. “Maybe the path was made after he drew up the map.”
“Smart deduction,” Brad grinned, returning the map to Dan. “But made by whom? That’s the fifty dollar question.”
“Maybe by those fellows in the station wagon who’ve been using the old logging road,” Dan offered his theory.
“Might be,” Brad admitted. “It all fits in. The natural bridge—this path.”
“What fits in where?” Chips demanded in an aggrieved tone. “You guys think you’re funny, talking in code?”