Without replying at the moment, Joe came striding in, shut the door, and throwing his hat down upon the table, said:
“I came back to tell you something. I’ve a notion, Phil, that we’ve got to go hunting for that vein ourselves, and not lose time by going up to tell Tom.”
“Why? What makes you think that, Joe?”I asked, in surprise.
“That’s what I came back to tell you. You know that little treeless ‘bubble’ that stands on the edge of the cañon only about half a mile up-stream from here? Well, when I drove up the hill out of our valley just now I turned, naturally, to look at the scar on the mountain, when the first thing to catch my eye was the figure of a man standing on top of the ‘bubble.’”
“Is that so? What was he doing?”
“He was looking at the scar, too.”
“How do you know that, Joe?”I asked, incredulously. “You couldn’t tell at that distance whether he had his back to you or his face.”
“Ah, but I could, though,”Joe replied; “and I’ll tell you how. After a minute or so the man turned—I could see that motion distinctly enough—caught sight of me, and instantly jumped down behind the rocks.”
“Didn’t want to be seen, eh?”remarked Peter. “And what did you do next?”
“I felt sure he was watching me, though I couldn’t see him,”Joe went on, “and so, to make him suppose I hadn’t observed him, I stayed where I was for a minute, and then drove leisurely on again. There’s a dip in the road, you know, Phil, a little further on, and as soon as I had driven down into it, out of sight, I pulled up, jumped out of the buckboard, and running up the hill again I crawled to the top of the rise and looked back. There was the man, going across the mesa at a run, headed straight for Big Reuben’s gorge!”