"I'm some worried myself," admitted Chub, "and I'm gloomed up a heap because we can't find Delray. I know where that pack-trail is, though, and we'll hit it good and hard."
While they were talking they were stumbling down the ore-dump and making their way to the place where they had left their motor-cycles.
"There's a lot of shady characters in these parts," Chub went on, "who wouldn't pass up a ten-dollar bill if Dirk Hawley wanted any crooked work done. Hawley's friends are mainly among that class."
"Bad as he is, though," said Matt, "there are some good things about the gambler. They say he has a daughter in school in 'Frisco, and that he keeps her there so that neither she nor her friends will find out what sort of a man he is."
"That's Edith Hawley you're talkin' about, Matt. I've heard the same yarn, but if Hawley's keeping the girl in 'Frisco an' tryin' to make her and her friends think he's a saint, he's going to get fooled. The girl's here on a visit, and if she's as bright as they say, she'll find out that——"
The words died on Chub's lips. He and Matt had rounded the corner of the house, and had come to a halt facing the spot where they had left their machines.
The motor-cycles were not there!
"Stung!" gasped Chub, staring at his chum in consternation. "Am I in a trance? Didn't we leave our machines here, Matt?"
"We did," answered Matt excitedly, "and they're gone."
"Somebody must have come here an' rode 'em off while we were in the mine!" cried Chub. "More of Hawley's work, and I'll bet my hat on it. He's got us now. That's the one thing he could do that would knock us out entirely. Oh, what a pair of dubs we were!"