"We'll pull right out, Del," answered Chub. "Where were you when we were going through the mine?"
"Taking a little pasear through the hills, trying to see if I could locate the scoundrel that smashed the wireless instruments. You know how to get to the old pack-trail?"
"I was over part of it with dad once."
"Then hustle—and don't forget to keep your eyes skinned. I've got a gun in the house if you'd like to borry it."
The boys were away before the last suggestion reached them, and Matt did not think it worth while to turn back.
About a quarter of a mile north of the Bluebell, at a place where the Black Cañon road ran through a small barranca, the boys came to the old pack-trail. A gully cut through the walls of the barranca at a sharp angle, and the pack-trail followed the bottom of the depression.
"Here's where we leave the main road, Matt," announced Chub. "That old trail ain't much more than a bridle-path, an' I don't know what sort of work our machines are going to make on it, but we'll go ahead and see."
"Sure," said Matt. "If Perry could get over the pack-trail on a horse, I guess we can get over it on our wheels."
"I'll take the lead," went on Chub, turning into the gully. "I don't know such a terrible lot about the trail, Matt, but I've been over a little of it, and that's more than you have."
"All right, Chub," assented Matt, falling behind. "Keep a good watch ahead. If you see Jacks blocking the path, don't run into him, that's all."