"Come back, Joe!" shouted Matt. "Here come some men who seem to have business with us."
The cowboy whirled to an about face, and followed with his eyes the direction of his chum's pointing finger.
Four men in flannel shirts and overalls, and carrying spades, picks, and tamping irons, were hurrying up the track in the direction of the curve.
"The section gang!" muttered McGlory.
"A good guess," laughed Matt. "We've been trapped."
"Trapped?"
"That's the way it looks to me. We were seen coming down the mountain and those men, recognizing the speeder, laid the tie across the rails to catch the thieves."
"Sufferin' kiboshes, but here's a go! This comes of trying to fill the bill for an old tinhorn like Bunce."
"Ketched!" yelled one of the approaching men, flourishing a tamping iron; "we've ketched the robbers that run off with Mulvaney's speeder! Don't you make no trouble," he added, slowing his pace and coming more warily.
The other three men spread out and then closed in, barring escape for the motor boys in every direction.