“Whew! what bad luck! what bad luck! Don’t you think mebbe you’ve lost ’em, Chet? Dropped ’em out, maybe?”
“I am afraid not,” returned his chum, getting control of himself again. “If you saw one of those men coming from the direction of our camp—”
“Well, he had something besides papers in his hands,” grunted Dig. “Come on! let’s go back and see just how bad things are.”
“No matter what other damage they did,” Chet declared, “the loss of the deeds father entrusted to my care is the only really serious loss. I feel dreadfully, Dig. He trusted us, and I let ’em get away from me. And after having had one warning, too!
“Yes! two warnings. Amoshee—John Peep—told me they were on the trail after us.”
“Who were after us? What are you talking about?” demanded the puzzled Digby.
Chet told him as they hastened around the pool to the camp and the horses.
“Well! of all the stingy guys!” exclaimed Dig. “By all the hoptoads that were chased out of Ireland! you’re the meanest fellow, to keep this all to yourself. Hadn’t the first idea that we were being trailed by two villains. Cricky!”
“You talk as if it were fun,” said Chet in disgust. “What shall I say to father? He’ll blame me—but that doesn’t so much matter. I tell you, Dig, I’ve got to get those deeds back. This fellow is after the old Crayton claim and he’ll get the deeds changed, somehow, and get Mr. Morrisy to sign them, and then father will lose what he’s already invested in the claim. I tell you, I must get them back!” he repeated, almost in tears.
“Huh!” grunted Digby, “you’ve got it wrong.”