“No, sir!” muttered Chet. “It is not a cold scent.”
“Heh?” growled Digby.
“There’s been somebody here lately.”
“Well?”
“Here’s a campfire—fresh ashes. It rained three days ago. These ashes are perfectly dry and feathery. Never have been rained on.”
“Quite true! Good for ‘Trailer Joe, the Young Scout of the Rockies,’” chuckled Dig.
“That’s all right. You can laugh,” said his chum. “But I haven’t forgotten the things old Rafe has told us when we have been out hunting. It’s well to remember such things.”
“But what’s the good now?” demanded Dig. “We can’t get into the mine, and it doesn’t matter who was here before us. Unless you think there’s somebody gone down this shaft and the cave-in’s shut them down there,” he added quickly.
“I don’t believe that’s happened,” said Chet thoughtfully. He was walking around and around the mouth of the old shaft. He stopped and picked up the end of a tough, straight sapling.
“Why the lever, I wonder?” Chet continued. “It’s been used to pry something—The old windlass, of course. That windlass was knocked over purposely.”