“And we just came over the road,” added Harp wonderingly.
“Well, it never came here, that’s a sure thing,” declared Devine.
“The little kid was with Baldy,” said Brick, getting to his feet. “What do yuh reckon has happened to ’em?”
“I don’t see how anything could happen to them.”
Brick strode to the door, but turned to Devine.
“Barney, was there a stranger here today—a man on a tall sorrel?”
“Yes. He wanted to buy some Durham tobacco, but we didn’t have any. He didn’t say who he was, but he did say that he picked the wrong road.”
Brick and Harp mounted and rode out of the camp, heading back toward Marlin City. They rode at a swift gallop, with Brick riding at the outer edge of the grades, watching the road closely.
There were many sharp curves, where they were forced to slacken their pace; but only long enough to obviate the danger of running into some one coming toward them. About three miles from the mines, Brick jerked his horse to a stop and dismounted. Harp whirled and rode back to him, peering down the steep side of the hill, where the underbrush grew in a tangle among the tall timber.