"It's gone, Chubby—and who could have taken it?"
"I told you, Dick Travers, that the worst is always ahead of us," grumbled Dave. "I had a place selected for that rug—wouldn't have sold it for any money."
"Gee! Mighty hard luck, old man," commented Havens, sympathetically. "I must take a look into this."
He hastily entered the cave.
The flaring pine torch revealed the fact that Old Ephraim's valuable pelt had actually disappeared.
"Not a blessed thing to give us a clue," said Dave, gloomily. "No handkerchief, no bit of paper, conveniently torn, so as to fit another piece later found on the culprit, no bit of cloth hanging to a bush, no footprints, because it's all rock. That's the way it is in real life." He heaved a sigh, and extended his hand toward Dick Travers. "Partners in misfortune," he said, and the two shook hands.
After one of the ducks had been dressed, Jim Havens took charge of it and proceeded to make a record for speedy broiling.
Appetites having been sharpened by the long tramp and bracing air, the meal was thoroughly enjoyed.
It was late before they turned in, and the sun had risen far above the mountains when a breakfast of cold duck and coffee was disposed of.
"Our time is about over," said Bob Somers, regretfully, as they prepared to leave. "Sam and Tommy must have their chance."