For some moments Bob and his companions sat almost motionless in their saddles.
"It's all up!" groaned Tom Clifton.
"We've traveled a long way for this," wailed Dick, with a choking sensation in his throat.
"Did you ever hear of such awful luck?" growled Tim, directing a look of intense anger and scorn toward Jack Conroy.
"I wonder—I wonder if they've found any trace of gold," murmured Sam, in a tone of the deepest dejection. "Who are those fellows on the nearest ridge?"
"Look like Reynolds and Woodle to me," answered Dave, with a sigh. "There's Pete, away down at the bottom; see him?—Just a little square dot."
"Christopher! I don't think we ought to stand for this!" cried Jack Conroy, hotly, shaking his fist in the air. "Haven't we enough spunk to—"
"The odds are against us, Jack," put in Bob, quietly.
"Nothin' doin'," said Tim.
"I don't know about that!" fumed Dick. His voice trembled with indignation. "It makes me so wild I can't even think straight. Come on, fellows!"