“This is their third offense, and I reckon we will have to hang ’em this time if we can find a tree strong enough to stand the strain of two such rascals at once.”
“I tell you a better scheme,” said Jeems Howell with a twinkle in his eye. “Get a twig of the tree and touch ’em up with that.”
“That’s the idea,” agreed Jim. “Bring me the switches, Juarez.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Juarez cheerfully, and he started on his commission. The implied indignity of a switching was too much for the two youths. They would have much preferred to be hanged, so they prepared to leave home immediately and without due notice. Father Jim’s grasp relaxed for a moment, and, with a wrench, both boys tore themselves loose and sped away in the darkness, and from this outer darkness they hurled remarks and pieces of dirt and small stones at the three about the campfire, just as other small bad boys would do; but the grown-ups paid no attention to the culprits, merely pulled their sombreros down around their ears and began a diligent study of the diagram of the Lost Mine. So absorbed were they after a while that they forgot the outlanders, when they crept into camp.
“Let’s see,” said Juarez. “Where are we on this diagram?”
“We passed by the pine tree with the cross cut on one side,” said Jeems, “the other day.”
“That crooked line below there is the trail in this valley,” said Jo, who was too interested to keep at a safe distance.
“If it is anything crooked, you and Tom ought to be experts,” said Jim, looking keenly at the two ex-fugitives. They said nothing by way of retort, considering that silence was the better part of wit on this particular occasion.
“If that line is a path,” said Juarez, “those drawings on either side represent buildings of some sort.”
“But how about the figures at the bottom of the diagram?” inquired Jeems. “I can’t make them out.”