“Certainly, sir; we are in no hurry.  However, until we are definitely engaged we do not bind ourselves to be ready for your work.”

“Where is your camp?” said Mr. Dunlop.

Jim Ferrers explained the easiest way of reaching the camp in a motor car.

“And I’d advise you to come to our camp, too,” Tom added.  “You’ll be safer there than here.”

“But we would; expose you to danger, too,” Mr. Dunlop objected.

“We’re rather used to danger,” smiled Tom placidly.  “In fact, just a little of danger makes us feel that we’re getting more enjoyment out of life.”

“Do you think it a good plan to take up the invitation of these gentlemen, Timmins?” inquired Mr. Dunlop.

“It’s the safest thing you can do, sir,” answered Joe Timmins.

“We’ll start back, now,” proposed Tom.  “If you don’t drive too fast you’ll give us a chance to reach our camp in time to welcome you.”

“You start now, and we’ll start within ten minutes,” proposed Mr. Dunlop.

This being agreed to, Tom, Harry and Ferrers began the task of climbing the cliff path.  At last they reached the top, then started at long strides toward camp, Ferrers’s horse having been surrendered by Harry to Dave Hill.

“Who knows,” laughed Tom, “we may become mining engineers here in Nevada”

“Small chance of it,” Harry rejoined.  “In opinion Mr. Dunlop is a good enough fellow, but he’s accustomed to making all the money himself.  He’d want us at about a hundred dollars a month apiece.”

“He can want, then,” Tom retorted.  “Yet, somehow, I’ve an idea That Mr. Dunlop will turn to be generous if he decides that we’re the engineers for him.”

For some minutes the trio tramped on silently, in Indian file, Ferrers leading.

“Hello, Alf!” bellowed Tom through the woods, as they neared their camp site.  No answer came.

“Where did you leave the little fellow, Jim?” inquired Reade.

“I didn’t notice which way he went, sir,” returned the guide.  “He looked plumb scared, and I reckon he ducked into cover somewhere.  Maybe he headed for Dugout City and hasn’t stopped running yet.”

Then a turn of the path under the trees brought them in sight of their camp.

Rather, where the camp had been.  Jim Ferrers rubbed his eyes for an instant, for the tents had been spirited away as though by magic.  Nor were the cots to be seen.  Blankets lay strewn about on the ground.  A quarter the camp’s food supplies was still left, and that was all.

“Is it magic, Jim?” gasped puzzled Tom Reade.

“No, sir; just plain stealing,” Ferrers responded grimly.

“Then who-----”

“Dolph Gage’s crew, I’ll be bound, sir.  They don’t want you two hanging around in this country, and they want me a heap sight less.  But maybe we’ll show ’em!  The trail can’t be hard to find.  We’ll have to start at once.”