He had new food for thought.
Yes, to be sure, Peg and his two cowboy guides had had plenty of time
to climb that far up the side of Thunder Mountain. If they had taken
daylight for the task of course they avoided the danger of getting
lost, such as had overtaken the saddle boys. And if the nerve of
Spanish Joe and Nick Jennings continued to hold out, when strange
things began to happen, the boastful tenderfoot from the East stood a
chance of making a discovery.
As the two crept closer, on hands and knees, they could hear the murmur
of voices grow louder, even though the speakers were evidently talking
in low tones. While the experience was altogether new to Bob, he
enjoyed it immensely. Why, after all, it was not so very hard to place
his hands and knees in such fashion that he felt able to move along
almost as silently as a snake might have done.
Now he was even able to locate the spot from which the murmur of voices
came. Yes, and when he looked closer he saw a tiny spark that glowed
regularly, just as a firefly might sparkle every ten seconds or so.
Bob solved that little mystery easily. Of course it was Spanish Joe,
smoking one of the little cigarettes which he was so frequently rolling
between his fingers.
To be sure, the odor of tobacco smoke mingled with that of burning
wood. And if Spanish Joe, why not the other cowboy who was in bad
repute among the ranches; yes, and Peg himself?
Bob began to wonder what the programme of his chum might be.
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