e Blower's camp!" cried Dave, who was the first to
discover the light.

"I'd like to know if Link Merwell and Job Haskers are really with him,"
said Roger.

"We ought to be able to catch up to them by to-morrow, so Mr. Dillon
said."

"Unless Merwell and Haskers fix it so that they throw us off their
trail, Roger. You know Mr. Dillon said they could branch off at Talpoll
Crossing. That is where a spur of the railroad cuts in, to reach the
mines on the other side of the hills--the railroad I suppose the
Landslide Mine would have to use in getting out ore."

The boys watched the distant light for a while longer, and then
descended to the camping spot. The others listened with interest to what
they had to report.

"We'll be after 'em at sun-up," said Tom Dillon. "An' now all o' yer had
better turn in an' get what rest you can."

This was sensible advice, and the three youths lost no time in following
it. They turned in around the fire, which was kept burning, so as to
keep away any possible prowling beasts. Tom Dillon was the last to
retire, he looking to it that all of the horses were tethered.

It was just growing daylight when Dave awoke with a start. Something had
aroused him--what he could not tell. He sat bolt upright, and at the
same moment the old miner, who was beside him, did the same.

"What's up?" asked Tom Dillon, instinctively feeling for the pistol he
carried.

"Our horses!" cried Dave. "They are running back on the trail!"

"Somebody is stealin' 'em!" roared Tom Dillon, and was on his feet on
the instant.

By this time the noise had awakened Phil and Roger, and all three boys
followed the old miner in arising. In the gray light of the morning they
could see that their four horses were moving along the back trail on a
gallop. A single man seemed to be in charge of them, on a steed of his
own.

"Halt!" yelled Tom Dillon. "Halt, or I'll fire on you!" And he raised
his pistol.

At this sharp command the man with the horses turned slightly to look
back. He crouched low, and wore a sombrero pulled down well over his
face. On the instant he rode to the front of the galloping steeds, thus
getting out of range of the old miner's weapon.

"Come on, we must get our hosses!" sang out Tom Dillon, and started
forward on the run. Then he let out a shrill whistle, one he knew was
used for calling the animal he had been riding.

The effect of the whistle was all that could have been desired. The
horse dr