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.