“The captain of the ‘Gadfly’ was short handed when we got to a village down the coast, and he hired a Mexican and this half-breed, Lopez, to help work the schooner. The Mexican deserted at the next stop, but Lopez remained with us. In a little while we found why this was. Things began to be missed. Two nights ago as I came on deck I found him lying on his stomach looking down the open skylight into my uncle’s cabin. There was a light burning in the cabin and my uncle sat at a table with a small metal box before him, going over its contents. It was in this box that he kept the map and his other valuables. I spoke to Lopez; he got up, muttered something and walked away. This morning the half-breed was missed; a half hour later the box was also discovered to have disappeared. It took us only a moment to put the two things together; then Joe and I put out on board the mule, looking for him.” “Your father didn’t join in the hunt?” said Kit to Joe, and there was an inquiring note in his voice. “My father,” said Joe, “isn’t able to ride. He’s a cripple; lost his right leg by a cannon shot at the engagement on Lake Champlain.” “I see,” said Kit. “And if the map was to be recovered, it was for you two boys to do it.” There was a short silence; then the trapper spoke again. “I see now why Spotted Snake was so anxious to get away from this section as soon as he could.” Then inquiringly, “Is it your idea that he took the box just because of the money value of the things in it?” “He couldn’t have known of the map----” began Joe breathlessly. But the trapper interrupted him. “Don’t be too sure of that,” said he. “You are never sure of what a fellow like that knows. He goes sneaking about, peeping and listening, and often he finds out more than he’s given credit for.” Dave was about to make a reply to this, when suddenly there was a commotion in the darkness. The voice of one of the trappers posted to the north of the camp as a guard was heard calling sharply: “Halt! Stand where you are!” Instantly the groups about the fires melted; each man seized the ever ready rifle and fell back out of the red glow. The chief of the trappers, Mr. Young, went forward, and voices were heard in a sort of parley. Then the two boys saw the captain of the Pueblo advancing, a half dozen of his soldiers at his back. CHAPTER III THE TRAPPERS TAKE THE TRAIL “Pardon!” cried the Mexican, jovially, as he advanced. “I hope I do not intrude, gentlemen.” The chief of the trappers, who had approached the fires with him, bid him welcome. “Sit down,” said Mr. Young. “Glad to see you.” The officer did so; and his men squatted within the circle of light, blinking like so many owls and holding their muskets across their knees. “Soon you will be leaving the Pueblo,” said the captain. “I am sorry. Not once have you accepted my hospitality.”