"I'll bet it's on this side," said Dale Tompkins, suddenly. "In the old days they didn't have many roads and did most of their traveling by water, so I should think-- Oh, shucks! I forgot the smelter would be near the mine and that might be anywhere." "It might," agreed Ranny; "but it won't do any harm to try this side first." Full of enthusiasm, they hurried down the slope, and when the steepest part was over they spread out in a line about twenty feet apart. In this formation they moved forward, keeping a sharp lookout for the slightest sign that might help them in the search. They moved slowly forward through the forest, the fascination of the hunt gripping them more and more strongly. The sense of emulation, always keen with a crowd of boys, was intensified by the belief that, thanks to Ranny, they had just a little better chance of success than any of the others. The object of their search, too, stirred the imagination. There was a glamour of mystery about it which placed the whole thing in a different class from the games that they ordinarily played. But little by little, as they found only the same monotonous succession of rocks and trees and tangled undergrowth, Dale's mind began to dwell on the growing probability that they might not find the mine after all. Over an hour of close search had failed to reveal any trace of the ruined smelter. The ground on the river side of the hill had been thoroughly gone over, and they were now making their way inland, keeping well in toward the slope, and even spreading out a little on it. Without actually running into any of the other searching-parties, they had twice heard voices farther up the hill. The second time, in fact, these were so near that Dale could distinguish the familiar tones of Wesley Becker, and it was while peering curiously through the trees in that direction that he tripped over an obstruction and fell headlong, bruising his shin and twisting one wrist painfully. "You want to look out for those feet of yours, Tommy," laughed Frank Sanson, from the right. "They're awful things to trip over." Usually quick enough with a retort, Tompkins made no answer. He had scrambled up and stood clutching his aching wrist instinctively. But neither his gaze nor his attention was on the injured member. Flushed, bright-eyed, he was staring eagerly at the obstacle that had caused his tumble. It was nothing more than a line of stones, barely showing above the decaying vegetation of the forest floor. But the boy's swift vision had already taken in the fact that the line was straight and true, and that the stones were held together by crumbling remains of mortar. CHAPTER XXII AROUND THE COUNCIL FIRE Dale's first impulse was to summon the others with a jubilant shout. His lips parted swiftly, but closed again as he remembered the nearness of Wes Becker's crowd. It would never do to let them suspect. "Frank!" he called in a low tone. "Come over here--quick!"