"Oh, let it go, Dave. We have all the old newspapers we want."
"I want to see how recent it is," was our hero's reply.
He got down, walked to where the paper rested in a crevice, and drew it forth.
"It's a copy of a mining journal," he announced, as he looked the sheet over. "The issue for last week," he added, gazing at the date. "It's full of grease, too,—that's why they threw it away."
"Do you suppose it belonged to Abe Blower?" questioned Roger, coming up.
"It did!" cried Dave. He had turned to the front page of the paper. "See, here is Abe Blower's name and address, stamped on for mailing purposes. He got it through the mail just before he left and took it along to wrap something in."
"Then that proves we are on the right trail!" cried Roger, joyfully. "I wonder how long ago it was when he threw the paper away?"
"I'm not detective enough to tell you that, Roger," answered Dave, with a grin. "But it's something to know we are on the right trail. They might have taken to that cross trail, you know. We'll catch up to them sooner or later."
Once more our friends went forward, this time along the very edge of the new ridge that had
