such game on me, even if we are alone among these mountains."
"What are you driving at, Farvel?" asked Dick, coming forward.
"Your crowd stole my traps—I see some of them in the hut. I want them back." And the fellow shook his head decidedly.
"You can have your traps and welcome," said Menden. "But we did not steal them. If they were stolen, the job was done by a Carib named Bumbum."
"It's a likely story!" was the reply, with a sneer. "Who is this Bumbum? I never heard of him?"
"The man who waylaid you on the road and robbed you."
"How do you know that?"
"Here is the wallet he took from you."
The article was passed over to Joseph Farvel, who accepted it with a cold stare. However, he opened it quickly to see if the contents were intact, and then smiled to himself.
"I don't understand your game at all," he muttered.
"It is no game, Farvel," said Robert Menden.
"How did you get the wallet?"
"Our things were stolen and, aided by our dog, we traced them here, where we found your goods mixed up with our own. While we were
