Not knowing exactly how to reply to this sort of talk, and hardly understanding what the man meant by it, Rick and Chot said nothing. Mr. Campbell was silent for a moment, looking at the prospector¹ on his mule² as he made off down the mountain trail.  
“So you think Uncle Tod is crazy, eh?” finally asked Mr. Campbell.
 
“I don’t think it—I know it,” came the answer with a chuckle³. “And so’s Sam Rockford—he’s crazier than Tod if such a thing can be. Go on, Salamander!” This last was called to the mule which ambled⁴ on with many a clatter⁵ and clang of the prospector’s outfit⁶.
 
“Well, boys, does this discourage you?” asked Mr. Campbell, when the old man and his mule were out of sight around a turn in the trail.
 
“It does not!” cried Rick, cheerfully. “Once upon a time I thought Uncle Tod was crazy, but it turned out all right.”
 
“And I have no doubt but what it will this time, Rick. We’ll go on to your uncle’s camp. I’m glad we have found it with no further trouble,” said Mr. Campbell.
 
“I’m afraid we’ve been quite a bother to you, Mr. Campbell,” remarked Rick, as the auto⁷ was again sent climbing the mountain trail.
 
“Oh, not at all,” was the answer. “In fact you have been good company for me. It would have been mighty⁸ lonesome coming all this distance alone, and I didn’t have to get much off my trail to come here. It’s been a pleasure.”
 
“Well, we had fun out of it, anyhow,” said Chot. “But say, what do you s’pose he means, saying your Uncle Tod and that other man are crazy?” asked Chot of Rick.
 
“I don’t know,” was the reply. “I never heard of this Sam Rockford, though my folks may know him.”
 
“I suppose he is your uncle’s partner,” suggested Mr. Campbell. “As for this prospector saying other people are crazy—well, I’ve had some experience out here in the west. There is a class of man who, as soon as some one differs from them, at once jump to the idea that the other fellow is as crazy as a loon⁹. Maybe the other man doesn’t do his mining in the same way as do most of the miners—the result is he gets the name of being crazy.
 
“And from what you tell me of your Uncle Tod, Rick, I’d say he wouldn’t follow in the same old rut if he found a better way to do a job. He’d take a new trail and that might result in his being called crazy.”
 
“I guess that’s it,” agreed Rick.
 
“So don’t pay too much attention to what this prospector said,” went on Mr. Campbell with a laugh.
 
“I should say not!” agreed Chot. “We’re out here for a good time!”
 
“But I guess Uncle Tod wants us to help him do something,” said Rick, “though I don’t know what it is.”
 
“We’ll soon find out,” remarked Mr. Campbell.
 
Following the directions given them by the prospector aboard the mountain-climbing mule Salamander, the three in the auto kept on up the trail, which wound over a fairly good road. They made quite an ascent¹¹, and then dipped down into a valley—a pleasant valley which seemed as though it ought to have a stream running through it. But there was no sign of water, save, here and there, small pools, while in other places there were indications of brooks¹² that had dried up, leaving only a bed of stones and gravel¹³.
 
Emerging from a patch of woods, the road forked sharply and as the prospector had said nothing about this, Mr. Campbell stopped, uncertain which turning to take.
 
“Well, boys, what is it, left or right?” he asked. There was no sign-post or other travelers’ signal to guide them.
 
Neither Rick nor Chot could tell as they had never been here before, nor had their companion. It was getting late in the afternoon, and Mr. Campbell was anxious to drive the boys to Uncle Tod’s camp by night, for he was in somewhat of a hurry to get back on his own trail, that would lead him to San Francisco.
 
“I think that prospector was crazy, if you ask me,” remarked Chot, as they looked undecidedly at the forking road. “Why didn’t he tell us which trail to take?”
 
“He might have, and not strained his intellect,” chuckled¹⁴ Mr. Campbell.
 
“Say!” suddenly cried Rick, “isn’t that a flag up there?”
 
He pointed¹⁵ off toward the hilly side of the valley at the left.
 
The others strained their eyes and Chot made out something fluttering through the leafy branches of trees.
 
“It does look like a flag,” he said.
 
Mr. Campbell had field glasses in the car and, taking an observation through them, he was able to declare:
 
“It is a flag flying. Some one must be there, and though it may not be your Uncle Tod they perhaps can tell us where to find him. We’ll head for the flag.”
 
This they did, taking the left trail, and a little later they came to a sort of plateau jutting<............