At the farther end of the camp stood a small wooden building, with three tents near try. At a greater distance were several other tents. Three wagons stood at one side of the camp, though horses or mules for the same were not visible. Outside, near the door of one tent, stood a transit partially concealed by the enveloping rubber cover. Near another tent stood a plane table, used in field platting (drawing). Signs of life about the camp there were none, save for the presence of the newcomers.
"I wonder if there's anyone at home keeping house," mused Tom Reade, as he jumped down from the wagon.
"There's only one wooden house in this town. That must be where the boss lives," declared Harry.
"Yes; that's where the boss lives," replied the Colorado youth, with a wry smile.
"Let's go over and see whether he has time to talk to us," suggested
Reade.
"Just one minute, gentlemen," interposed the driver. "Where do you want your kit boxes placed? Are you going to pay me now?"
"Drop the kit boxes on the ground anywhere," Tom answered. "We're strong enough to carry 'em when we find where they belong."

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