We'll go around the hills instead of over them." Then began a sinuous weaving back and forth, following the seams in the uplifts and mounting steadily toward the narrow gap.

The pace was slow and labored, but Frank unerringly traced the way until the motor-cyle lamps flung their round, yellow eyes squarely into the fissure of the mountain wall.
"Maybe there isn't anything wonderful about this," called Clancy, as Frank led the way into the narrow passage, "but--well, it gets my goat.
Poor old Pink is missing the time of his life.

Now, if we can find Borrodaile, and jog him into a realization of where he is and what he has done, we'll just about make a good night's work of it.

It's a relief to know that the prof hasn't been in danger of being bunkoed out of his gold mine." "We don't know that yet," Frank called back over his shoulder.

"Don't take too much for granted, Red.