  The rented car rolled up the lane and halted near the fence where Craig Warner and the Scouts waited. Paying off the driver, Jarrett Walz strode over to the group. He showed no surprise at seeing Mr. Livingston and the Explorers, nor did he make any apology for having followed them to the Cloud Crest Ranch. In fact, he deliberately ignored the Scouts, addressing Craig Warner. “You don’t know me,” he said, offering his hand, “but I’m Jarrett Walz from Rocking Horse. An old friend of Stony’s.” “Howdy,” the rancher responded. His manner was neither friendly nor unfriendly. The motel owner then launched into a glorified account of the manner in which he had befriended Old Stony. Mr. Livingston and the Scouts let him run on without interruption. Finally, Walz wound up his long-winded monologue by asking Warner if the Explorers had turned over the Headless Hollow map to him. “I have it,” the rancher replied. “I drove out here to make you a proposition,” Walz rattled on. “How about you and me teaming up for a bit of adventure?” “You’re proposing we explore the Headless Hollow region?” said Warner. “Why not? It’s a good time of year—everything’s in our favor. Since you have the map we may find a valuable mine site—or at least a cache of ore.” “I don’t team up with a man on an hour’s notice.” “I realize I’m a stranger,” Walz said, “but if you doubt my character, send a wire to anyone in Rocking Horse.” “I don’t need testimonials to judge a man,” Warner replied dryly. “How does the proposal strike you? The quicker we get started, the better I’d like it.” Warner did not answer the motel owner’s question directly. Instead, he said, “No one has any business on Crazy Mountain without a good pair of legs. A trip such as you’re proposing would take a heap o’ planning. You’d need supplies—a list made out with care, because every pound you pack counts. Footwear’s important, too.” “Oh, mere details. I can buy anything I need in an hour’s time. The essential thing is to have a guide who knows the country.” “You’ll not find anyone hereabouts that has ever been to the Headless Hollow region.” “You mean the place has never been explored?” Walz demanded. “Men have gone there,” Warner drawled, “but they don’t seem to come back.” The remark jarred Walz for a moment. “You’re trying to scare me out of it!” he accused. “No,” the rancher answered quietly. “Just giving you the facts. I reckon a good mountain climber who’s willing to take punishment could reach the place, but he’d have to face hazards.” “Bears? Cougars?” “Animals shouldn’t give any trouble if a man minds his business.” “Then what is holding us back?” Walz demanded impatiently. “Are you afraid of the climb?” “It may be tricky finding a pass down into the valley.” “They told me in town you’re one of the best mountaineers in this section—you and Pete Ranier, the half-breed Indian.” “Why don’t you talk to Pete?” Warner suggested. “He might be induced to take you to the Headless region—for a price.” “But he doesn’t have the map,” Walz growled. “That’s why I don’t want to team up with him. Besides, he’s a heavy drinker, they tell me—reliable only when he’s sober.” “You’re welcome to stay here tonight,” Warner said. “We’ll talk some more. Maybe we can get together.” “Fine!” the motel owner responded heartily. “I thought you’d see it my way. You team up with me, and I’ll pay all the expenses. If we hit it lucky, we’ll split any way you want.” The Scouts remained out of doors while Warner showed Walz to a room. “I wonder if this isn’t our cue to pull out of here?” Mr. Livingston remarked. “It’s not going to be pleasant, now that Walz has come.” “He’ll only try to make us look bad,” Jack agreed. When Craig Warner came outside alone, the Scouts mentioned leaving, but he would not hear of it. “I couldn’t turn Walz away,” he said. “As for teaming up with him, I’m not even considering it. Stick around, boys. Things may get interesting.” Whenever the rancher was near, Walz deliberately avoided the Scouts. Late in the afternoon, however, he ran into Jack and Ken near the corrals. They would have passed him without a word, if he had not blocked their way. “You’ve been telling Warner things about me that aren’t true!” he declared. Ken and Jack were amused by the accusation. It did not seem deserving of a reply. “Get this!” Walz snapped. “I want that map, and I mean to get it! I’m warning you not to interfere! If you do—” “If we do—what?” “You’ll find out!” Walz blustered. “I’m fed up with your meddling. Take my advice and drive on!” “We like the scenery,” Jack retorted, “so we’re staying.” After the early chores were done, Warner told his visitors he would take them over to see Tarta Lake. “It’s only a little hike,” he said. “Figured we could tote our grub up there and cook supper under the stars.” The Explorers fell in with the plan at once. Walz seemed annoyed, but he kept his thoughts to himself. They set off single file up a gentle slope, Warner leading the way. He had an easy, fast, smooth stride, which the Scouts deliberately imitated. Walz kept up at first, then fell to the end of the line. When the climb became more difficult—rocky and steep—Walz sat down to empty gravel from his shoes. “How much farther?” he puffed. “Not more than a mile,” the rancher replied. The Scouts were all in good condition, and therefore the sharp climb was no test for their sturdy, muscular legs. Even War, who tired more easily than his older crew mates, found his breath holding. At Tarta Lake Walz collapsed on the grass. He rested while Warner and the Scouts built a fire and set steaks to broiling. The mountains had brought peace and relaxation to the Explorers. Even their irritation at Walz faded away as they gathered about the glowing log for an hour of rest and talk. Warner, usually quiet, related a variety of stories about the area. Purposely, however, he avoided mention of Headless Hollow. “It’s queer about mountains,” he said, watching sparks fly up from the fire. “They have a way of showing a man for what he is.” Walz eyed him suspiciously but made no comment. Soon it was time to start back to the ranch. Warner made certain every spark of the fire was out, and they began the long trek. Obviously very tired, Walz dragged at the end of the line. Warner slowed his pace, but even so the motel owner could not keep up. Once he stumbled against a tree and gave it a savage kick. Finally, when they were at the ranch once more, the motel owner collapsed on the davenport with a little moan. “I’m a mite out of condition,” he admitted. “A couple of days on the trail, and my muscles will be okay again. Most of my trouble today came from having the wrong kind of shoes.” “A mountain can give a fellow quite a beating,” was Warner’s only comment. After an hour of rest, Walz regained his strength. With reviving zest for the Headless Hollow adventure, he began to press Warner for a decision. The rancher regarded him in surprise. “Haven’t the mountains given you your answer?” “That jaunt we took was no fair test! Once I get better equipment—” “Headless Valley is no place for an amateur,” Warner told him. “If you’re dead set on going there, Pete Ranier might take you. I doubt it, though. You’d be asking for trouble.” “At least show me the map.” The rancher hesitated. Then, apparently deciding his guest could make no practical use of it, he unlocked the paper from the desk drawer. Eagerly, Walz pored over it, his dark eyes sparkling. “Let me make a copy of this!” he demanded. Warner had begun to regret even showing the paper to the motel owner. “Sorry,” he replied. Taking the map from Walz, he relocked it in the desk. “Walz,” the rancher said, eying him steadily, “you don’t seem to understand what I’ve told you about the Headless Hollow region. It’s a dangerous spot for any man, even if he’s at home in the mountains. You’d be a fool to attempt it, even with a guide.” “Who says I’m going to?” Walz retorted. With a shrug, he bade the group goodnight and went to the room assigned to him. The Scouts soon retired, for the long hike and the fresh mountain air had made everyone very tired. They slept soundly, hearing nothing until Mr. Livingston pounded on their bedroom doors the next morning. Ken and Jack were the first to get dressed and down to the kitchen. Warner was there ahead of them, frying bacon and expertly tossing flapjacks. “Morning,” he greeted the pair cheerfully. “Sleep well?” “Like logs,” Jack answered. “How’s Walz this morning? Still worn out?” “I wouldn’t know,” the rancher drawled. “Our friend is no longer with us.” “He left during the night?” Jack asked in astonishment. “Reckon so. Brace yourselves, boys. Your car is gone.” As the Scouts accepted this news in stunned silence, Warner added: “That’s not all. Our impulsive friend likewise has stolen the map!” |
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