  At sight of the swinging skeleton, the Scouts stood rooted to the rocks. Jack was the first to recover speech. “Jeepers! Is it a warning intended for us?” “A little hint we’re to go no farther?” demanded Ken. Upon closer inspection, the skeleton proved to be one of a bear with several head bones missing. Mr. Livingston cut it down with his pocket knife. “I don’t like this,” he said. “We may be walking into a trap,” Warner conceded. “From the map, I judge there’s no entrance or exit to Headless Hollow except through this narrow pass.” “You mean once down there we may find it hard to get back?” “We face that chance. There’s no question this skeleton was hung here as a warning. It was probably meant for anyone who might chance this way.” “Then the valley must hold treasure,” Ken said, his eyes kindling. “Don’t build up that hope,” Mr. Livingston warned him. “We may be dealing with a man who is out of his mind.” “That’s what alarms me,” agreed Craig Warner. “I’d feel safer if I had my gun.” “We’re four to one,” Ken pointed out. “True,” the rancher replied, “but numbers can be misleading. Besides, we don’t know for sure if there’s only one against us.” Despite the discussion, no one considered turning back. The climbers had suffered too intensely to think of giving up their objective now. At least the valley was attainable, and the route down did not look too hard. But certainly the warning skeleton had alerted them to possible danger, and they knew they had to remain constantly on guard. Pressing on, the Scouts followed Warner single file down the slope. Deep blue shadows were lengthening by the time the four swung through a deeply wooded area. Here they proceeded with even greater caution. But, without incident, they finally came out on a flat shelf overlooking the valley. With a common impulse, everyone halted, for the view snatched away their breath. A tiny sapphire lake lay far below. Against the dark backdrop of the mountainside stood a tiny cabin. “That must be the place Stony and my father built,” Warner said. “We’ve reached our goal—Headless Hollow.” “But not the gold,” Ken reminded him. “That doesn’t concern me too much,” the rancher replied. “If Stony left a cache and it’s still here, I admit I’d like to have it. I could enlarge my ranch, rebuild the barn, and make a lot of repairs. But getting the ore out of this valley would take some doing, I reckon.” With darkness fast coming on, the Scouts pushed rapidly along. Gone was all fatigue. An excitement which steadily mounted buoyed up their spirits and made them forget their weariness. The sun was nearly down when at last the party trudged up to the cabin they had seen from the distance. They approached cautiously, mindful that Walz and his guide or the unknown inhabitant of Crazy Mountain might have taken refuge there. They found no one, though. Jack pointed out that the cabin logs were in a remarkable state of preservation for having stood so long. “This cabin has been kept repaired,” Warner announced after he had looked it over. Telling the Scouts and Mr. Livingston to keep back, he crept to the glassless cabin window and peered in. Seeing no one, he motioned that it was safe for the others to approach. The cabin was practically without a floor, since the boards had deteriorated. Furniture consisted of a broken-down table, a stool, and a pile of fir boughs which had served as someone’s bed. Jack went over and touched the ashes in the crumbling fireplace. “Warm,” he reported. “Someone has certainly been living here recently,” Warner said. “No sign of anyone around now, though.” It was too late to search that night for the caches of gold ore which Old Stony had claimed he hid in the hollow. Feeling almost as if they were intruders in the valley, the Scouts set about preparing supper. Warner fished the lake, bringing in a nice mess of trout. It heartened the group. They had decided to hoard enough of the meager supplies for an emergency return to Elks Creek if necessary. “Willie and War should be able to get help to us by tomorrow,” Mr. Livingston said. “If the Forest Service plane drops food, we’ll be all right. But if the plan goes amiss for any reason, we may have a rough time of it.” The night was closing in chilly, with a threat of rain, so the Scouts decided to sleep inside the cabin. A fire brought a little cheer to the dreary room. Mr. Livingston and Craig Warner told a few stories of past experiences in the wilds. However, talk soon died for, although no one said so openly, the atmosphere was oppressive. Twice Jack left the fire to gaze out the open window. He couldn’t see anyone in the dark, yet he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that someone was prowling near the cabin. “Think we ought to post a guard?” he suggested. “Not a bad idea,” Warner agreed. “I’m a light sleeper, though, so maybe we can take a chance.” Before turning in, he and Mr. Livingston made a tour of the cabin area. Everything was quiet. A light rain, however, had started to fall. “This may prevent the plane from dropping our food tomorrow,” Mr. Livingston remarked, scanning the sky. The Scouts made up their beds and turned in. Jack was too weary to sleep. After a while, above the sound of the rain, he thought he heard footsteps outside the cabin. Quickly, he got up. Before he could investigate, the door was flung open. Jarrett Walz, his clothing torn and wet, staggered in. His arrival awakened the others, and Ken built up the fire, which provided a flickering light in the cabin. “Where’s Ranier?” Warner demanded. “That yellow dog deserted me,” Walz muttered, collapsing onto the bed of pine boughs. “You quarreled?” the rancher guessed. “Yes,” Walz admitted sullenly. “I made it here after he left me at the pass. The thief took my food. I’m half starved.” It was evident that the motel owner had suffered severely on the trail. Despite their intense dislike for the man, the Scouts could not help feeling sorry for him. Mr. Livingston brewed him a cup of strong tea and used the last of the flour to make pancakes for him. Walz ate ravenously. “Why did Ranier turn back?” Warner asked when the motel owner had finished eating. “You say you quarreled?” “Almost constantly. He said I wasn’t paying him enough for the risk of the trip, and that I wasn’t doing my share of the camp work. Then we came to the pass—” “And the bear skeleton?” Jack suggested. “Yes. That finished Ranier. He said the valley was evil and he wouldn’t set foot in it. So he deserted me.” “You have the map you stole from me?” Warner asked. Walz eyed him defiantly. “Maybe.” “Hand it over.” “Like fun I will! I didn’t all but kill myself to get here, only to make things easy for you. Oh, no!” “We can take the map,” the rancher quietly reminded him. “You can’t,” Walz sneered. “I’m not dumb enough to walk in here with it in my pocket.” “You’ve hidden it?” “Better than that. I’ve destroyed it.” Triumphantly, the motel owner tapped his forehead. “The secret is here—right here. Known only to me.” Warner shrugged. He had no reason to doubt Walz’ statement. “You may regret destroying the map,” he observed. “A memory sometimes proves faulty.” “Not mine,” Walz boasted. “I’ll find that gold, and it will be mine—all mine!” “You’re loco,” Warner retorted. “We ought to heave you out of here, but we’ll be generous—a weakness you wouldn’t understand.” The Scouts made room for the motel owner near the fire. He had not feigned exhaustion. Almost at once he fell into a deep sleep. “He should make no trouble tonight,” Warner said contemptuously. “Tomorrow may be a different story.” Once more the Scouts turned in for the night. Again Jack slept, though fitfully. At times he imagined Walz was stirring. Always it was his fancy. Then again, he imagined he heard a noise outside the cabin. Actually, it was toward morning when he awoke with a start. His imagination again? Suddenly he knew that it was not. He felt smothered, suffocated. Starting up, he began to cough and choke. The cabin was filled with smoke! |
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