  For a moment, Jack thought the cabin was on fire. But there were no flames. Groping his way through the blinding smoke, he flung open the door. As he reached the better air, he heard a hard thud on the ground at the rear of the wretched cabin. Then, in the semi-darkness, he saw a shadowy figure darting toward the dense bush rimming the lake. By this time, Ken too was awake, coughing and fighting the smoke. The others quickly rose and made their way out into the night air. If Jack had cherished any thought that Walz was responsible for the condition of the cabin, it was dispelled. The motel owner staggered out, rubbing his eyes and whining that he had been asphyxiated. “You closed the flue!” he accused them. “You wanted to get rid of me!” The Scouts paid no attention to his mutterings. Instead, Jack and Ken checked the fireplace. Smoke from the half-burned-out fire was pouring into the room instead of rising up the flue. “Must be a down draft,” Ken said, fighting the smoke. “The air’s heavy because of the rain.” “Not that heavy, Ken.” Jack recollected the strange thudding noise he had heard and the fleeting shadow he had seen. Someone, he was convinced, had been on the roof of the cabin. “I’m going to see what’s wrong,” he announced. “Help me up there, will you?” “You may crash through the roof,” Ken warned. “One good puff of wind and this whole place will fall down like a cardboard box.” He and Craig Warner gave Jack a boost onto the sloping roof. In a moment they heard his shout of discovery. “No wonder we were smoked out!” “What’s wrong?” Ken demanded. “A hunk of wood has been jammed down the chimney! The smoke couldn’t escape, so it went out into the cabin.” Jack tugged and pulled, but the piece of wood had been wedged tightly into the chimney. Ken climbed up with a hatchet. Together they chopped the chunk to splinters, then dropped back down onto the ground. “Who did it?” Walz demanded in a shaky voice. “The ghost of Old Stony,” Jack replied in jest. “Maybe he’s upset to find us in his valley.” At mention of the old prospector, Walz seemed to go to pieces. “Don’t be saying things like that!” he fairly screamed. “Sorry,” Jack apologized. “It was only a joke. I don’t know any more than you do about who wedged that wood into the chimney. But it was done on purpose.” “I’m not going back in there tonight,” Walz whined with a shudder. “Why, it’s a wonder we weren’t burned in our beds!” By this time, the sky had grown lighter, an indication that dawn was not far off. The clouds were clearing, and the rain had stopped. “If Willie and War got through to the Forest Service station, we may sight their plane today,” Mr. Livingston said hopefully. No one attempted to go back to sleep. Warner and Jack made a brief but futile search for their mysterious enemy. “I suspect it’s the same fellow who stole our food and my gun,” the rancher said. “You think it’s somebody who has been living here in the valley?” “It looks that way, Jack. Who he is, or how he manages to keep alive, I don’t know. We’ll have to be eternally on guard.” Mr. Livingston and Ken had fished the lake during their absence, and now near the cabin they proudly displayed four good-sized trout. “Where’s Walz?” Ken suddenly asked. The motel owner was not to be found near the cabin nor in it. Very shortly the Scouts learned the reason: during their absence, he had disappeared. With him had gone their few remaining supplies. “Why, that thieving rascal!” Warner exclaimed. “We took pity on him and shared what little we had. This is our pay.” Only a perfunctory search was made for Walz. It was certain he had taken refuge in the bush not far from the cabin, but to track him down would have been a difficult and useless task. “By this time, he’ll have hidden what he can’t consume,” Warner said in disgust. “He probably figures on finding those caches and getting out of here fast.” Breakfast was a disheartening meal. The fish, baked in leaves, was tasteless without salt. “We’ll not starve,” Warner said. “But it’s sure we have to replenish our supply of staples or hit the trail for Elks Creek. The question is, can we be sure that Willie and War have gotten help for us?” Mr. Livingston spoke with quiet confidence: “Unless they had some bad luck the plane will get here.” “Good flying weather today,” Ken added cheerfully. “It’s settled then that we stick it out,” Warner said. They decided that one of them should remain close to the clearing throughout the day to make certain the plane would not be missed. Selecting a fairly level place where the packages of food might be parachuted down, Jack laid out a bright-colored cloth as a signal. In the meantime Warner, Mr. Livingston, and Ken set off to try to find the gold caches. At noon they returned, tired, hungry, and discouraged. “No luck,” Ken reported, “but we did find a grave on a hillside not far from the lake.” “My father’s,” Craig Warner said. “There was a marker with his name.” “An odd thing,” Mr. Livingston contributed. “Ferns and flowers have been planted beside the grave.” “Recently too,” added Ken. “At least, the earth around them has been loosened recently.” Warner gazed toward the distant mountains, glistening in the bright sunlight. “This trip has already been worth while for me,” he said. “The gold doesn’t matter.” “But there is gold!” Jack insisted. “At least, when I was at the lake I saw particles of it that had washed down from the hills. And I found a sluice box someone had been using.” “Our unknown enemy, probably,” Warner said. “He didn’t show himself while we were gone?” “No one.” “Any sign of a plane?” “None.” In the afternoon, Ken took his turn staying behind, while the others resumed search for the caches of ore. According to Warner’s recollection of the map, both had been near the entrance to a ravine some distance from the lake, but the morning search had proven unfruitful. “I may have made a miscalculation,” the rancher admitted. “Maybe we picked the wrong ravine,” said Jack. They began the afternoon search nearer the lake and cabin. Immediately, landmarks seemed somewhat more familiar and similar to the chart markings they remembered. “We must be on the right track!” Jack said jubilantly. They were encouraged to find old holes drilled in the hillside. This they took to be evidence that Old Stony or other prospectors who followed him had tested the area as a possible mine site. But the hiding place, if ever there had been one, could not be found. “Maybe Walz has had better luck,” Jack said, sinking down on a rock. “Queer we haven’t had a glimpse of him all day.” “He’s lying low,” Mr. Livingston said. “Either that, or he’s hit out for Elks Creek.” Disheartened, the trio finally headed back toward the cabin. As they rounded a ridge, Jack suddenly stiffened. “Listen!” Faintly in the distance, they could hear the drone of an airplane engine. “War and Willie are sending help!” Jack cried. “Food!” With all haste, the three fought their way up the crumbling rocks. Reaching a high spot, they eagerly scanned the sky. Far to the east, a tiny moving speck could be discerned. “It’s coming this way!” Jack shouted. “The pilot can’t miss the lake!” Although the plane was still far away, he took off his hat and began waving it in a wide arc. He might have spared himself the trouble. The plane came on closer for a moment longer and then, for no apparent reason, it banked and turned back on its course. Jack kept thinking that it surely would circle again. But it did not. As he and his companions watched in stunned silence, it vanished between the mountain peaks. |
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