  Jack sprawled on the hotel bed, munching an apple. The Elks Creek weekly newspaper was spread before him, but he had not been reading. “Hap and Craig Warner are an hour overdue,” he complained, looking at his watch. “Why don’t they get here?” “Because they’ve been held up at the hospital,” Ken replied calmly. “Easy, boy! You’ve been fretting all morning.” Jack rolled off the bed. Going restlessly to the window, he gazed down on the street below. It was nearly deserted, and there was no sign of either the Scout leader or the rancher. “Joe Hansart is in a bad way,” Willie contributed from the other side of the room. “That’s why they sent for Warner and Hap.” “I know,” Jack acknowledged. “I ought to be patient. It’s just that I’m eager for news.” Late the previous night, the four Scouts and their guide had reached the hotel. The long hike over the mountains had been exhausting, if uneventful. Nevertheless, even War and Willie had stood the hard trip surprisingly well. A good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast had revived everyone. Very early, both Mr. Livingston and Mr. Warner had been called to the hospital. The Scouts had received no word from them since their hurried departure. To kill time, the Explorers began mapping out the route they would take on the remainder of the trip back to Belton City. For the first time since they had left their homes weeks before, they eagerly looked forward to returning. “Route 52 looks the best to me,” Ken said, marking it with a red pencil. “To be sure, though, we’ll have to check at the first Automobile Club office.” Footsteps were heard outside the hotel room. Instantly, the Scouts lost interest in the map. The door opened, and both Mr. Livingston and Craig Warner came in. Looking tired, the two men sat down. The Scout leader said, “Joe Hansart is dead.” “Dead!” Jack repeated sadly. Mr. Livingston nodded. “Pneumonia,” he explained briefly. “The doctors did everything possible, but not even the miracle drugs could save him.” “Did he die without recovering his senses?” Willie asked in a low voice. “No,” the Scout leader answered. “At the end he was quite clear in his mind. That was why the hospital officials sent for us.” “Did the old man tell you anything?” War demanded. “We learned everything,” Craig Warner said, taking up the story. “It’s a bit fantastic, but understandable if you know Joe’s type as I do. As a very young man, he chanced upon the Headless Hollow area.” “About the time Old Stony and your father found gold there?” Jack commented. “Yes, even as a young man, Joe wasn’t right in his mind. He suffered hallucinations and had obsessions. To make it short, poor Joe thought that the valley and the gold belonged to him and that my father and Stony were intruders. He spied on them and even shot my father. Then he fled.” “Did Hansart himself make that confession?” Ken demanded. “Yes, and I think it’s the truth,” the rancher replied. “As I said, Joe’s mind was clear at the end. I doubt if Joe ever knew Old Stony was blamed for my father’s death.” “What about the caches of gold?” War interposed eagerly. “Joe found them. He moved the ore to the mouth of the mine. Over the years, at remote places, he sold just enough to keep him in supplies. You see, he thought he had found one of the richest mines in the state and was afraid word would leak out.” “Didn’t he ever file a claim?” Ken inquired. “He filed several, but improperly. As soon as we hit town, I checked on that. I’ve filed one of my own now. Not that it matters much.” “The mine is worthless?” “Not entirely so,” the rancher replied. “A man could make a hard living there, perhaps. Only the hand-picked ore left by Old Stony and my father has real value. The rest assays too low to make commercial mining profitable.” “What of the ore itself?” Jack asked thoughtfully. “Isn’t it worth anything?” “Roughly, I figure it ought to net from $10,000 to $40,000, depending on transportation costs. Whatever it tallies, I’ll give you boys your share.” “We’ve already had our share,” Mr. Livingston said with a smile. “The gold never interested us as much as the adventure.” “Even so, cash is handy to have,” the rancher insisted. “You could use another vacation next year, couldn’t you?” “We’re always r’arin’ to go!” War chuckled. “If I have luck getting the ore out, I’ll send you a check,” Warner promised. “Nothing spectacular. Enough, though, to pay you for your lost equipment—and for a vacation next summer.” “What will you do with your share?” Jack asked curiously. “Pay off the mortgage on the ranch,” Warner answered. “Of course I’ll take care of Hansart’s last expenses at the hospital too, and his funeral.” “You don’t bear him any grudge, do you?” “No, Jack. He wasn’t responsible for his actions. What a miserable life he had!” “He was the one who stole our food at the ghost town, wasn’t he?” Willie speculated. Warner nodded. “Yes, Hansart used that place as a sort of base for supplies he carried in. He had caches of canned food and other items stored where he could dig them up when he wanted them. He ventured out only when he couldn’t avoid it. Even then, he never in recent years showed up in Elks Creek. That’s why everybody assumed he had died.” “Hansart, of course, was responsible for the area’s bad reputation,” Mr. Livingston added. “He considered the valley—the cabin—the gold—everything—his. He drove off everyone who ventured that way.” “What of Walz?” Ken asked presently. “Did you talk to him again?” “Only briefly,” Mr. Livingston returned. “He is in a savage mood.” “Recovering?” “Oh, yes. He’ll be as well as ever, once his leg mends. Naturally, he denies everything.” “It will do him no good,” Warner interposed. “I’ve talked to the sheriff. A guard is being posted at his hospital room.” “Then he’ll be returned to Rocking Horse?” “At the state’s expense,” Warner chuckled. “He’ll have to stand trial for manslaughter in the death of Old Stony. Perhaps he can convince a jury the attack was unintentional. I seriously doubt it.” That night, the entire party had a big dinner in the hotel at Craig Warner’s expense. He introduced them to town officials and many of his friends. “If this keeps on, we’ll begin to think we’re more important than a bank president!” War protested. “Anyway, I’ll be glad to pull out of here tomorrow morning.” The Explorers expected to rise at dawn, slip quietly out of the hotel, and be on their way. Therefore, it came as a surprise the next morning, when they found Craig Warner waiting for them beside their car. “Nice day for traveling,” he drawled. “Reckon I’ll drive a piece with you, to show you the first fork in the road.” The rancher drove ahead through the sleepy little town and into the hills. A blue haze hung over the distant mountains. A few miles out of Elks Creek, Warner pulled up, and the Scout automobile drew alongside. “Take the road to the left,” the rancher said, indicating it with a wave of his hand. “The highway is paved all the way.” Gravely he shook hands with Mr. Livingston and each of the Scouts in turn. Then his eyes roved toward the high peaks, behind which Headless Hollow lay hidden. “By the way,” he said casually, “I forgot to tell you. We’re changing the name of Crazy Mountain.” “Changing it?” Jack repeated. “Yes, from now on it will be known hereabouts as Old Stony.” The Scouts were silent, thinking it over. Jack turned to gaze toward the faraway mountain top, magnificent in the colored dawn. “Old Stony,” he said, his voice husky. “I like it. So would he. You know, fellows, that mountain couldn’t have a more appropriate name.” |
|
