  The tall fellow, who crouched by the car, picked up a rock. Guessing that he meant to smash the door handle, Jack let out a wild yell. “Get away from there, you!” The man dropped the rock. Startled, he whirled and ran for the trees. Jack took after him, but he did not have on his shoes. The rocks and stones slashed his feet and impeded him. The intruder, amazingly fast in retreat, vanished behind the motel buildings. Losing sight of him, Jack finally limped back to camp. “Hey, what’s the idea?” Willie greeted him. “You made more noise than a tribe of Indians!” “Lucky I did, too!” All the Scouts and Mr. Livingston were awake by now. They pressed Jack for an explanation. Recovering breath, he said in disgust: “I let him get away.” “Who got away?” Mr. Livingston demanded. “That’s what I don’t know. Someone was trying to break into the sedan.” Mr. Livingston went over to try the car doors. All remained locked. “I yelled and scared him away before he managed to break the handle,” Jack went on. “You know—he looked a lot like that fellow we saw streaking away from Stony’s cabin last night.” “The attacker?” Willie interposed. “S-a-y, maybe it was the same guy!” “And maybe it’s lucky we weren’t slugged in our sleep!” War added. “He acted as if his main objective was the car.” “Nothing in there except some of our unpacked luggage,” Mr. Livingston said thoughtfully. “He could have been after the car.” “Or something he believed might be hidden or locked up there,” Jack suggested. “The map!” exclaimed Ken. “That’s how it struck me,” Jack nodded. “I’m glad we hid it under the tent flap. Let’s hope it’s still there.” “It has to be,” Ken returned. “I’ve been in camp every minute since you hid it.” Nevertheless, to reassure themselves, the Scouts peered beneath the flap. When folded back, it served as an open doorway. When lowered, it provided a curtain across the front opening. “Still here,” Jack said in relief. “Maybe that guy wasn’t after it at all,” Ken said doubtfully. “Who would know we have the map?” “Jarrett Walz, for one,” piped up Willie. “Can’t picture him coming to our camp at night,” Ken said. “Did it look like Walz, Jack?” “Not especially. I didn’t get a glimpse of anything but his back. He lit out like a house afire.” “Well, boys, he’s gone,” Mr. Livingston said, yawning. “We may have a rough day tomorrow. So I suggest we try to get a little more sleep before dawn.” Once more the Scouts settled down. Throughout the remainder of the night, the only disturbing sound was the rumble of traffic past the motel office. Jack was up with the sun. He and Willie were starting to prepare breakfast, when they heard the crunch of gravel. Looking around, they saw Mr. Walz approaching the camp. “Trouble,” Willie muttered. However, he was wrong. The motel owner seemed to be in a most pleasant mood. In fact, he carried a covered dish. “Good morning, boys,” he greeted them. “My wife sent over these hot biscuits. We thought you’d like a taste of home cooking for a change.” Willie opened his jaws to let fall a stinging comment. Then he closed his lips firmly and kept his thoughts to himself. “Thanks,” Jack said. “Biscuits will go fine with our bacon and eggs.” “My wife sent some jam, too. Nothing like a good breakfast before you hit the road.” Jack and Willie exchanged a quick glance. They figured they knew the reason behind the motel owner’s unexpected generosity. He was eager to speed them on their way! “Is your leader anywhere around?” Walz inquired, after he had set the pan down on a stump near the camp fire. Just then Mr. Livingston came out of the tent carrying his shaving equipment. “Good morning, good morning,” Mr. Walz cried heartily. “I hope you had a good night’s rest.” “Not especially. Someone tried to break into our car.” “You don’t say!” With a show of concern, Mr. Walz asked for details. “Y’ know,” the motel owner said, after they had explained, “now that Stony is gone, I’ll have to hire someone—a more active man—to guard these grounds at night.” “You’ve had trouble before?” the Scout leader inquired. “No, not until night before last. I was told, though, that a suspicious-looking character was seen loitering around here yesterday while I was away.” “You didn’t mention it to us last night.” “Didn’t want to alarm you. It may be he’s the same fellow who got into poor Old Stony’s cabin.” “You’ve notified the police, I suppose?” “Well, no,” Mr. Walz admitted, avoiding the Scout leader’s direct gaze. “I didn’t have enough evidence to go on.” “Besides, you thought Stony’s attacker blew town yesterday. Remember?” “Yes, that’s so,” the motel man agreed with a self-conscious laugh. By this time, the Scouts had no faith in Walz’ word, and he seemed to be aware of the unfavorable impression he had created. “I’ve been very upset about the attack on Stony,” he went on. “And all the talk about his gold and a treasure map worries me, too.” “Why should that worry you?” Ken drawled. “As I said before, I seriously doubt there is any gold—” “There’s a place he calls Headless Hollow—” War exclaimed, and then faltered. “Headless Hollow,” Mr. Walz repeated softly. “So he did tell you about that place in the Colorado Rockies? And he gave you the map too!” “Stony wasn’t taking anything with him when he went to the hospital,” Jack reminded the motel owner. “As I recall, you were the first to go through his things.” “And you were close on my heels!” Walz brought himself up short. “However, I didn’t come here to quarrel. I know you have the map and, as a gentleman, I request that you show it to me.” Had Walz made his request in this manner the previous day, the Scouts would have allowed him to inspect the paper they had found. Now, distrusting his motives, they were unwilling to produce the map. “Well?” he demanded impatiently. “Sorry,” Mr. Livingston replied. “I’ll admit we do have a piece of paper Stony left. But it must be delivered to Craig Warner.” “So that’s why you sent him a telegram yesterday?” “It is.” For a minute, the Scouts thought Jarrett Walz would storm and object. He seemed to gain control of himself only after an inward struggle. When he spoke, his voice was friendly, cheerful. “I’ve told you how I took care of Stony for years—gave him a job, clothing, food—everything. Ask anyone in Rocking Horse if it isn’t true.” “We don’t doubt it,” Mr. Livingston returned. “Believe me, I have no desire for personal gain,” Walz resumed. “I do feel that if Stony left any money or a rich claim, I should be entitled to repayment for a portion of what I’ve put out in his behalf.” “That seems fair enough,” the Scout leader agreed. “Stony told me dozens of times he intended me to have everything he owned. At the very end, he turned against me—only because his mind was failing. He began to think of Craig Warner—a man he never saw in his lifetime, so far as I know.” “That probably is so,” Mr. Livingston conceded. “Now I’m willing enough the map should go to Craig Warner, if that was Stony’s last wish. But who knows where Warner is?” “We’ve had no luck in getting in touch with him so far,” the Scout leader admitted. “Exactly. Suppose you never find him? Then what becomes of the map?” Mr. Livingston replied that he had given no thought to that possibility. “It seems to me,” Walz said, speaking slowly, “that if you fail to find Warner, the map ought to be turned over to me.” “Your request is a reasonable one.” “I thought you’d see it my way,” Walz said in relief. “Then it’s settled. Turn the map over to me, and I’ll do my best to find Warner. If I don’t find him, I’ll keep it.” “Hold on!” Mr. Livingston said, smiling broadly. “We made a promise to Stony, and we shall do all we can to find Craig Warner ourselves.” “You mean you don’t trust me.” “It’s not that,” the Scout leader replied. “We just feel we owe it to Stony to deliver the map ourselves.” “And if you fail?” “Then there may be no reason why you shouldn’t have it. The Scouts, I assure you, have no intention of going on a wild gold chase.” When it became clear to the motel owner that he could not move Mr. Livingston, he asked, “Then how do you plan to deliver the map?” “The safest way would be to take it to Elks Creek—if there is such a place.” “Elks Creek is a real place, all right,” Walz informed him, “but it’s an out-of-the way cow town off the main highway. I could take you there, only my car is out of commission.” The Scouts waited, wondering what the motel owner had in mind. It was obvious that he was leading up to something. “This is my proposition,” Walz said. “Elks Creek isn’t any more than seventy-five or one hundred miles out of your way, if you’re traveling east. Take me along, and I’ll pay the entire cost of the trip from here to Craig Warner’s place.” Despite themselves, the Scouts were rather amazed at the generous offer. “There’s just one little string attached to my offer,” the motel owner added. “If we fail to find Craig Warner, then I’ll expect you to hand over the map.” |
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