Late that night when they got back to the little shack every one was
sleepy enough to turn in. Long after Mr. Wilde and Billy had entered the
somnolent state, Westy and Rip lay wide awake, eyes boring the darkness,
and thinking.
Lola’s story had deeply affected them all, but in the boys it had so
stimulated their interest that they lay pondering the whole thing as she
told it from beginning to end. Westy had a thought and he just couldn’t
keep it until morning.
“Hey, Rip, watcha doing?” he said softly.
“Pickin’ flowers in the Sahara!”
“Say, now, I’m serious!”
“You always are. What in heck do you want now?”
“I’ve just been thinking----”
“You don’t do anything but think. I don’t see that it gets you anywhere.
Look at those bandits, for instance----”
“Shush! Are you out of your mind?”
“Don’t shush me! Anyhow, do you think I’m a boob? If you did something
else besides thinking you’d a-heard. Unk and Billy sound like a couple
of steam shovels already. They can’t hear!”
“All right, but there’s no use of spilling the beans now and crying the
blues, too. We can’t get credit for everything, can we?”
“No, you won long before you started.”
“What I started to tell you was: Do you think there’s been a part of
Lola’s story left out? On purpose, I mean!”
“How do I know! I’m not a mind reader.”
“Well, I’m convinced there was.”
“Yes?”
“Of course. Do you remember her telling about that Mitchell chap?”
“Yeh, what about him?”
“Well, she never said what became of him, nor if they ever tried to
locate him. It would be interesting to know where he went. He certainly
must have copped all the gold that belonged to Redmond. Didn’t she say
something about the paper representing great wealth?”
“Sure!” Rip was getting very drowsy and half heard Westy’s question.
“Well, there you are. He must have had half interest with that Mitchell
in the mine. A gold mine! Think of it! Gee, they ought to be rich, eh,
Rip?”
“Sure! Huh!”
“But they’re not! That’s where the mystery of it comes in. They must be
terribly poor or they wouldn’t be living that way. Lola talks well--but
then her grandmother educated her most likely. I can’t get it out of my
head that there’s a nigger in the woodpile somewhere. Gee, I’d like to
get up the courage to ask her what else she knows, wouldn’t you?”
There was a protracted silence and when Rip did answer it seemed to come
from afar.
“Sh-sh-ure!”
“Can’t you say anything but _sure_?”
“Sure! Good-night!”