UNDER THE TENT FLAP
Back in their own camp, the Explorers made certain Jarrett Walz had not
followed them.
Then, in the privacy of the larger tent, they eagerly spread out the
treasure map for a closer inspection. Jack got the Colorado road guide
from the car, and they pored over it, trying to pinpoint Headless
Hollow.
“There’s no such place,” War announced after a long study of the basic
Colorado map.
“You didn’t expect to find Headless Hollow printed in big red letters,
did you?” Ken demanded.
“That was only a name Old Stony and his partner gave the valley,” Jack
added.
“We can’t find any of the landmarks either,” War grumbled, “or that town
where Craig Warner is supposed to live—Elks Creek.”
“It may be too small a place to be on a road map,” Mr. Livingston
returned. “Buckhorn, too.”
“This treasure map isn’t drawn to scale, either,” Willie said with a
frown. “Most of the canyons and mountain peaks aren’t named. The main
landmark seems to be those twin peaks which guard the entrance to the
valley.”
“We’re not going there, anyhow,” Ken said, giving him an amused, knowing
look. “So why worry about it?”
“Well, it would be exciting to look for that cache of gold,” Willie
retorted.
“If we could locate a take-off town it might not be too far out of our
way,” War put in eagerly. “How about it, Hap?”
Mr. Livingston smiled but shook his head.
“No treasure hunting on this trip, boys. We’re supposed to be back in
Belton City by the end of the week.”
“Oh, a few days more or less wouldn’t matter,” War said carelessly.
“There’s a little matter of money,” Ken reminded him. “We have just
enough, with a few dollars in reserve, to make it home.”
“I know,” War admitted, crestfallen. “But a fellow can dream, can’t he?”
Jack continued to study the map.
“Make anything of it?” Ken asked.
“Either on purpose, or because he was careless, Stony made his markings
vague. He was especially slack about printing in names.”
“What’ll we do with the map?” Willie asked the Scout leader.
“It’s our duty to turn it over to Craig Warner. Our best bet will be to
send him a wire.”
“Telling him we have the map?”
“No, Willie. Not in the first wire. We’ll report Stony’s death and ask
him to reply.”
It had been the Scout plan to start on toward Belton City, a journey of
several days, but in view of the promise made to Old Stony, they now
were uncertain what to do.
“We’ve already lost most of the morning,” Mr. Livingston said, looking
at his wristwatch. “If I get a telegram off right away, we might have a
reply by tonight if we’re lucky.”
He reflected a moment, then reached a decision.
“We’ve paid for the site until tomorrow morning, boys. If we’re ever
going to hear from Craig Warner, we ought to have a reply by that time.”
Willie and Warwick decided to ride into the main section of town with
the Scout adviser. Jack and Ken agreed to watch the camp while the
others were dispatching the telegram.
“Don’t let Walz or anyone grab that map,” Willie warned, as the car
pulled away.
Left to themselves, Jack and Ken discussed Old Stony for a while. Now
that they were away from the hospital and the magic of his voice, the
tale of treasure seemed farfetched.
“Maybe it was just a fixation he had,” Ken said thoughtfully. “I’ve read
of old prospectors drawing maps of imaginary places. Then they’d dream
over ’em so long they’d convince themselves the treasure was real.”
“Jarrett Walz seemed to think Stony’s story mostly hot air. At least,
that’s what he put out at first. But if he didn’t believe it, why did he
paw through everything in the cabin?”
“Including that bag of pinto beans.”
“Yeah, Ken, it’s just possible he found a few nuggets in the
beans—enough to get him excited about the map.”
“What did you think of his crack about the curse of Headless Hollow?”
“Melodrama. Maybe he wanted to discourage us from going there.”
“If so,” Ken grinned, “he went about it the wrong Way. He should know
that adventure is our dish!”
“Walz may know more about Old Stony’s past than he’s letting on,” Jack
said thoughtfully. “You notice he gets his statements mixed. Another
thing, he poohpoohs the idea of a treasure, but he seems wild to get his
hands on this map.”
Ken nodded. “We should hide it in a safe spot.”
“Where?”
“Not in our duffel bags. That would be the first place he’d look.”
Jack’s eye fell upon the tent flap. “Why not under there?” he suggested.
“At least until Hap gets back with the car?”
“Good idea.”
Folding the map into a tiny square, they hid it under the tent flap.
Then, satisfied that it would be safe, they set about preparing lunch.
By the time Mr. Livingston, War, and Willie drove up, a big pot of stew
was giving off a delightful aroma. Ken made tea and tossed a handful of
raisins in the boiling rice.
“Any news?” Jack asked the Scout leader, as they all sat down at a
picnic table to eat.
“Nothing of consequence. We sent off the telegram. The telegraph company
agent promised to telephone us here if there is any answer.”
“What about Stony?” Ken questioned, after a moment. “Police haven’t
caught that fellow who attacked him?”
“No. We dropped around at the station. Apparently, Jarrett Walz was
right—the investigation won’t be carried on with any vigor.”
“What—about the arrangements—Stony’s burial?”
“Tomorrow at 10 A.M. The town is providing for a simple service.”
“Not Walz, then?”
“He’s contributing a small amount.”
“I’d like to chip in for flowers,” Jack said soberly. “Even if our money
is short, we can manage it, can’t we?”
“Yes, Jack,” Mr. Livingston nodded. “While we were in town, we arranged
for a wreath. It seemed the least we could do. Stony was a stranger and
yet, somehow, he moved us all deeply.”
“I got a queer feeling about him,” War added, staring at his plate.
“What kind of feeling?” Ken asked.
“It’s hard to explain.” War groped for words. “It’s as if his ghost were
here—sort o’ nudging us on—saying we should follow the lead he gave us.”
No one laughed.
Finally, Mr. Livingston said, “If we hear from Craig Warner, and Elks
Creek isn’t too many miles out of our way, we could deliver the map.”
This thought at once caused the Explorers to become more cheerful.
“About going on to Buckhorn—” War began, but Mr. Livingston shook his
head.
“It’s a matter of time and money, Warwick. After all, we’ve had our
vacation.”
“And a dandy one it was!” announced Jack, beginning to gather up the
cups. “I’m not going to grieve over Old Stony’s hidden gold. Quit your
coaxing, War, and get those dishes done!”
Shortly after 2 P. M., as the Scouts restlessly idled about camp, they
saw Jarrett Walz drive up. From the way he slammed the door as he went
into the motel office, they judged he was in a bad mood. This was made
even more evident a few minutes later when he tramped down the road to
ask them if they had decided when they would leave Rocking Horse.
“Tomorrow some time, probably,” Mr. Livingston told him.
“Our town seems to have quite an attraction for you.”
“Not exactly.”
“You’re certainly taking a deep interest in Stony’s unfortunate
affairs,” the motel owner went on, scowling. “I heard about that
telegram you sent to Craig Warner.”
“Oh! News travels fast in Rocking Horse.”
“It does. I might say you seem to be assuming responsibilities. Some
might have a less polite name for it.”
“Meaning?”
“Ever since you hit this town, you’ve been sticking your nose into
affairs that don’t concern you.”
“Sorry if it seems that way to you,” Mr. Livingston said with a shrug.
“Why did you send a wire to Craig Warner?”
“To notify him of Old Stony’s death.”
“That wasn’t your sole reason.”
“You have all the answers,” Mr. Livingston replied, finding it hard to
keep his temper. “Why bother to ask any questions?”
“Because I strongly suspect Old Stony told you something you’re hiding
from me.”
Mr. Livingston made up his mind to end the unpleasant conversation.
“We promised Stony we would get in touch with the son of his old
partner. That’s why we sent the telegram. Tomorrow we’ll be away from
here, and you can handle affairs as you see fit.”
The reply obviously did not satisfy Jarrett Walz but, apparently
realizing his tactics would get him nowhere, he went away.
For the Scouts it was a long, boring day. With nothing to do, the hours
dragged. All began to look forward to the morrow when they would take to
the road once more. Twice Mr. Livingston and Ken drove to the telegraph
office to inquire if an answer had been received to the wire. No word
had come.
“Craig Warner may not exist except in Old Stony’s mind,” the Scout
leader observed upon his return to camp at dusk, “or he may have moved
to another community.”
“What’ll we do about the map?” Willie asked in a troubled voice.
“If there’s no reply by morning, I think the best thing to do is send it
by registered mail,” the Scout adviser decided.
The warm night closed in somewhat cloudy. After supper, the Scouts sat
for a while about the camp fire, cracking a few jokes and trying to
shake themselves into a more cheerful mood. Old Stony’s death hung over
them, and they could not seem to get him out of their thoughts. It was
depressing to look at his darkened cabin.
“I’ll be glad to leave in the morning,” Jack said, preparing to turn in
for the night. “Up at crack of dawn, you guys!”
The fire burned out, and the camp quieted. Jack, with the health of
youth, slept soundly. Now and then he aroused briefly as cars drove into
the motel section of the parking lot, but quickly he dozed off again.
Then suddenly he was awake once more. For a second, he could not imagine
what had aroused him. But as he lay still, listening, he distinctly
heard the crackle of a twig.
He crept to the door of the shelter, peering out.
The night was very dark but, even without switching on a flashlight, he
could see a man moving stealthily toward the Scout automobile parked
beyond the picnic tables.
As Jack watched in growing anger, the fellow deliberately tested the car
doors to see if they were locked.