GHOST TOWN
“The car gone?” Jack echoed the rancher’s words. “And the map too?”
“When did it happen?” Ken asked.
Craig Warner flipped another pancake, adding it to the stack he had
baked.
“Don’t know. Some time during the night. I discovered the desk broken
into when I came downstairs about twenty minutes ago.”
“If our car’s gone, we’re stranded,” Jack said slowly.
“I’ve already telephoned the sheriff. Don’t let it upset you. I figure
Warner probably won’t go far. He has only one objective.”
“Headless Hollow,” Jack suggested.
“And he can’t drive the car up Crazy Mountain,” the rancher added dryly.
“We’ll catch up with him. After breakfast, I’ll drive you to Elks
Creek.”
Warner’s casual view of the situation only partly reassured the Scouts.
Jack and Ken went at once to impart the bad news to the others.
“So Walz really is a crook!” Warwick burst out angrily.
It was impossible to determine how long Walz had been away from the
ranch. However, Willie recalled that an hour or two before dawn he had
heard an automobile motor.
“I was so sleepy I didn’t pay much attention!” he reproved himself.
“Chump!”
The Explorers tried not to talk too much about the loss of their car,
but of course it worried them. They were hundreds of miles from Belton
City, and their money had run low. They knew they could wire their
parents for more, but they had no intention of doing so except in an
absolute emergency.
As they ate breakfast, Craig Warner seemed in as good spirits as ever.
The loss of the map didn’t appear to disturb him.
“I can draw it myself from memory,” he said. “That paper won’t be nearly
the help to Walz he thinks it will.”
“Your guess is he’ll head straight for the mountain?” Mr. Livingston
asked.
The rancher nodded as he refilled the coffee cups. “He’ll tackle it if
he can get anyone to go with him. Pete Ranier might be crazy enough to
do it—for a price.”
“Is he a reliable guide?”
“One of the best, when he’s sober—and that isn’t often. But he has a
fiery temper. He and our friend Walz would be sure to tangle. Ranier
can’t stand a tenderfoot.”
The Scouts ate rapidly, impatient to be off in pursuit of Walz. Their
host, on the other hand, was deliberate. Certainly he seemed in no hurry
to drive them to town.
“Practically all our stuff is in that car,” Willie muttered to Jack as
they stood in the yard, waiting for the rancher to start his motor in
the barn. “Doesn’t he give a darn?”
Warner backed out the car and then went into the house again. When he
returned, he was grinning.
“Good news, boys!” he told them. “The sheriff’s found your car.”
“Where?” Jack demanded eagerly.
“Abandoned at Elks Creek. I figured Warner wouldn’t take it very far.”
“How about our stuff?”
“That I don’t know.”
Though Warner’s car was old, it was durable. The Explorers all piled in,
and the drive to Elks Creek was made in fast time. They found Mr.
Livingston’s sedan on a side street near a gas station. One of the tires
was flat, but otherwise the car seemed not to have been damaged.
Quickly the Scouts checked their luggage. A sleeping bag was missing, as
well as one of the pup tents and a set of nested pans.
“At least Walz took only what he figured he’d need,” Ken said in
disgust.
Inquiry established that Walz had been seen going to Ranier’s shack
shortly after dawn.
Apparently the two had come to an agreement, for they had bought
supplies and started off in the guide’s old car.
“They’re heading for Crazy Mountain,” Warner decided. “Ranier should
have better sense than to start off with a fellow like Walz. He probably
figures Walz will buckle up after a day on the trail and call the deal
off.”
“He might be stubborn enough to keep on and get into real trouble,” Mr.
Livingston said soberly. “He has the gold fever pretty bad.”
“I’m getting it myself,” the rancher confessed with a chuckle. “Maybe
I’ll sling together an outfit and pack after him. I’d like to get that
map back.”
“Would you head for Headless Hollow alone?” the Scout leader asked in
surprise.
“Not if I can get you and your boys to come along.”
The Scouts regarded the rancher in surprise.
“It will be no trick to pick up Walz’ trail,” he said. “With luck we can
overtake him by tomorrow. When we do, we’ll teach our friend a little
lesson in manners.”
An expedition, even a short distance into the mountains, was not to be
undertaken lightly, and Mr. Livingston had no great enthusiasm for the
venture. Nevertheless, he agreed with the Scouts that Walz ought to be
brought to justice and forced to pay for the articles he had stolen.
“Besides,” War urged eagerly, “don’t we owe it to Stony to see that Walz
never gets his hands on any gold?”
“I can see you’re all for the trip,” Mr. Livingston said. “But isn’t
this a job for the sheriff?”
“It is,” Warner agreed, “but getting the sheriff to tackle Crazy
Mountain is another proposition. He’ll never do it.”
The whole matter was debated thoroughly, and in the end the Scout leader
was persuaded by the Explorers to give his consent.
“Just what will develop if we do overtake Walz worries me,” Mr.
Livingston admitted. “We can’t take the law into our own hands.”
“Leave that part to me,” Warner said grimly. “I know how to handle men
of his stripe. We’ll bring him back and turn him over to the
authorities. Sheriff Brown will deputize me.”
It was believed that Walz and his guide could be overtaken speedily but,
to prepare for any possible emergency, the group decided to pack enough
supplies for several days on the trail.
“Walz will never reach the Headless Hollow Valley,” the rancher
predicted confidently. “Alone, Ranier might do it. But if I know him,
he’s in this expedition only for a bit of quick cash.”
Despite the need for haste, Craig Warner and Mr. Livingston were very
thorough in their planning. Warner bought the supplies, including a vial
of saccharin for sugar because of its lightness, some powdered milk,
flour mix, oatmeal, dried fruit, salt, tea, and coffee. He also added a
first-aid kit, a fishing rod, and a revolver borrowed from a friend when
Sheriff Brown made him a deputy.
One of Warner’s ranch hands drove the party to Buckhorn and on to the
beginning of the mountain road. There the six climbers shouldered heavy
packs and trudged upward, at first following a marked trail. After a
while, the trail played out, and the going became harder.
Making only brief stops for rest, they climbed steadily, through ravines
and steep-walled canyons. At intervals, Warner raked the distant rock
shelves with his field glass, but he failed to sight the two men he
believed to have gone on ahead.
The day was cloudless, and a warm sun blazed down. Laboring under the
heavy packs, the Scouts perspired profusely. Their leg muscles, tough as
they were, began to ache. No one, however, made complaint or suggested a
slower pace. When they paused to drink at a spring and refill canteens,
Warner consulted the rough map he had redrawn from memory and compared
it with an accurate contour map.
“It’s only fair to warn you,” he said, “the climb so far is only a tiny
taste of what’s ahead.”
With a pencil, he made a dotted line, showing their projected route over
the top of the mountain and down to an isolated valley. Then the line
went up again into the higher, desolate peaks of Crazy Mountain.
“Our problem—if we follow Walz that far,” the rancher said, frowning
thoughtfully, “is to find a pass through to the Headless Hollow region.
It may not be easy. So if anyone wants to turn back, now’s the time to
say so.”
One and all, the Scouts shook their heads.
“Okay,” Warner said, well pleased. “Then let’s hit the trail. No time is
to be lost if we’re going to overtake Walz.”
For hours, the party trudged on. They passed the water line into an area
where the trees were twisted into grotesque shapes before they thinned
out to only occasional trunks. Higher up, timber disappeared entirely.
The air became light and chilly.
War and Willie were hard pressed to keep up with the others. Despite
their fatigue, Warner had to keep on, for it was growing late and the
area offered no suitable camp site.
On the other slope of the mountain the descent was easier, but by the
time the rancher finally called a halt on a rock shelf above a racing
stream, everyone was worn out.
“How do you figure Walz has managed to come this far?” Willie muttered,
dropping his pack. “I never thought he had it in him.”
“Maybe we’ve lost him,” Jack replied. “We’ve not seen a trace of him or
his guide since we left Elks Creek this morning.”
While the others busied themselves making camp, Jack and Warner scanned
the ravines and mountainside with the powerful field glass.
“See any smoke?” the rancher asked.
Jack lowered the glass. “No trace of a camp. But I thought you said this
was uninhabited country.”
“It is.”
“Not quite. A town is hidden down there on the slope. I can see
buildings.”
The rancher smiled broadly. “Any people?”
Again Jack studied the distant cluster of buildings through the glass.
“That’s funny,” he acknowledged. “The place looks lifeless. Dead.”
“You’re looking at a ghost town, Jack. No one has lived there for thirty
years.”
“No one?”
“That’s right. The town flourished in the old gold days—then was
deserted. It’s cut off from roads and railroads. All supplies had to be
packed in. So when the gold bubble blew up, miners pulled out.”
“Well, the town has an occupant now,” Jack announced, a trace of
excitement in his voice.
“Walz?” the rancher demanded eagerly.
Jack shook his head, offering the glass to Warner.
“Not Walz. His guide, perhaps. I saw a fellow with long white hair and a
beard. I caught a glimpse of him before he went into one of the
buildings.”
Warner gazed oddly at Jack as he began to adjust the powerful glass.
“Ranier,” he drawled, “doesn’t have a beard, or white hair either.”