“We’ve got one of ’em behind the bars now,” said Dawson, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “I only wish we had ’em all.”
“Perhaps we will have them all before long,” remarked Frank. “We’ve run across a few clues that may lead to something.”
“That’s good! That’s good!” declared the old man. “Do your best, lads, and you may be sure Bart Dawson won’t forget you.”
Frank and Joe forbore any mention of the name of Jadbury Wilson. It was best, they decided, to keep that information to themselves until they should learn more about the affair of the stolen gold. They had long since learned that one of the axioms of successful detective work is to listen much and say little. Accordingly, they bade goodbye to Bart Dawson and left the jail.
“Where to?” asked Joe.
“Back to where we caught Slim Briggs. We were on the right trail to the camp.”
“But if the outlaws have left there isn’t much use going up there now.”
“We never know what we’ll find.”
The boys made their way up into the mountains again and, after about an hour of steady traveling, found themselves on the trail that led into the defile where they had trapped Slim so neatly. On the way they discussed their meeting with Bart Dawson.
“I can’t imagine that old fellow being the kind of man who would desert his partners and steal their gold, the way Jadbury Wilson described,” said Frank, for the tenth time. “I just can’t figure it out at all! You can tell with half an eye that he isn’t a crook.”
“Yet Jadbury Wilson was absolutely convinced that he had left them all in the lurch.”
“And he had the gold in his possession. We know that. He came back here to dig it up. That shows he must have hidden it, as Wilson said he did. The whole story hangs together mighty well.”
“Yet why should he bring Coulson with him?” objected Joe.
“That’s another queer angle. I can’t figure it out at all. I think we should see Coulson and tell him what we know, tell him what Jadbury Wilson told us, and ask him about it.”
“That’s the best idea. But isn’t it strange how Jadbury Wilson, away back in Bayport, should be connected with this case, away out here in Montana?”
“It’s a coincidence, all right. We just seem to have blundered into the affair from both ends. Bart Dawson and Coulson know a lot that we don’t know, but then we know a lot that Bart Dawson and Coulson don’t know.”
“I think we hold the advantage. Tomorrow we’ll try to find Coulson.”
The boys were going down the defile now and they passed between the overhanging rocks where they had captured the outlaw. The marks of the struggle were still plainly evident in the snow.
“Poor Slim!” remarked Frank, with a laugh. “He’ll be kicking himself all around the cell for talking so much.”
“He was nicely fooled. He was sure the rest of the gang were all in jail.”
“We didn’t tell any lies about it. He took it for granted that the outlaws were arrested. All we did was to look wise and let him keep on thinking so.” The boys chuckled at the recollection of the ease with which the dull-witted Slim had been duped.
“If only the rest of them are that easy!” said Frank.
“No such luck. I’m thinking this Black Pepper will give us trouble before we are through. He seems to have Lucky Bottom pretty well under his thumb.”
“He has the sheriff buffaloed, at any rate, by the looks of things. If Bart Dawson hadn’t shown up when he did I don’t think Slim Briggs would have been put in jail at all.”
The trail now led toward a clump of trees, and here there were evidences of recent habitation. Some of the trees had been chopped down, presumably for firewood, and the stumps rose above the level of the snow. There were numerous footprints about the little grove and in some places the snow was closely packed down. As the boys drew closer they caught a glimpse of a small cabin in the midst of the grove.
“We’ll go easy from now on,” said Frank quietly. “Some of them may have come back.”
The boys went cautiously forward, keeping to the shelter of the trees as much as possible. Every few moments they would stop and listen.
But they heard not a sound. There was not a voice from the cabin. The only noises were the rustling of the trees in the wind. Quietly, the Hardy boys stole up toward the cabin. It stood in a little clearing in the wood. At the edge of the clearing they waited, but still they heard nothing, and finally Frank was satisfied that the place was, in fact, deserted.
“No one here,” he said, in a tone of relief. “We’ll take a look around.”
They advanced boldly across the clearing, directly toward the door of the cabin. It was half open. Frank peered inside.
The place was deserted. The cabin was sparsely furnished, with a rude table, two chairs, and bunks on either side. There was a small iron stove at the far end of the building and the place was dimly lighted by one window.
There was every evidence that the outlaws had left the place in a hurry. Papers, articles of clothing and rubbish of all kinds lay about the floor, scattered here and there in abandon. One of the chairs was lying overturned on the floor. The place was in confusion.
The boys entered.
“Looks as if they didn’t waste much time in getting out,” remarked Joe.
“I’ll say they didn’t. The cabin looks as if a cyclone had hit it.”
“Wonder if there’d be any use looking through those papers.” Joe indicated a scattered heap of
