The Sheriffs Son | Page 7

taken to the hills by different trails instead of as a unit. Still
another was that so far as he could see there had been no digging in or
near the grove.
It was raining more definitely now, so that the distant peaks were
hidden in a mist. In the lee of the aspens it was still dry. Dingwell stood
there frowning at the ashes of the dead campfire. He had had a theory,
and it was not working out quite as he had hoped. For the moment he
was at a mental impasse. Part of what had happened he could guess
almost as well as if he had been present to see it. Sweeney's posse had

given the fugitives a scare at Dry Gap and driven them back into the
desert. In the early morning they had tried the hills again and had
reached Lonesome Park. But they could not be sure that Sweeney or
some one of the posses sent out by the railroad was not close at hand.
Somewhere in the range back of them the pursuers were combing the
hills, and into those very hills the bandits had to go to disappear in their
mountain haunts.
Even before reaching the park Dingwell had guessed the robbers would
separate here and strike each for individual safety. But what had they
done with the loot? That was the thing that puzzled him.
They had divided the gold here. Or one of them had taken it with him
to an appointed rendezvous in the hills. Or they had cached it, One of
these three plans had been followed. But which?
Dingwell rubbed the open fingers of one hand slowly through his
sunburnt thatch of hair. "Doggone my hide, if it don't look like they
took it with them," he murmured. "But that ain't reasonable, Dave. The
man in charge of this hold-up knew his business. It was smooth work
all the way through. If it hadn't been for bad luck he would have got
away with the whole thing fine. They still had the loot with them when
they got here. No doubt about that. Well, then! He wouldn't divvy up
here, because, if they separated, and any one of them got caught with
the gold on him, it would be a give-away. But if they didn't have the
dough on them, it would not matter if some of the boys were caught.
You can't do anything with a man riding peaceable through the hills
looking for strays, no matter how loaded to the guards with suspicions
you may be. So they would cache the loot. Wouldn't they? Sure they
would if they had any sense. But tell me where, Dave."
His thoughtful eyes had for some moments been resting on something
that held them. He stooped and picked up a little chip of sealing-wax.
Instantly he knew how it had come here. The gold sacks had been
sealed by the express company with wax. At least one of the sacks had
been opened here by the robbers.
Did this mean they had divided their treasure here? It might mean that.

Or it might mean that before they cached it they had opened one sack to
see how much it held. Dingwell clung to the opinion that the latter was
the truth, partly because this marched with his hopes and partly because
it seemed to him more likely. There would be a big risk in taking their
haul with them farther. There was none at all in caching it.
It was odd how that little heap of ashes in the center of the camp-fire
drew his eye. Ashes did not arrange themselves that way naturally.
Some one had raked these into a pile. Why? And who?
He could not answer those questions offhand. But he had a large bump
of curiosity about some things. Otherwise he would not have been
where he was that afternoon. With his boot he swept the ashes aside.
The ground beneath them was a little higher than it was in the
immediate neighborhood. Why should the bandits have built their fire
on a small hillock when there was level ground adjacent? There might
be a reason underneath that little rise of ground or there might not. Mr.
Dingwell got out his long hunting-knife, fell on his knees, and began to
dig at the center of the spot where the campfire had been.
The dirt flew. With his left hand he scooped it from the hole he was
making. Presently the point of his knife struck metal. Three minutes
later he unearthed a heavy gunnysack. Inside of it were a lot of smaller
sacks bearing the seal of the Western Express Company. He had found
the gold stolen by the Rutherford gang from the Pacific Flyer.
Dave