It was plain to see that the motel owner’s left leg was broken. Possibly, too, he had suffered some internal injuries. Jack, however, was inclined to doubt it, for Walz, now that he had partially recovered from the stunning impact, was becoming talkative.
“Don’t move,” Jack advised the moaning fellow. “Lie still until we can splint that leg.”
Walz, disregarding the order, tried to pull himself to a sitting position. The effort brought new pain.
“That fool has done for me,” he moaned. “I’ll never get back to Elks Creek.”
“After the way you left Warner and me trapped in the mine, you don’t deserve any help,” Jack said. “We ought to leave you here to suffer.”
His words were not meant to be serious. Walz nevertheless considered them so.
“Don’t leave me here,” he begged. “I can’t walk a step. I’d never get back to Elks Creek alive. You must help me!”
“And if we do?”
“I’ll give you a share of the gold,” Walz whispered. “I swear it. I did wrong to take the map.”
“What about the way you left us in the mine?”
“I meant to send help to you as soon as I reached Elks Creek,” Walz mumbled.
Jack had his own opinion on this matter, but he let it pass.
“You wanted the gold from the very first,” he said. “It was you, wasn’t it, who broke into Old Stony’s cabin back in Rocking Horse? You beat him when he woke up and found you trying to steal the map!”
The motel owner’s lips trembled, for he was not willing to answer.
“And it was you,” Jack went on, “who stole Stony’s nuggets from the bag of pinto beans. If you want any help, admit the truth.”
“Am I going to die?” Walz asked, his voice quavering.
“You’re miles from a doctor,” Jack reminded him. “Unless we can get help to you, the situation is bad.”
“I’m going to die,” Walz groaned. “I—I may as well tell you the truth and get it off my conscience.”
“You slugged Old Stony?”
“It was an accident. I went to the cabin, hoping to get the map—yes, I admit that. The old man woke up and tried to stop me. I flew into a rage and hit him. Then I ran.”
“Old Stony never knew it was you who tried to rob him,” Jack said. “You can be thankful for that.”
“I felt terrible about it,” Walz sobbed. “I didn’t mean to hurt Stony. Why, I liked the old duffer. I gave him a good home. I fed and clothed him.”
“It was the thought of gold that turned you against him.”
“And I found the gold too,” Walz whispered. “It meant to me more than anything else. Now I’ve lost everything.”
By this time Mr. Livingston and Warner had reached the site of the accident. Ken soon came with the rope and first-aid supplies.
While Mr. Livingston made a splint for Walz’ leg, the others improvised a stretcher. They bound Joe Hansart to it, and by dint of great labor and ingenuity they finally carried him down to the valley floor and from there to the cabin.
Meanwhile, the Scout leader had made Walz fairly comfortable. Gradually, as it dawned upon the motel owner that he might not die, he lapsed into sullen silence.
It was only after he too had been transported to the cabin that he began to deny his previous statements.
“I was out of my head,” he muttered to Jack. “If I said anything about harming Old Stony, it was the bunk. I don’t have any idea who broke into his cabin at Rocking Horse.”
Jack and his friends avoided discussing the subject further. Once they reached a town, they intended to turn Walz over to the authorities. To get out of the valley, however, was their first problem.
“We’re in a bad spot,” Warner admitted, drawing the others aside for a serious conference. “Both of those men need a doctor.”
“Hansart, especially,” Mr. Livingston added. “He has scarcely opened his eyes since we got him here. We need food and medical supplies.”
“There’s only one thing to do,” Warner decided. “Something has happened to the Forest Service plane, I’m afraid. I’ll start right away for Elks Creek. The only thing—I hate to leave you alone here with two injured men.”
“We’ll make out,” the Scout leader assured him. “Wait a few hours, though, before you start. If I know Willie and War, they won’t let us down.”
Ken and Jack set out the signal cloth near the lake, hoping that any pilot flying that way would see it. Several hours elapsed.
The day was clear, with very little wind. Conditions were nearly perfect for flying, yet no plane appeared over the mountains.
“Something must have happened to Willie and War,” Mr. Livingston declared, pacing nervously up and down. “Otherwise, help would have reached us by now.”
“They’ve had plenty of time to get through,” Warner agreed. “To wait and hope any longer is foolish.”
Without further discussion, he gathered his gear together. Jack and Ken walked with him toward the trail to the pass.
“I’ll make as fast a trip as I can,” he promised.
A bright glare was on the jagged mountain peaks. Staring toward the pass, Jack thought he saw a small moving speck in the sky. He rubbed his eyes. Imagination, he told himself, for he had given up hope that the plane would come.
Then Ken let out an excited shout. He too had seen the moving object against the dark mountainside.
“It’s coming this way!” Craig Warner cried, dropping his pack.
For a few brief moments, the trio watched anxiously. Would the plane turn back as it had done on the previous occasion?
Warner finally identified it: “It’s a Forest Service ship, with pontoons. Boys, I think it’s heading straight for the lake.”
Fearful that the pilot might miss the cabin area or falsely conclude that no one remained there, the three made all haste back to the lake.
By the time they arrived there, breathless from running, the roar of the powerful engines could be heard distinctly. Hap Livingston had come hurrying out of the cabin. Anxiously the four waited, waving their arms.
Their signals were unnecessary. As the plane made a practice run, the watchers knew that help had arrived. In fact, as the Forest Service ship dropped closer, Jack was able to recognize War and Willie riding with the pilot.
Again the plane circled. Down fluttered a parachute with packages of food attached. It hit the ground about a hundred feet from where the Scouts stood. Ken and Jack ran to retrieve it.
“This will be a help,” Ken declared jubilantly. “But we need medicines—and a doctor.”
Working fast, Mr. Livingston and Craig Warner ripped up the signal cloth into two flags. These the Scout leader attached to sticks. With the improvised wigwag device, he then began sending the message:
“TWO MEN BADLY HURT. NEED MORE HELP.”
Over and over, he repeated the message. Whether or not the flags could be correctly interpreted from above, those on the ground had no way of knowing. The plane, however, kept circling. Finally, the pilot dipped the wings in signal.
“They got it!” Ken cried.
The watchers expected the plane to turn and head back toward its base. Instead, it kept circling.
“The pilot is going to try a landing on the lake!”
Warner exclaimed. “He can get in, all right, but will he ever be able to take off again?”
The seaplane came in low, skimmed above the willows, and made a smooth landing. Jack, Ken, and the two men waded out to meet their rescuers.
“You read my wigwag!” Mr. Livingston exclaimed, embracing first Willie and then War, who splashed out into the shallow water.
“Couldn’t get a reading except on one word—‘HELP’,” Willie admitted. “We knew something was really wrong, though, so we risked a landing.”
“Why did you turn back on your first trip here?” Ken demanded.
“Engine trouble,” War explained briefly. “Just as we came in sight of the pass, we had to turn and go back to the base. What’s wrong here?”
“Quite a bit,” Mr. Livingston replied. “We have two men on our hands—both badly hurt. We ought to get them to a hospital without delay.”
After the seaplane had been anchored so that a wayward wind would not dash it against rocks, the group went into serious conference.
The pilot, Dave Fallouby, was confident he could get his ship into the air again, if it was not too heavily loaded. However, he could safely carry only three passengers. It was decided that Walz, Hansart, and Mr. Livingston should make the return flight with him, and that the four Scouts with Craig Warner would go back to Elks Creek afoot by easy stages.
Accordingly, the two injured men were carried by stretcher and propped with blankets as comfortably as possible in the plane. Mr. Livingston was the last to climb aboard.
“We’ll rendezvous at the Elks Creek Hotel,” he said. “Take it easy, boys, on the trail.”
Nervously, the four Scouts and Craig Warner watched as the pilot stepped up the motors. The lake was small. If Dave failed to gather speed rapidly, he might crash into the rocks or willows.
With a mighty roar, the seaplane ploughed through the waves. Its pontoons lifted slightly, only to drop again into the water.
“Too heavily loaded!” Willie groaned.
“Dave will make it,” Warner said confidently.
A moment later the plane cleared the water. It skimmed along barely above the lake for a distance.
“Climb—climb!” Jack muttered, his fists clenched.
The plane cleared the rocks at the far end of the lake. Everyone took a deep, relieved breath.
Twice the ship circled after attaining safe altitude. Mr. Livingston waved to reassure the Scouts that all was well. Then the plane headed over the blue mountains and soon was lost in the distance.
Jack sprawled on the hotel bed, munching an apple. The Elks Creek weekly newspaper was spread before him, but he had not been reading.
“Hap and Craig Warner are an hour overdue,” he complained, looking at his watch. “Why don’t they get here?”
“Because they’ve been held up at the hospital,” Ken replied calmly. “Easy, boy! You’ve been fretting all morning.”
Jack rolled off the bed. Going restlessly to the window, he gazed down on the street below. It was nearly deserted, and there was no sign of either the Scout leader or the rancher.
“Joe Hansart is in a bad way,” Willie contributed from the other side of the room. “That’s why they sent for Warner and Hap.”
“I know,” Jack acknowledged. “I ought to be patient. It’s just that I’m eager for news.”
Late the previous night, the four Scouts and their guide had reached the hotel. The long hike over the mountains had been exhausting, if uneventful. Nevertheless, even War and Willie had stood the hard trip surprisingly well. A good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast had revived everyone.
Very early, both Mr. Livingston and Mr. Warner had been called to the hospital. The Scouts had received no word from them since their hurried departure.
To kill time, the Explorers began mapping out the route they would take on the remainder of the trip back to Belton City. For the first time since they had left their homes weeks before, they eagerly looked forward to returning.
“Route 52 looks the best to me,” Ken said, marking it with a red pencil. “To be sure, though, we’ll have to check at the first Automobile Club office.”
Footsteps were heard outside the hotel room. Instantly, the Scouts lost interest in the map. The door opened, and both Mr. Livingston and Craig Warner came in. Looking tired, the two men sat down.
The Scout leader said, “Joe Hansart is dead.”
“Dead!” Jack repeated sadly.
Mr. Livingston nodded. “Pneumonia,” he explained briefly. “The doctors did everything possible, but not even the miracle drugs could save him.”
“Did he die without recovering his senses?” Willie asked in a low voice.
“No,” the Scout leader answered. “At the end he was quite clear in his mind. That was why the hospital officials sent for us.”
“Did the old man tell you anything?” War demanded.
“We learned everything,” Craig Warner said, taking up the story. “It’s a bit fantastic, but understandable if you know Joe’s type as I do. As a very young man, he chanced upon the Headless Hollow area.”
“About the time Old Stony and your father found gold there?” Jack commented.
“Yes, even as a young man, Joe wasn’t right in his mind. He suffered hallucinations and had obsessions. To make it short, poor Joe thought that the valley and the gold belonged to him and that my father and Stony were intruders. He spied on them and even shot my father. Then he fled.”
“Did Hansart himself make that confession?” Ken demanded.
“Yes, and I think it’s the truth,” the rancher replied. “As I said, Joe’s mind was clear at the end. I doubt if Joe ever knew Old Stony was blamed for my father’s death.”
“What about the caches of gold?” War interposed eagerly.
“Joe found them. He moved the ore to the mouth of the mine. Over the years, at remote places, he sold just enough to keep him in supplies. You see, he thought he had found one of the richest mines in the state and was afraid word would leak out.”
“Didn’t he ever file a claim?” Ken inquired.
“He filed several, but improperly. As soon as we hit town, I checked on that. I’ve filed one of my own now. Not that it matters much.”
“The mine is worthless?”
“Not entirely so,” the rancher replied. “A man could make a hard living there, perhaps. Only the hand-picked ore left by Old Stony and my father has real value. The rest assays too low to make commercial mining profitable.”
“What of the ore itself?” Jack asked thoughtfully. “Isn’t it worth anything?”
“Roughly, I figure it ought to net from $10,000 to $40,000, depending on transportation costs. Whatever it tallies, I’ll give you boys your share.”
“We’ve already had our share,” Mr. Livingston said with a smile. “The gold never interested us as much as the adventure.”
“Even so, cash is handy to have,” the rancher insisted. “You could use another vacation next year, couldn’t you?”
“We’re always r’arin’ to go!” War chuckled.
“If I have luck getting the ore out, I’ll send you a check,” Warner promised. “Nothing spectacular. Enough, though, to pay you for your lost equipment—and for a vacation next summer.”
“What will you do with your share?” Jack asked curiously.
“Pay off the mortgage on the ranch,” Warner answered. “Of course I’ll take care of Hansart’s last expenses at the hospital too, and his funeral.”
“You don’t bear him any grudge, do you?”
“No, Jack. He wasn’t responsible for his actions. What a miserable life he had!”
“He was the one who stole our food at the ghost town, wasn’t he?” Willie speculated.
Warner nodded. “Yes, Hansart used that place as a sort of base for supplies he carried in. He had caches of canned food and other items stored where he could dig them up when he wanted them. He ventured out only when he couldn’t avoid it. Even then, he never in recent years showed up in Elks Creek. That’s why everybody assumed he had died.”
“Hansart, of course, was responsible for the area’s bad reputation,” Mr. Livingston added. “He considered the valley—the cabin—the gold—everything—his. He drove off everyone who ventured that way.”
“What of Walz?” Ken asked presently. “Did you talk to him again?”
“Only briefly,” Mr. Livingston returned. “He is in a savage mood.”
“Recovering?”
“Oh, yes. He’ll be as well as ever, once his leg mends. Naturally, he denies everything.”
“It will do him no good,” Warner interposed. “I’ve talked to the sheriff. A guard is being posted at his hospital room.”
“Then he’ll be returned to Rocking Horse?”
“At the state’s expense,” Warner chuckled. “He’ll have to stand trial for manslaughter in the death of Old Stony. Perhaps he can convince a jury the attack was unintentional. I seriously doubt it.”
That night, the entire party had a big dinner in the hotel at Craig Warner’s expense. He introduced them to town officials and many of his friends.
“If this keeps on, we’ll begin to think we’re more important than a bank president!” War protested. “Anyway, I’ll be glad to pull out of here tomorrow morning.”
The Explorers expected to rise at dawn, slip quietly out of the hotel, and be on their way. Therefore, it came as a surprise the next morning, when they found Craig Warner waiting for them beside their car.
“Nice day for traveling,” he drawled. “Reckon I’ll drive a piece with you, to show you the first fork in the road.”
The rancher drove ahead through the sleepy little town and into the hills. A blue haze hung over the distant mountains. A few miles out of Elks Creek, Warner pulled up, and the Scout automobile drew alongside.
“Take the road to the left,” the rancher said, indicating it with a wave of his hand. “The highway is paved all the way.”
Gravely he shook hands with Mr. Livingston and each of the Scouts in turn. Then his eyes roved toward the high peaks, behind which Headless Hollow lay hidden.
“By the way,” he said casually, “I forgot to tell you. We’re changing the name of Crazy Mountain.”
“Changing it?” Jack repeated.
“Yes, from now on it will be known hereabouts as Old Stony.”
The Scouts were silent, thinking it over. Jack turned to gaze toward the faraway mountain top, magnificent in the colored dawn.
“Old Stony,” he said, his voice husky. “I like it. So would he. You know, fellows, that mountain couldn’t have a more appropriate name.”