“Well, not to relate all of my thrilling adventures, I have been wandering around through a series of caves and in the course of time I found myself in a cavern in the top of that peak up there. I judge it to be the one where I saw the reflection of the sun on field glasses. While trying to find my way out of there, I picked up a half-smoked cigarette, of the oval kind which I use.”
“Yeah? One of the flat ones? Kinda backtracked yourself, eh?”
“No-o—for very good reasons I knew that I had never been there before. I thought I had crossed your trail, Bill, my lad.”
“Not mine, professor.” Bill shook his head. “I’ve been huntin’ the hills over by our cave, lookin’ for you. I was workin’ over this way when I heard the shootin’ last night.”
“Yes. Well, a bit later I came across a cache of food taken from our outfit across the valley.”
“The hell you did!” Bill started, and nearly dropped his cigarette. “You sure?”
“Absolutely sure. I ate two cans of our Imperial corned beef—breakfast and dinner. I expected you to show up there, but of course you didn’t. It would make a splendid hideout, Bill. There’s a spring, and cracks in the rock let in sunlight, a perfect retreat. Impossible to come at one from the rear—”
Abington paused and his shoulders moved involuntarily. He was thinking of the Pool of Evil Death. “I’ll show you the place. When I am through in this country you’ll find it useful, no doubt.”
“Not unless Jack Huntley dies. If I can ever get him in somehow to the sheriff, I won’t need to hide out in the hills. Unless,” Bill added dubiously, “they cinch me for that car I run over the cliff.” His eyes clouded. He had forgotten about the destruction of that car.
“I expect they’d hand me about five years for that,” he added gloomily, after a pause. “Where’s the way into that cave of yours?”