He quite agreed with Nevada. Even in times of peace, life could almost be called devastating.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE TRUTH ABOUT RICHES
“To-morrow,” said Johnny Buffalo, with a transparent air of triumph, “we will go to the cleft in the rocks, by the path which no man knoweth, and you shall go down into the deep pit and find the gold.”
“What’s that?” Rawley looked up from crowding tobacco into his pipe after a most satisfying supper. “You found it, did you?”
“My sergeant led me to the place,” Johnny Buffalo stated gravely. “There was a mistake. The great and high mountain which holds the gold was not that greatest mountain which we can see. There were cedar trees scattered over the face of the mountain when my sergeant found the gold. That was many years ago. Now there are no cedar trees or trees of any kind. That is why we could not find the place. One year ago, my sergeant came and led me to the spot.”
“Is the gold there?” Rawley leaned forward, studying the old Indian through half-shut eyes.
“I did not go down into the pit. My sergeant would not permit me to go. He says that you will go, and that you will there learn the truth about riches. He told me that I must not go down and look, for it would not be good that I should see what will be revealed to you.” Johnny Buffalo spoke as if he were reciting a lesson. His face was turned toward the empty wheel chair, drawn before the open window.
Rawley frowned over the lighting of his pipe. The mystical message made little impression on his mind, but he did worry over the Indian’s implicit belief in it. His promise to Nevada bound him to silence on the subject of hallucinations, however, even though he had in mind several things which he would like to say.
Johnny Buffalo, sitting straight-backed with his hands spread palm down on his knees, related all the incidents of his life during the past two years. Queo had been accused of other murders, and after a particularly heinous one at the Techatticup mine had disappeared altogether. Once Johnny Buffalo had seen him and had taken a shot at him, but again the gun had kicked,—or perhaps his aim was not too good. He had missed. Once his cabin had been robbed of food, and he suspected the outlaw of committing the depredation. Of the tribe of Cramer he would say little. Not once in the two years had he been in their camp, he said. Peter and Nevada came often to see him. They were good to him. His sergeant had come, and he had seen him. His sergeant sometimes spoke to him. Perhaps Rawley would see him.
Rawley did not think so, but he refrained from voicing his doubt. As tactfully as possible he avoided the subject and told some of his own adventures, to which Johnny Buffalo listened with polite attention. It was plain to Rawley that his mind was given up to another matter, and that he was merely waiting with his Indian patience until he could guide his adopted son to the secret cleft on the side of the mountain.