Neither of the two chums spoke a word until they were well along the narrow track and the stone house was out of sight. Then Buckhart stopped suddenly.
“Well, of all the wild, woolly, mysterious goings on,” he burst out, “this has sure got any I ever bumped up against skinned a mile. Say, pard, tell me honest what you think of a gent who is piled on by four bad men with masks, and as soon as we politely rescue him, he looks at us like we were bunco steerers, and asks our business. Furthermore, when he’s found out we’re fairly respectable he gives us the glad hand, and the next minute tells us to run away and play, and come back to dinner. I tell you there’s something a whole lot queer about this here Randolph. You hear me talk!”
“He certainly seems to be a trifle odd in his behavior,” Dick returned. “But, all the same, I rather like his looks. Wait until after to-night before we pass final judgment on him. He may have a pretty good reason for everything he’s done. Come on, Brad, don’t waste time here. It evidently hasn’t occurred to you that the gentlemen with masks may have taken a fancy to the Wizard and made a quick getaway in her.”
“Great Scott, no!” the Texan gasped. “I never thought of that.”
Almost at a run, they covered the rest of the narrow path, and both gave an exclamation of relief as they reached Bonnet Trail and found the car safe and sound where they had left it.
“Gee, what a relief!” Dick said, as he gave the crank a flip and stepped into his seat. “I hadn’t the slightest desire to hoof it back to Denver; and in these parts a stolen car is a mighty hard thing to get track of.”
Turning the Wizard deftly, he started her back toward the city. An animated discussion at once arose concerning the mysterious Scott Randolph, his personality, his peculiar dwelling, and above all, his probable occupation, which continued until the hotel was reached; without, it must be confessed, arriving at any very satisfactory solution on any of the points.
Promptly at a quarter before six that night the Wizard again passed Jake Pettigrew’s store, causing that worthy to gasp in surprise and instantly to be assailed with the awful pangs of ungratified curiosity.
The car did not stop. Disappearing up the hill in a cloud of dust, it was guided to the spot where it had rested earlier in the day, and the two fellows stepped out and walked briskly up the narrow path.
As they reached the plateau both men hesitated instinctively, their eyes traveling curiously over the front of the strange building. The sun was low in the west, and the frowning, battlemented cliffs cast weird, purpling shadows over the desolate spot. Out of these shadows rose the grim, gray, silent walls of the house. No cheerful ray of light penetrated through the steel shutters of the barred windows to welcome the expected guests. They were like the eye sockets in a skull—gaunt, dark, expressionless. A thousand things might happen behind those walls of which they would never give a hint.