“Whew! that was a bad job for me, Frank!” he gasped.
“It might have been worse,” came from his chum, rather dryly.
“I didn’t mean that, and you know it,” added Bob; “but the noise of that piece of rock I kicked over the edge, what if it was heard by some of the rustlers?”
“Not much danger, because you see they’re
too far away from here. Besides,” Frank continued, “such a thing wouldn’t alarm them. A rock may roll down the side of a mountain like this at any time. It was only the growling that came from the heart of Thunder Mountain that used to rattle the Indians and cowboys.”
“But Frank, these rustlers didn’t used to mind it, did they?” asked Bob.
“I’ve been thinking that over,” his chum replied, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that Mendoza must have found out the truth for himself long ago, and knew about the big geyser that boiled up inside the mountain.”
“Then he and his men kept it a secret, all right,” Bob remarked, as he followed close on the heels of Frank, the dangerous point having now been passed by.
“It paid him to do that, don’t you see?” Frank went on. “So long as Indians and ignorant prospectors, as well as cowboys, believed the place to be haunted, he knew they would fight shy of Thunder Mountain, and his valley ranch here wouldn’t be known. But the worm has turned at last; and this is going to mark the end of the rustler’s secret cache.”
Once more Bob held his peace. He was interested in watching ahead, and noting what seemed to be lights in the valley.