"To you; but to me it's only a blank," admitted the tenderfoot, regretfully.
"I fancy that the direction of the wind has something to do with the working of this queer old geyser in the heart of Thunder Mountain. It only rears up when the wind is in the Southeast, as it is now. But say, you said something about a hermit just now?"
"I only said I thought it strange a fellow could live here through all the racket, year in and year out, just to get away from his kind," Bob remarked.
At that Frank laughed.
"But what if he had a big object in it, Bob? What if some daring prospector, taking his life in his hands, had plunged into one of these caves of the winds, this one right here, for instance, and struck it rich. Gold will make men do nearly anything. I've seen 'em go crazy over finding a nugget, or yellow sand in their pan. Don't you see what I mean, Bob? Have you forgotten little Lopez, and how frightened he looked when we spoke about keeping him company?"
Bob uttered a cry that might stand for either astonishment or delight, perhaps both.
"Frank, it just takes you to see through the mill stone, even if it hasn't got any hole in it," he declared. "I understand what you mean now. Little Lopez has been coming here for a year or more, always bringing supplies. Perhaps he carries away the gold dust the miner has gathered in that time, and no one the wiser. It has all been a dead secret. And the terror of the Indians for this haunted mountain, as well as the way the cowboys leave it alone, has helped this bold miner. Frank, your shot hit the bull's eye, and who knows but what we may be on the way to find out the truth right now?"