“Sorry,” he replied.
Taking the map from Walz, he relocked it in the desk.
“Walz,” the rancher said, eying him steadily, “you don’t seem to understand what I’ve told you about the Headless Hollow region. It’s a dangerous spot for any man, even if he’s at home in the mountains. You’d be a fool to attempt it, even with a guide.”
“Who says I’m going to?” Walz retorted.
With a shrug, he bade the group goodnight and went to the room assigned to him.
The Scouts soon retired, for the long hike and the fresh mountain air had made everyone very tired. They slept soundly, hearing nothing until Mr. Livingston pounded on their bedroom doors the next morning.
Ken and Jack were the first to get dressed and down to the kitchen. Warner was there ahead of them, frying bacon and expertly tossing flapjacks.
“Morning,” he greeted the pair cheerfully. “Sleep well?”
“Like logs,” Jack answered. “How’s Walz this morning? Still worn out?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the rancher drawled. “Our friend is no longer with us.”