They went on to the end of the narrow tunnel.
“In my opinion the vein was better near the surface,” Craig Warner said, as he and Jack turned back. “It’s one of those freak things. Old Stony thought he had made a rich find. He must have found ore that would be worth maybe twenty to fifty thousand dollars in the present market. But the streak seemingly plays out.”
“Mightn’t it pick up again somewhere in the valley?” Jack suggested hopefully.
“Yes. But if in all these years Joe Hansart hasn’t improved on this site, I doubt there’s any bonanza here.”
“The lure of gold, though, has held him here.”
“True,” Warner agreed. “And there’s the tragedy of it. Poor Joe! I don’t know what’s to be done about him. He’s dangerous in his present state of mind, and it won’t be easy to help him.”
“He already regards me as Enemy No. 1,” Jack said with a rueful chuckle. “My head still aches from that crack he gave me on the head.”
“Joe’s probably afraid we’re here to steal his gold.”
“I suppose so. He must have been the one who stole our food at the ghost town. And he must be the one who put up that animal skeleton at the entrance to the pass.”
“Except for Joe, this valley must have been uninhabited for years,” Warner said thoughtfully. “Prospectors who drifted this way always got into trouble—minor accidents, food disappearing.”