“I sure did. First I went to California and lost my grubstake there. Then I drifted back to Arizona, then on here to New Mexico. Always figured some day I’d go back to Headless Hollow. But the years came on too fast, and before I knew it, I was an old man and my last chance was gone.”
By this time, Jack and Mr. Livingston were convinced that Stony’s story was at least half truth. As for his gold, they were of the opinion that the one hoarded nugget that Walz had must have represented his entire fortune.
Therefore, it came as a surprise when the old man went on: “Now I’m coming to the kernel o’ the nut. I reckon I owe poor old John a debt. Half of that gold I took out of Headless Hollow I figured was his. I’ve kept that half—never touched it, even when I didn’t know where my next mouthful of meat was coming from. Now I want that gold to go to John’s son, Craig Warner.”
Jack and Mr. Livingston began to catch the drift of Stony’s thoughts, so they were not too surprised at his request which came haltingly.
“Reckon it’s a lot to ask o’ strangers—but I have no one I can trust. I’m asking you—after I’m gone—will you get word to Craig Warner? Take him the map—the one that shows the true trail to Headless Hollow and the caches of gold. They’re his by rights, and I want him to have ’em.”
“Where is this map?” Mr. Livingston asked, trying not to show that the strange request troubled him.
Old Stony leaned over to the edge of the bed, lowering his voice to a whisper.
“You’ll find it under the stones—fireplace—my cabin.”
“We’ll be glad to look,” Mr. Livingston promised. “Where are we to find Craig Warner?”
“His address is in my box of papers—under the bed.”