Craig Warner stood at the cabin window, pointing toward the distant horizon. Over mugs of strong, steaming coffee, the Scouts had studied Old Stony’s map with their rancher host. Somewhat to their surprise, Warner had seemed impressed by the crudely drawn paper as he compared it with a contour map of the mountain area.
“Y’ know,” he confessed, his grin boyish, “I’ve always had a hankering to find out what’s behind those barriers. Here I’ve lived fairly close to the place for years, and I never attempted it.”
“Well, you have a map now,” Mr. Livingston said. “A motive, shall we say? So perhaps you’ll decide to search for your fortune.”
The rancher laughed and shook his head. “I know better than to place faith in tales of hidden gold. The last great strike in this state was at Cripple Creek, just behind Pikes Peak. That district had been passed up for years because prospectors said it lacked the usual signs.”
“Headless Hollow may be the same,” Jack said.
“Afraid not.” Warner placed the map in a drawer of the living-room desk. “But the area might offer uranium possibilities.”
“Has no one ever been there?” Ken asked. “Recently, I mean?”
“Folks hereabouts are too busy to risk their necks on crazy climbs. Besides, as I told you, the area has a bad reputation.”
“You said something about a prospector disappearing there,” Warwick reminded him.
“That was Joe Hansart. He was a strange character—one of the real old-timers—always asking folks to grubstake him. He’d disappear for months at a time. Always broke when he showed up again. Well, he became obsessed with the idea there was gold somewhere on Crazy Mountain. About seven years ago, I think it was, he packed out of here, heading that way, and was never seen again.”