For a long five minutes the group on the outside waited, listening with ever-increasing anxiety. Dan thought that he would be sincerely glad when this foolhardy adventure was over. At last he called:
“Bob, haven’t you investigated enough? Come on out!”
But there was no reply. Another five minutes elapsed and Dan was just about to have Gerald again climb back of the waterfall to look through the crevice, when Bob appeared, carrying a pickaxe and a shovel, rusted and dirt encrusted.
“What do you say to that?” he exulted, as he plunged through the fall and waded out of the red rock pool.
Dan was amazed. “Bob,” he exclaimed, “you were right about one thing at least. The cave was made with a pick. Was it large?”
“No; that is, not wide. It is a narrow tunnel which stops abruptly. I found these tools at the very end.”
Dan lifted his shovel and looked at the handle. Then he examined it more closely. Picking up a stone, he knocked away the dirt with which it was crusted. A name was carved in the handle. Letter by letter was deciphered and Dan wrote each in his small notebook. When they had reached the last, Bob asked: “Is it a message telling where the box is?”
“No,” Dan replied, “merely the name and address of the owner of the shovel and pick, I judge. A French name, Giguette. Yes, that is it, Franc Giguette.”
“But there is more to it, Danny.” Gerald was trying to see the pad. “What’s the rest?”
“Where the miner lived, I suppose,” Dan told him. “Cabin 10, I think it is.”