"Good riddance then to bad rubbish," Paul remarked, showing by his manner that he had feared there might be a discovery made, when the results would hardly have been pleasant for the boys from Rockspur Ranch.
"Lucky for us we hid our stores and took the ponies off to pasture," Frank observed, as they re-entered the deserted hotel. "If they'd seen the bunch it would have been good-bye to our chances for riding back home. As it is, they've seen nothing to tell them that the Wallace treasure-hunters are already on the ground and ready to follow their noses to Josh Kinney's lost claim."
"Why, look here!" burst out Paul just then. "What's this mean?"
He was holding some object up gingerly. It turned out to be a cowboy hat, once a beautiful Stetson, but now horribly shabby, as though it must have seen several years' hard usage.
Both Lanky and Frank experienced fresh interest.
"Say, that wasn't on this old three-legged table when we came into this place!" exclaimed Lanky, frowning, as he took the article in his own hands, and turned it around.
"I wondered," Frank broke in, "when I noticed that the big, ugly-looking puncher called Zeke was riding off bare-headed. Still, I've seen Lige Smith, yes, and Hoptoad Atkins, go off on the range with bare heads, and the sun scorching hot. But then they both have thick hair, while Zeke—well, if he wasn't as close to being bald-headed as any cowboy could be, I'm mistaken."
"I'd say it was a bum go he forgot his hat," ventured Paul.
"Perhaps he didn't!" Lanky told him.
"But here's his old hat, and Frank just said the man rode off bare-headed! What can you mean by saying that, Lanky?"