“Fine,” said Ike, happily. “Clay and Alex are not crazy in the head any more, and they try to talk some. Case, he’s much better too.”
“Good,” said the Kid. “Now I’ll take a wash in the snow outside and by the time I’ve tucked away some of that good supper I smell, I’ll be fit as a fiddle.”
As soon as supper was over and things cleaned up, the Kid ordered Ike and Abe to bed and took upon himself again the duties of nurse for the night. They were the same as the night before, excepting that the boys often awoke and tried to ply him with questions as to what had happened. But on such occasions the Kid forced upon them bowls of hot milk and firm commands to keep still, and they soon dropped off again into sound slumber unbroken by tossing or mutterings.
When Ike awoke, he found the boys all sleeping soundly and the Kid nodding in a chair beside the fire. “They’ll be in pretty fair shape when they wake up,” the Kid declared. “Of course they’ll be too weak to get out of their beds for a couple of days, but you can let them talk all they want to. Let them sleep as long as they will, though. I am going to catch a cat nap now, but you can call me for breakfast, for I’m hungry as a wolf.”
It was not until the Kid had been aroused and breakfast had been eaten, that Alex awoke and his clattering tongue soon aroused the other two.
It was a joyful morning in the Rambler’s cozy cabin and many were the exclamations of wonder over Ike’s story of the things that happened during their long illness. “Did any of you boys take my uncle out of the cabin and bury him?” he demanded as he ended his tale.
Clay and Case glanced at each other. “We did,” Clay confessed. “We hated to tell you then for we thought it was no use making things harder for you during the long, gloomy winter ahead.”
“Thank you, boys,” said the little Jew simply, his eyes filling slowly with tears. “Well, uncle is dead and I am free to tell about that letter now. It ain’t much to tell but what I told you already, Clay, and I guess you told the other boys. My uncle tells me in it that he has found a great treasure, enough to make us rich like princes and able to do a great deal for the poor. He wants me, he says in the letter, to come and bring all the cash I got, and tells me to be sure and not tell anyone about it till we gets together, you understand. He says I’ll find him at Rainbow Bend. The rest of the letter was torn off by that Jud or Bill, but I think maybe it tells how to find this Rainbow Bend, I don’t know. Well, boys, uncle is dead, and that wicked Bill and his poor brother dead too, so I guess we never find out about the treasure.”
The Kid, who had been an interested listener to Ike’s story, fumbled in his pocket and produced a small match safe snugly done up in oiled silk.
“I found this when I was looking through Bill’s pockets, hunting for the name of his folks or someone else to notify of his and Jud’s death,” he remarked. “I looked at it but couldn’t make head or tail of it. It looks like a piece off a letter, but I reckon it’s a kind of cipher from the queer marks scattered over it. Maybe it might be the piece tom off your letter, Ike?”