“Oh, have it your own way!” said the aggravated Polly. “But who, I’d like to know, would have come up to this lonely place to look for gold, and how could an ignorant old Mexican like Gasca dispose of it without getting into trouble?”
“Well, mebbe so. Anyhow, here’s your cabin.”
The cabin was situated up the canyon on the right hand side of the road. It was a little wooden shack, sagging and discolored, its windows broken and its whole appearance denoting that utter desolation to which only a deserted homestead can attain; not even a human wreck can equal this silent abandonment. It had been a fairly decent place once; there were outbuildings which evidenced past association with pigs and chickens, while back of the house stood a wooden cart such as country people use for hauling wood or hay.
In the dusk, that saddest of sad times, between sunset and moonrise, Wildcat Canyon presented an awesome appearance. The hills were outlined sharply and darkly against the sky; the little stream that dribbled past the cabin was so quiet that it seemed the ghost of water; there was no movement—no sound—no suggestion of life.
Polly drew a long breath. “What a dreadful place to live!” she murmured, her spirits dashed for a moment. A woman had lived here—a woman stolen from her people. Had lived—and, stricken and alone, had died here. Polly thought of her own spoiled and sheltered life and her eyes filled.
In the meantime, Sam Penhallow took in the view with intense disfavor. “I never was partial to Wildcat Canyon,” he remarked, pessimistically. “I caught a cattle thief up here once. He hid behind that rock and gave us a real nasty time before we got him. Well, since we’re here we may as well get busy. Can’t you get us a little nearer, Mendoza? This is pretty far to tote gold bars.”
“Oh, laugh if you want to,” said Polly, indulgently. “Since I’ve seen the place I’m sure it’s here.”
“I’ll say this,” remarked Penhallow, “if I had anything I wanted to hide and didn’t want any fools blunderin’ into, I couldn’t pick a likelier place to hide it in than this one—whether it was gold or a body.”
Mendoza ran them within a few yards of the hut and they got out. Gasca’s late residence did not improve on closer inspection. The door hung loosely on its hinges and once within, its dark recesses suggested many things not altogether pleasant. There was little furniture and that broken and poor; the hut boasted two rooms and the floor was merely the ground. There was nothing to suggest hidden treasure, and no place where it could be secreted as far as the visitors could see. Even the fireplace yielded no secrets.
“How stupid of us!” declared Polly, determined not to be discouraged. “Of course it wouldn’t be in here or they would have found it when they took the poor woman away. Let’s go outside and think.”