“No,” roared Frank, “I’ve got it. The quesal—the secret it points to.”
“Well, go ahead. What have you made of it? Don’t keep me in suspense while you caper about like a Salome dancer,” shouted Harry.
“Its bill was pointing down, wasn’t it?” demanded Frank.
“Yes; but what has that to do?”—began Harry.
“It has everything to do with it,” exclaimed Frank. “It would be impossible for there to be an opening in the cliff face itself, wouldn’t it?”
“You are right. I guess we about settled that,” was the reply.
“Well, I may be wrong,” went on Frank, more seriously, “but I don’t think I am. My idea is that if we dig a bit at the foot of the cliff, about under the quesal’s beak, we shall find something interesting.”
“Buried treasure, hurray!” shouted Harry.
“More likely to be buried pottery,” laughed Frank. “I don’t take much stock in these buried treasure stories; but at any rate, even if we only find an old mule’s bones, it would be worth investigating.”
“We’ll start digging to-morrow morning,” gleefully cried Harry.