It did indeed seem strange that this far off nook of Colorado should be the rendezvous and treasure house of a band so widely scattered that the captain was a quiet citizen of a small town in the State of New York, nearly two thousand miles away.
How improbable it would have seemed to the Citizens of Waterford, among whom Squire Bates moved, living in outward seeming the life of any other respectable and law abiding citizen! This was the Waterford mystery, which by a series of remarkable adventures it had fallen to Dean to solve.
He locked the chest, fearing that Pompey might suddenly awake, and, following, discover what he was about. He wanted some time to think over this strange discovery, and consider what to do. To be sure, there seemed little chance of his doing anything except to remain where he was, a subterranean prisoner.
Dean felt more than ever a desire to leave the cave, but the prospect was not encouraging. Why he was kept a prisoner he could guess. He knew too much of the band, and especially of their leader, and he was considered dangerous. His imprisonment might be a prolonged one, and Dean felt that this would be intolerable.
It was in a very sober frame that he returned to the room where Pompey was still sleeping. An hour later the negro awoke and stretched himself.
"Have I been asleep long, young massa?" he asked.
"Two or three hours, I should think, Pompey."
"Dat's strange! I only just closed my eyes for a minute, and I done forgot myself."
"You might as well go to sleep. There's nothing else to do."
"I must get some dinner, honey. Don't you feel hungry?"