“Then you don’t think that that man out west there may have had an inspiration about his treasure—that he may remember where he put it? You don’t?”
I shook my head skeptically, sorry at the same time that I had not the assurance and enthusiasm of youth.
“And that he may be on his way east—to Rattlesnake Gulch?”
“Clearly he is not capable of enterprise yet,” I said; “even assuming him to be Havers, which is possible, of course. I doubt if he would get so far—without money.”
“Half of it belongs to the child, doesn’t it?” he shot at me.
“Yes, I suppose so,” I conceded.
“Of course, you don’t think it’s there,” he said. “You think old Sanderson was right about what became of it.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do,” I laughed.
“All right,” said he. “Here’s one for you, and I didn’t read it in a newspaper. I did some investigating while you’ve been playing golf.”
I smiled, “Yes?”