“Well, if a mountain lion could get in here, a ghost ought to. The lion was certainly not a specter brute, as I have proof,” said the chief, with a grim smile. “We will now look over the rest of the building.”
And they did so, going into each wing, the chapel, and the basement in the solid rock beneath it, the second story, and up to the tower.
This done, and finding nothing more than that it had been the haunt of owls and bats, the party blew out their lanterns and returned to the wing where their comrades had been hard at work.
With water from the stream, and brooms, they had cleaned up the rooms well, a fire had been built in the large open chimney, the tables got out, chairs set around, the cooking utensils put in the fireplace, the bedding placed in the sleeping rooms, and in little more than three hours the hacienda, in that wing at least, presented a very comfortable appearance.
Then the wagon was returned to the two waiting Mexicans, and the broken-down plaza entrance was repaired, as it was decided best, for a few nights at least, to drive the horses and cattle into the walled grounds about the hacienda, so that they would begin to understand that it was home.
Just before sunset the stock was driven up, and the gateway having been finished, so as to make it strong again, it was closed for the night, and the scouts went to get supper.
Two guards were appointed for the night, one in the hacienda, one at the entrance to the grounds, and Buffalo Bill selected men whom he knew were not of a superstitious turn of mind, remarking to Texas Jack:
“If we put on a man who was looking for ghosts, this is the very place to find them, and he would be alarming us constantly with challenges of apparitions, so I just put on men who have no fear of the dead.”
“You are right, for though there is not a man in the band who would not fight big odds if he knew he was facing men, several of the boys would skip at the sight of anything in this ruin they did not understand. I am sorry that you told them the ghost story.”