“Is that part of Toklat, too?” Allen asked the man idly standing guard at the gate.
“Nope,” came the laconic answer. “That’s Ashcroft.”
In the clear sunlight the houses seemed close at hand. They could count eight, maybe ten. Judy recalled the description of Ashcroft described in her library book, “The giant mountains guarding their silvery treasure.” She wondered what there was to guard in that desolate spot now. She was eager to go there at once. The tour could wait. Judging by the crowds already arrived, there would be a number of tours. Besides, if Karl did come, he would expect to meet her at Toklat.
Lynne agreed, but Allen preferred to remain in the hope of having a few words alone with Stuart Mace. They would meet later “over there,” meaning Ashcroft.
“And don’t forget the lunch,” Lynne cautioned.
Crossing the rough fields overgrown with wild, prickly grasses, they soon came close enough to see the houses—large, three stories high, the frames of gray, weather-beaten timber, ageless. Two of them had wooden signs nailed over the entrance, “Groceries,” “Drygoods.” They tried to look in and discover if anything remained of the boasted merchandise. But the windows were barred. They walked down to another house further down the field, but that too had the doors and every window boarded up.
“You’d think from the care with which they closed the houses they expected to return,” Lynne said wonderingly.
All had the sad, forlorn look of houses long empty and deserted. But one house, larger than the others, gaped wide open. Glad of the opportunity at last to satisfy their curiosity as to what the interior might be like, they stepped inside. Had vandals carried away the staircase to the upper chambers, or torn out the partitions that must have once divided this huge room?
The window frames in the upper portion of the house were hung with vines through which no ray of sun could penetrate. From the heavy beams under the roof, wisps of clothes waved weird and ghostlike in the slight wind. The two girls stood huddled together and felt like intruders as they talked of the people who once must have lived there. Judy, her imagination in full flight, pointed to the tattered garments.
“Look, I can make out a miner’s cap—and there’s an old bearskin coat. They probably had to shoot the bear, eat the meat—bear meat is very good, you know—and then use the fur to keep from freez—”