“Do you know? Do you know anything? I didn’t learn nothing ’cause Mort got chased by the bandits and hid and then went to Central America.”
“I don’t think you ought to count too much on him for a partner,” Tom added to his story as Bill had arranged that he should, if circumstances allowed him to do so. “Henry—what would you say if I showed you how the gold dust disappeared—and where?”
“Oh! I’d—I’d be grateful. Of course, it won’t do any good now, but it would be nice to know.”
“Come on, then,” Tom urged, and the whole party, with Bill nudging Nicky to prevent the youth from doubling up with glee, went up the old trail to a spot well remembered as the point where the youths first met Henry Morgan—the man who then boasted that he could “smell money.”
“You said, when we first saw you, that you could smell money,” said Tom. Henry nodded. “Your nose must have been out of joint,” he said. “Look here.” He approached the ledge, and pointed overside. Henry, cautiously, drew close and looked; then he gasped.
“Why!—it’s only down about six feet.”
“Yes, there’s a narrow ledge about six feet down—of course the chasm is below, but you could get down to the narrow ledge—and, here’s a little secret—the ledge goes back in under the overhang of rock—if you get on your stomach and look over, you’ll see!”
“I do,” said Henry, after he had looked. “It’s like a narrow cave under this overhang I’m lying on.” He stared back again. “What’s that, like something black, down on the ledge?”
“Oh, that!” said Tom, pretending to be uninterested. “That is the last sack of the gold dust. Here’s where the mules were stopped and where Mort dropped the sacks of dust and then, later, he and Margery were down there, hiding, when the—bandits!—rode past.”
“Well, I’ll be swiggle-swiggered!” gasped Henry. “What’s going to be done with that sack of dust? And where’s the rest?”