Bob’s first sight, on entering the main room of the log cabin, was of Hiram Beegle propped up in a chair covered with bed quilts. The old man looked worn and ill—there was a drawn, pinched look on his face, and he was pale.
“What happened, Mr. Beegle?” asked Bob, noting that the door to the strong room stood ajar, and that the oaken chest, in one corner, was also open.
Hiram Beegle opened his mouth, but instead of words there came out only a meaningless jumble of sounds.
“He’s been poisoned,” explained Chief Duncan.
“Poisoned?” cried Bob.
“Or something like that,” went on the Cliffside official. “It’s dope, or something that the robber gave him—maybe it’s chloroform, for all I can tell, though it doesn’t smell like that. Anyhow he’s knocked out and can’t tell much that’s happened.”
“Robbed! Robbed!” gasped Hiram Beegle, bringing out the words with pitiful effort.
“Yes, he’s been robbed—we’re sure of that,” said Sam Drayton.
“Box! Box!” and again the old man in the chair brought out the words as if they pained him.
“That’s right,” assented the Storm Mountain chief. “As near as we can make out he’s been robbed of some sort of a small treasure chest. It was taken from that larger chest in there.”