“Well, have you located the treasure yet, or that rascal Rod?” he asked Bob.
“No, not yet. I’ve been waiting to have a talk with Mr. Beegle.”
“So have I,” said Jolly Bill. “That’s why I left my home out west and traveled here. And no sooner do I arrive than I find my old messmate in difficulties. But I reckon he’ll soon be better, and then we’ll visit and spin many a yarn together. He may be able to give you a clew that will lead to Rod Marbury.
“I’m hoping he will,” said Bob. “I expect to see him to-morrow.”
“I’ll try and stump my way up there,” said the wooden-legged man. “It’s a fair walk, but——”
“I’ll take you,” kindly offered Bob.
“Thanks—that’s good of you. Let me know when you go.”
But Bob wanted a private and lone conversation with Hiram Beegle before he took the wooden-legged man to Storm Mountain, and so, with that end in view, the young detective decided to anticipate the visit by one day.
“I think he’ll be well enough to talk to me now,” Bob reasoned.
On his way to the log cabin the lad in his flivver passed a small hotel or boarding house on the outskirts of the town. It was not a very choice or reputable place, and it did not much surprise Bob to see, sunning himself out in front, the bewhiskered Italian organ grinder.