Meeting Old Stony had made the Scouts forget their weariness. They thought it would be interesting to chat with the aged camp worker. Accordingly, after the supper dishes were put away, War, Ken, and Jack went over to his cabin. It was a mild August night, and the cabin door stood open.

At Jack’s knock, the prospector’s deep voice boomed: “Come in!”

The interior of the one-room cabin was cheerless except for a small fire in the grate. It was furnished with a makeshift bed, a cracked mirror, a chest of drawers, and an old rocker.

“Sit down,” Old Stony invited, waving them to a seat on the sagging bed.

The boys could not fail to respond to the old fellow’s warmth and hospitality. Sensing his loneliness, they told him of their stay at the Scout ranch and then launched into an account of their previous exciting trips to Peru and Colombia.

“You’re not like the regular run o’ tourists that come through here,” Old Stony said, lighting his pipe. “Right off, when I saw you make camp I knew you weren’t softies.”

“How long have you lived in Rocking Horse?” War asked.

“Too long. But I reckon I’m stuck here until I hit the Long Trail. When I head for that last roundup—and it’s not so far off now—I reckon my secret will die with me.”

“Your secret?” Ken repeated, sensing that the old man was ready to launch into his tale.

“Yup. There are men who would give their lives to know what I got locked here.” Old Stony tapped his hairy chest. “Jarrett Walz in particular.”

War leaned forward on the bed. “A secret about gold?”

Old Stony hitched his rocker nearer the fire. Without looking at the Explorers, he began:

“Back in the early 1900’s my podner and I made our lucky strike.”

“Here in New Mexico?” asked Jack.

“No, in Colorado. My podner and I were lured West by the Shining Mountains—the Rockies, folks call ’em.”

“But weren’t the big Colorado gold strikes earlier than 1900?” Ken interposed thoughtfully. “I’ve read about Leadville and Cripple Creek in 1891—”

 Prev. P 7/117 next