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Updated: June 9, 2025
A strange, weird scene was certainly presented. There had been a big fire; the embers were all aglow and illuminated the cave. There lay Brooks and Creedon, looking picturesque in their hunting garb, and there was Desmond stealing on tiptoe under the glare of the firelight to secure the mask lantern.
Creedon had as far as possible destroyed all signs when raking out the fire of a recent encampment, but an experienced and alert eye can detect the truth despite these little tricks. Desmond saw the Indians: they were a hard-looking lot, the worst specimens he had ever beheld, and they were assassins at sight, as he determined.
Next time stick to the broken English; you might have scared the life out of me then." Brooks and Creedon laughed, and the latter said: "Well, you are smart, you are; but, lad, let me tell you something: don't spend time looking for the Mexican's gold." "Why not?" "I've explored every nook and cranny in this mountain, and there is no treasure hidden here." "But I found some gold." "You did?"
"I know that, but I propose to look around all the same." Desmond had been doing considerable thinking. He questioned Creedon again and again, and made out that the old Mexican had lived in the cave along with Creedon for months at a time, and as he learned, the old man had thrown out a great many hints.
So tobacco was produced; Brooks himself was an inveterate smoker, and since being in the mountains Desmond had taken to the weed, and there was promise that some day he might become an inveterate. The three men had a jolly time, but in a quiet way. Creedon was a good story teller; he had had many weird experiences in the mountains.
He was secure from observation, but it was necessary to warn his comrades, who were in different crevices, and at that moment Creedon actually snored. He was in the crevice adjoining the one where Desmond had taken refuge. The Indians were too far away to overhear the snore, but it was possible the man might awake and step forth; then, as Desmond feared, the fight would commence.
Daniel Creedon, lodging-house keeper, who represents ten thousand dollars in real estate, became John Allen's bondsman. John says that Oliver Dyer caused his arrest and that the whole thing was a 'put up job.
He had come to know that Brooks was indeed an expert, and should the latter decide that his claim was of value it meant that for which he had been struggling a long time, as he had said, for fifteen years. Creedon did not sleep; much danger would not have kept him awake, but the possibilities of the dawning day did cause exceeding restlessness.
He had an idea that Creedon's investigations might have been very superficial; he determined to make a thorough and systematic search, and he actually believed he would find the hidden gold. Brooks and Creedon were good sleepers; both were very weary and they were soon in a sound slumber, and then Desmond arose, stole on tiptoe over beside Creedon and secured the mask lantern.
Desmond started off and went direct to the crevice he had first entered, and Creedon smiled as he saw him go in there, remarking to Brooks: "The lad will run up against a stone wall sure, but he is enthusiastic; it will be a lesson to him." "Can't tell about that lad," said Brooks, "there is method in his enthusiasm."
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