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Zorn in no unkindly spirit shows us the thinker; also the author of L'Abbesse de Jouarre. It is something, is it not, to evoke with needle, acid, paper, and ink the dualism of such a brain and temperament as was Renan's? He is not flattering to himself, Zorn. The Henry G. Marquand, two impressions, leaves one rather sad. An Irish girl, Annie, is superb in its suggestion of form and colour.
The garments, priestly robes that lay at the top, fell to pieces the instant Mr. Marquand laid violent hands on them. "Look! Look! Was I right or was I wrong?" he cried, beside himself with joy. There, before their astonished eyes, lay a chest of gold coins dulled by age, small nuggets and chunks of silver, all heaped indiscriminately in the treasure chest. "I did it!" shouted Chunky.
"This house seems to be built on the solid ground. I do not think you will find anything under it," protested the Professor. "There are houses under every one of these buildings," answered Mr. Marquand. He held a short, keen edged bar in place, while Kris Kringle swung the maul. Gradually they cut a ring about two feet in diameter about the cross.
"Must be more'n a bushel of it," announced Stacy. "Those old Franciscans must have been saving up for a rainy day. And it never rained here at all," suggested Ned humorously. "Shall we count it?" asked Mr. Marquand. "Just as you wish," replied the Professor. "Were I in your place, Mr. Marquand, I should get the stuff out of here as soon as possible. You can't tell what may happen.
Marquand reasoned that his former associates might not take the same attitude toward him in the presence of the boy that they might otherwise take. The two men had halted in the doorway as Mr. Marquand hurled his decision at them. Lasar shoved his companion into the room and closed the door. "Sit down, both of you!
The rays of the lantern disclosed a short stairway, built of the same material of which the house itself had been constructed. Mr. Marquand forced himself past the guide and was down the steps in a twinkling. He was followed by the wondering Pony Rider Boys, Professor Zepplin and Kris Kringle in short order, for all crowded down through the narrow opening.
"As I remember him, he was slightly taller than Mr. Lasar, with red hair and a moustache of the same shade." "Yes, that's Joe Comstock. No doubt about that," nodded Mr. Marquand. "You didn't hear them say what their plan was, then?" "Not definitely.
"I'll talk with Professor Zepplin. Come, we will go over to the camp now." When Mr. Marquand and the Professor had finished their conference, Tad and Chunky leaned forward eagerly to learn the result. "Yes," nodded Mr. Marquand; "you're all going to help me find the ancient Pueblo treasure." "I'm done with you, Bob Lasar! And you, too, Comstock!" thundered Mr.
Marquand, as the rascals stood at the door of his room some two hours later. Mr. Marquand had been waiting for them, and with him was Tad Butler, whom he had urged to accompany him back to the hotel that he might be a witness to what took place. Perhaps, too, Mr.
Look!" cried the fat boy. A slender shaft of light had suddenly pierced the blackness, coming they knew not whence. It was there. "Must be a pin hole through the wall up near the ceiling," suggested Kris Kringle. The silver thread shot across the chamber, ending abruptly on the adobe floor some three feet from the back wall. "That's the spot!" shouted Mr. Marquand triumphantly.
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