“Are you Bart Dawson?” asked Frank.

“That’s me,” said the old man. “I’m the fellow they stole that there gold from.”

The Hardy boys looked curiously at the old miner. From what they had heard of Bart Dawson from Jadbury Wilson they had been prepared to dislike him. But he appeared so genial and friendly and his grizzled old face was apparently so honest that they could not help but feel drawn to him. He certainly did not look like the sort of man who would desert his partners and rob them in the way Jadbury Wilson had described. Still, the evidence seemed all against him. He had betrayed his comrades and decamped with their gold, according to Wilson’s story.

But why, argued Frank, should he wait twenty years to return for the wealth he had hidden? Why should he return with one of the Coulsons? Could it be possible that the pair had been in league with one another against Jadbury Wilson? The mystery defied explanation, but the more Frank looked at the jovial, honest face of the old man before him the more he was convinced that Bart Dawson had none of the earmarks of either thief or traitor.

“We’ve got one of ’em behind the bars now,” said Dawson, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “I only wish we had ’em all.”

“Perhaps we will have them all before long,” remarked Frank. “We’ve run across a few clues that may lead to something.”

“That’s good! That’s good!” declared the old man. “Do your best, lads, and you may be sure Bart Dawson won’t forget you.”

Frank and Joe forbore any mention of the name of Jadbury Wilson. It was best, they decided, to keep that information to themselves until they should learn more about the affair of the stolen gold. They had long since learned that one of the axioms of successful detective work is to listen much and say little. Accordingly, they bade goodbye to Bart Dawson and left the jail.

“Where to?” asked Joe.

“Back to where we caught Slim Briggs. We were on the right trail to the camp.”

“But if the outlaws have left there isn’t much use going up there now.”

“We never know what we’ll find.”

The boys made their way up into the mountains again and, after about an hour of steady traveling, found themselves on the trail that led into the defile where they had trapped Slim so neatly. On the way they discussed their meeting with Bart Dawson.

“I can’t imagine that old fellow being the kind of man who would desert his partners and steal their gold, the way Jadbury Wilson described,” said Frank, for the tenth time. “I just can’t figure it out at all! You can tell with half an eye that he isn’t a crook.”

“Yet Jadbury Wilson was absolutely convinced that he had left them all in the lurch.”

“And he had the gold in his possession. We know that. He came back here to dig it up. That shows he must have hidden it, as Wilson said he did. The whole story hangs together mighty well.”

“Yet why should he bring Coulson with him?” objected Joe.

“That’s another queer angle. I can’t figure it out at all. I think we should see Coulson and tell him what we know, tell him what Jadbury Wilson told us, and ask him about it.”

“That’s the best idea. But isn’t it strange how Jadbury Wilson, away back in Bayport, should be connected with this case, away out here in Montana?”

“It’s a coincidence, all right. We just seem to have blundered into the affair from both ends. Bart Dawson and Coulson know a lot that we don’t know, but then we know a lot that Bart Dawson and Coulson don’t know.”

“I think we hold the advantage. Tomorrow we’ll try to find Coulson.”

The boys were going down the defile now and they passed between the overhanging rocks where they had captured the outlaw. The marks of the struggle were still plainly evident in the snow.

“Poor Slim!” remarked Frank, with a laugh. “He’ll be kicking himself all around the cell for talking so much.”

“He was nicely fooled. He was sure the rest of the gang were all in jail.”

“We didn’t tell any lies about it. He took it for granted that the outlaws were arrested. All we did was to look wise and let him keep on thinking so.” The boys chuckled at the recollection of the ease with which the dull-witted Slim had been duped.

“If only the rest of them are that easy!” said Frank.

“No such luck. I’m thinking this Black Pepper will give us trouble before we are through. He seems to have Lucky Bottom pretty well under his thumb.”

“He has the sheriff buffaloed, at any rate, by the looks of things. If Bart Dawson hadn’t shown up when he did I don’t think Slim Briggs would have been put in jail at all.”

The trail now led toward a clump of trees, and here there were evidences of recent habitation. Some of the trees had been chopped down, presumably for firewood, and the stumps rose above the level of the snow. There were numerous footprints about the little grove and in some places the snow was closely packed down. As the boys drew closer they caught a glimpse of a small cabin in the midst of the grove.

“We’ll go easy from now on,” said Frank quietly. “Some of them may have come back.”

The boys went cautiously forward, keeping to the shelter of the trees as much as possible. Every few moments they would stop and listen.

But they heard not a sound. There was not a voice from the cabin. The only noises were the rustling of the trees in the wind. Quietly, the Hardy boys stole up toward the cabin. It stood in a little clearing in the wood. At the edge of the clearing they waited, but still they heard nothing, and finally Frank was satisfied that the place was, in fact, deserted.

“No one here,” he said, in a tone of relief. “We’ll take a look around.”

They advanced boldly across the clearing, directly toward the door of the cabin. It was half open. Frank peered inside.

The place was deserted. The cabin was sparsely furnished, with a rude table, two chairs, and bunks on either side. There was a small iron stove at the far end of the building and the place was dimly lighted by one window.

There was every evidence that the outlaws had left the place in a hurry. Papers, articles of clothing and rubbish of all kinds lay about the floor, scattered here and there in abandon. One of the chairs was lying overturned on the floor. The place was in confusion.

The boys entered.

“Looks as if they didn’t waste much time in getting out,” remarked Joe.

“I’ll say they didn’t. The cabin looks as if a cyclone had hit it.”

“Wonder if there’d be any use looking through those papers.” Joe indicated a scattered heap of old envelopes, letters, tattered magazines and torn sheets of paper lying on the floor.

“That’s just what I was thinking.” Frank scooped up a handful of the papers and sat down on a bunk. He began to sort them over. The magazines he flung to one side as worthless. Some of the sheets of paper contained nothing but crude attempts at drawing or penciled lists of figures presumably done by some of the outlaws while idling away their time in the cabin.

One or two of the letters, Frank put to one side, as liable to give some clue to the identity of members of the gang. When he had looked through the first handful of papers he picked up some more.

Suddenly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction.

“Find something?” asked Joe.

“This may be valuable.” Frank held up a small black notebook and began flipping the pages. On the inside of the cover he read:

“Black Pepper⁠—his book.”

“This is the captain’s own little record book. There should be some information here.”

Frank began studying the book carefully. The first few pages gave him little satisfaction, the writing consisting largely of cryptic abbreviations evidently in an improvised code known only to the outlaw himself. There were the names of several men written on another page, and among them he recognized the names of Slim, Shorty and Jack, the trio who had captured them at the abandoned mine working. Across from their names had been marked various sums of money, evidently their shares of the gang’s takings in some robbery.

Then, on the next page, he found a crude map.

He studied it curiously. It looked something like the ground floor plan of an extremely crude house. There was one large chamber with two passages leading from it. One of these passages was marked with an X, and each passage led to a small chamber. From one of these led still another passage which branched into a tiny room, in one corner of which was inscribed a small circle.

“That’s the funniest plan of a house I ever saw!” said Joe, looking over his brother’s shoulder.

Frank studied the plan for a few moments and then looked up.

“Why, it isn’t a house at all. It’s a mine!” he declared. “This is the plan of a mine. This big room is the main working at the bottom of the shaft, and these passages are tunnels leading out of it.”

“Perhaps it’s the mine where the gold is hidden!” cried Joe, in excitement.

“There may be something about it on another page.” Frank turned the leaf of the notebook. There he found what he was so eagerly seeking.

At the top of the page was written, in a scrawling, unformed hand: “Lone Tree Mine.” Beneath that he found the following:

“Follow passage X to second cave, then down tunnel to blue room. Gold at circle.”

Frank looked up at his brother.

“This is what we wanted,” he said jubilantly. “They’ve had the gold hidden there all the time. All we have to do now is find the Lone Tree Mine and we’ll recover the stuff in no time.”

“Unless the outlaws have taken it away by now,” pointed out Joe.

“That’s right, too. I hadn’t thought of that. They may have taken it away right after they abandoned this camp. Well, we’ve just got to take our chances on that. If they’ve left it in the mine this long they may think it’s safe enough there a while longer.” Frank got up from the bunk and stuffed the notebook into his pocket. His eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Joe, I believe we’re on the right track! We know just where the stuff has been hidden and I’ve a hunch it’s there yet. We haven’t any time to lose. Let’s start right now, before those rascals get ahead of us, and hunt for the Lone Tree Mine.”

“Why, I’ll bet I know where that is!” declared Joe. “Don’t you remember an old mine working near where they caught us the other day? There was a big pine right by the top of the shaft, standing all by itself.”

“I’ll bet that’s the place! Come on! We’ll try it, anyway!”

Hastily, they left the little cabin. They were sure now that they were on the trail of the hidden gold. Frank remembered the lone pine tree that Joe had mentioned; it seemed to identify the abandoned working as the place they sought.

It was snowing heavily as they started down the trail but the boys scarcely noticed it in their excitement. They even forgot that they had not had their lunch.

“If the outlaws haven’t beaten us to it,” declared Frank, “we’ll have that gold before the day is out!”