ive!" she murmured,
her spirits dashed for a moment. A woman had lived here--a woman stolen
from her people. Had lived--and, stricken and alone, had died here. Polly
thought of her own spoiled and sheltered life and her eyes filled.

In the meantime, Sam Penhallow took in the view with intense disfavor. "I
never was partial to Wildcat Canyon," he remarked, pessimistically. "I
caught a cattle thief up here once. He hid behind that rock and gave us a
real nasty time before we got him. Well, since we're here we may as well
get busy. Can't you get us a little nearer, Mendoza? This is pretty far to
tote gold bars."

"Oh, laugh if you want to," said Polly, indulgently. "Since I've seen the
place I'm sure it's here."

"I'll say this," remarked Penhallow, "if I had anything I wanted to hide
and didn't want any fools blunderin' into, I couldn't pick a likelier
place to hide it in than this one--whether it was gold or a body."

Mendoza ran them within a few yards of the hut and they got out. Gasca's
late residence did not improve on closer inspection. The door hung loosely
on its hinges and once within, its dark recesses suggested many things not
altogether pleasant. There was little furniture and that broken and poor;
the hut boasted two rooms and the floor was merely the ground. There was
nothing to suggest hidden treasure, and no place where it could be
secreted as far as the visitors could see. Even the fireplace yielded no
secrets.

"How stupid of us!" declared Polly, determined not to be discouraged. "Of
course it wouldn't be in here or they would have found it when they took
the poor woman away. Let's go outside and think."

"My idea is that it's either buried or they got rid of it," said
Penhallow, promptly. It had suddenly occurred to him that Mendoza was a
poor chaperon for a good-looking widower--not old--and a pretty girl
engaged to Marc Scott. It was a disturbing idea, for Sam was of a
conventional turn of mind. "If he's buried it, we'll have to dig all over
the place, and I take it none of us is much on the dig."

"Wait a minute, I've got an idea myself," said Polly, with dignity. "You
look in the chicken-house and I'll take a peep into the shed in the
corral."

Sam shrugged his shoulders and started for the chicken-house.

"Scott's gettin' his match all right," he muttered, rebelliously. "Goin'
to make him toe the chalk line, that girl."

"Mr. Penhallow, come here!" Polly's voice was shrill and excited.