Mr. Cook returned to the table, held the sheet at all angles before him and then suddenly broke out into a laugh.
“Escalante!” he exclaimed. “Mustn’t forget the characters are phonetic. That’s the Escalante River--first one south of Horse Creek. I guess that’s it.”
Roy had hurried to the map. With his pencil he drew a line under Mr. Cook’s direction, from Ellsworth mountain to Kaiparowits. Where it crossed the river, he made a cross.
Then, his hand trembling, he wrote at the intersection, “Sink Hole of the Lost Indians.”
“What do you think of Sink’s story now?” he broke out, boy fashion.
“All he has to do,” answered Mr. Cook, relieving his excitement by lighting a cigar, “is to find something there. What he tells about, he saw fifteen years ago. A good many people have been prowling about there in fifteen years.”
“Anyway,” exclaimed Roy, “he can have another look at the place.”
“But,” said Mr. Cook, after a pause, “I never saw a sink hole on or near a flowing river.”
Roy’s jaw fell. He was looking at Weston’s paper. Suddenly his face lit up. Then he pointed to the arrow.
“That’s pointin’ south,” he exclaimed. “Now, we got it. Where a line between the two mountains crosses the Escalante, turn south until you come to the Sink Hole.”
“Not bad,” said Mr. Cook. “Very probable. That’s the trail I’d take.”
The excited boy wanted to rush out on a search for Weston, but Mr. Cook stopped him.
“Leave that to me,” he said, after he and Roy had retired to the cool porch. “When Weston comes, say nothing. Let me do the talking.”
They had not long to wait. In a short time, the veteran guide was with them. As Mr. Cook handed Weston his precious paper and proffered him a cigar, he said:
“Sink, that looks mighty interesting. Why don’t you find the Treasure Cave?”
“Humph,” grunted Weston, as he lit his cigar. “Why don’t I? Read this fur me an’ I will.”
“I’ll give you my livery stable, an’ my house--yes, sir,” he added with a grim smile, “I’ll even throw in my real ’state office.”
“Would you give half of anything you might find in your underground safety deposit vault?”
Weston looked up, without any trace of liquor now, and said:
“To the man ’at’ll take me to that pint, I’ll give ever’ other dish and bowl we git. I reckon that’d be fair.”