one
revealed some miscellaneous paraphernalia; there was a pair of
motorist's gloves, a road map, a newspaper, and two letters.

"Here, I'll give you the light," said Roy, as Tyson handed these things
to Tom.

"You keep the light on the road," said Tom. "Let's have your
flashlight."

"Now we're going to find out where the buried treasure lays hid--I mean
hidden," said Roy. "We're going to unravel the mystery, as Pee-wee would
say. 'Twas on a dark and stormy night----"

"Let's have your flashlight," said Tom, dryly.

CHAPTER XIII

THE UNKNOWN TRAIL

Gilbert Tyson and Roy sat in the car. Tyson had removed one curtain and
Tom, standing close by, examined the papers in the glare of the
flashlight which Tyson held. Bert Winton and Mr. Berry peered curiously
over Tom's shoulder.

The map was of the usual folding sort, and on a rather large scale,
showing the country for about forty or fifty miles roundabout.

"There's my little old home town," said Tyson, putting his finger on
Hillsburgh, "home, sweet home."

"And here's little old Black Lake--before the flood," said Roy. "There's
the camp, right there," he added, indicating the spot to Tyson; "there's
where we eat, right there."

"And here's a trail up the mountain," said Tom. "See that lead pencil
mark? You go up the back way. See?"

So there then was indeed a way up that frowning mountain opposite the
camp. It was up the less precipitous slope, the slope which did not face
the lake. The pencil marking had been made to emphasize the fainter
printed line.

"Humph," said Tom, interested. "There's always _some_ way up a
mountain.... Maybe the light we saw up there ... let's have a squint at
that letter, will you?"

"Have we got a right to read it?" Winton asked.

"We may be able to save a life by it," said Tom. "Sure."

But the letter did not reveal anything of interest. It was, in fact,
only the last page of a letter which had been preserved on account of
some trifling memorandums on the back of the sheet. What there was of
the letter read as follows:

hope you will come back to England some time or other. I suppose
America seems strange after all these years. You'll have to be
content with shooting Indians and buffaloes now. But we'll save a
fox or two for you. And don't forget how to ride horseback and we'll
try not to forget about the rattle wagons.

REGG