rom the winter
lay of the land, when the snow was heaped in the gullies and on the
hills, that he was bothered in remembering just where he had planted the
treasure that night; he reflected that he might show Mr. Wagg a hole in
the rocks and assert that some of the persistent Egyptian gold hunters
had undoubtedly located the money and taken it for themselves; being
moved to more desperate projects, he meditated on the plan of coming
across to Wagg with the whole story, showing him that Britt must be
guilty, and thereby turning a blackmailer loose on the magnate with
plenty of material to use in extorting what Wagg might consider fair pay
for the work he had put in.

But Vaniman was freshly free from prison walls. Just then he was
psychologically incapable of standing up for himself as a real man
ought. His sense of innocence had not been able to withstand that
feeling of intimidation with which a prisoner becomes obsessed. Right
along with him was the man who had been persistently his guard in the
prison. Wagg's narrow rut of occupation had had its full effect on his
nature. His striated eyeballs had a vitreous look; they were as hard as
marbles. Vaniman knew that he could not look at those eyes and tell a
convincing lie. In view of Wagg's settled convictions in the matter of
the treasure, the real truth might be harder to support than a lie.

Vaniman went into the van like a whipped dog into a kennel and lay awake
and wrestled with his difficulties.

During the progress of the pilgrimage the next day Wagg halted
frequently. Vaniman could hear the conversations between his charioteer
and the natives of the section. Mr. Wagg was seeking information and at
the same time he gave out a modest amount of revelation about himself
and his need of a retired spot where he might recuperate. He explained
that he wanted to find a camp in some place so remote that nobody would
be coming around jarring his nerves.

Eventually he got on track of what he wanted. A native told him about an
abandoned log house on the top of a mountain called "Devilbrow."

"They used it for a fire-warden station in the days when Egypt had
enough timber to make it an object to protect it," said the man. "You'll
be plenty lonesome up there. You can get your wagon within half a mile.
Pack your truck on your hoss's back and lead him the rest of the way.
That's what I used to do. I was warden till I found myself trying to
carry on conversations with tumble