CHAPTER XXXVI. MYSTERIES HALF SOLVED
"It didn't take us long to get to Crazy Creek Camp, I can tell you." Bob,glancing from one to another of the group about the fireplace, saw ineach face an eager interest in the tale he had to tell. But in Meg's facethere was more than interest, and suddenly Bob realized that the findingof the lost box was of vital importance to the mountain girl, while, tohim, it had been merely an exciting adventure, the mystery of which hadlured him on.
After a thoughtful moment, he continued: "We found most of the cabinsunnumbered, or, if they had once been so marked, time and storms had doneaway with the numerals. But we did find a tunnel above which the figures10 had been chipped out of solid stone. The opening of the small tunnelwas closed, however, by red rocks that had fallen evidently in alandslide. I suggested that we lift them away one by one, but Gerrythought it a waste of time as the carving on the handle had been 'Cabin10' and not Tunnel 10. But I was not so sure, and so we went to work andin half an hour we had an opening large enough to enter one at a time. Ihad my flashlight with me, and stooping, I looked in. Strangely enough, Isaw a faint gleam of daylight at the other end."
Bob paused and glanced about the group to make sure that they were allproperly curious before he continued: "The tunnel was not high enough foreven Gerry to stand in erect and so on all fours we crept through it.Since the opening had been stopped up I did not fear meeting wildcreatures, but as we neared the other end, the daylight grew brighter andthen to our great surprise we came out upon a wide ledge which hung therein the most dizzying manner. On it was a rustic cabin, and back of that afenced-in dooryard. Surely, we decided, this was Cabin 10. There was noway of reaching it except through the tunnel, as the mountain wall wasalmost perpendicular above and below the ledge.
"We were greatly elated and at once tried the door and found it unlocked.There was only one room and it looked like the den of a student. Booksand papers were everywhere in evidence; dust-covered and yellowed withthe years. On the desk a bottle of dried ink was uncorked and a rustedpen lying there seemed to indicate that someone had suddenly stoppedwriting, and, for some reason, had never again taken up the pen. Asfurther proof of this we found a letter which was lying near, with eventhe last sentence unfinished. It is addressed to 'My dear petitedaughter--Eulalie.' We didn't stop to read it because it was getting lateand so we started for home."
Meg, no longer able to keep silent, leaned forward, asking eagerly, "Bob,may I see the letter that my father left for me?"
"_Your father?_" Jane and Merry exclaimed almost simultaneously. Eventhen Meg's calm was not outwardly disturbed.
"Yes," she said, turning her wonderful eyes toward her friends. In themthe girls saw an expression of radiant happiness which told them morethan words could how great was Meg's joy that she had at last learned whoher father really was. Jane and Merry were perplexed. How did Meg know?Their question was answered before it was asked. "I should have told yougirls this afternoon. When Dan spoke the name that he had found carved onthe handle of the old shovel, instantly memory recalled to me that, as avery small child, I had been taught to lisp that my name was LalieGiguette."
"O Meg, what a beautiful name. May we begin at once to call you Eulalie?"The mountain girl smiled at Jane. "If you wish, dear friend." She thenheld out her hand for the letter which Bob had gone to his sweater coatto procure.
"We found several books with your father's name on them as author," theboy informed her, and the girl looked up brightly to say, "O, I am soglad! Did you bring them?"
"No," Bob replied, "we thought perhaps you would like to visit the cabinand find everything there just as he left it."
"I would indeed!" Meg rose, and going to the center table, she spread theletter under the hanging lamp. After a moment's scrutiny, she turnedtoward the silently waiting group. "It is clearly written," she said. "Iwill read it aloud:
"'To my dear petite daughter Eulalie,'" Meg read,
"'Poor little wee lassie! Not yet three and no one to care for you. Ishall try to get back to New York before the end comes, but there is noone, not even in France, where I lived as a boy. All--all are dead.
"'But you will want to know much and I will be gone when you are oldenough to question. When I was twenty-one I came to New York and marrieda girl who was as all alone as I. We were very happy, but my loved one,your mother, died when you were born. For a long year I grieved until myhealth was broken. For your sake, Lalie, I followed my doctor's adviceand came to the Rocky Mountains. I was about to put you in a conventschool, but you clung to me and would not loosen your hold. I feared Ihad not long to live and I did so want you with me, hence I brought youhere. But if I do not get stronger soon, I will take you back to the kindsisters, who will make you a home.
"'We reached this deserted mining camp after weeks of wandering and Ibuilt for us a cabin where we could be alone and unmolested. At last mylost ambition had returned. I wrote the book of my dreams and sent it tomy publisher in New York. I hope, dear little daughter, that it will be asuccess for your sake, but as yet I do not know.'"
Meg looked up and her dusky eyes were filled with tears. "That is all onthe first sheet," she said. "The next was written at a later date." Thenagain she read:
"'A tribe of Ute Indians has taken possession of the deserted cabins inthe camp, but, as there is little game hereabouts, I doubt if they willlong remain.'
"Two weeks later: 'I have not been as well as I had hoped to be. I didvery wrong to spend so many hours writing my dream book, but now that itis completed I will write no more until I am stronger. Every day with apick and shovel I dig in different places for recreation and exercise,endeavoring to find the fabled gold mine, the vein of which was lost, orso I have been told by an occasional miner who has passed this way.Before starting out I take you each afternoon to the cabin of a mostkindly squaw who understands some English and since I pay her well, sheis willing to care for you during my absence.'"
For a long moment Meg ceased reading and Dan, noting that her handstrembled, went to her side, saying with tender solicitude: "Dear girl,what is it? I fear that reading aloud this letter from your father isvery hard for you. Wouldn't you rather read it to yourself?" The girllifted tear-filled eyes. "It isn't that, Dan," she said. "I want to shareit with my friends who are so loving and loyal, but I cannot decipher therest."
There was a faded blur on the paper as though the pen had fallen. Then ithad evidently been picked up again, but the scrawled letters thatfollowed were very hard to read. Slowly the girl deciphered: "Lalie, whenyou are eighteen, get box ----" Then there was another blot and the penhad evidently rolled across the paper.
The girl held the letter up to Dan. "I fear we will never know where thebox is," she said, "for that is all."
But the lad, after scrutinizing the sheet, held it up to the light.
"There is more written, but evidently a drop of ink spread over it.Gerry, bring the magnifying glass." The small boy, glad to be ofassistance, leaped to get it. Dan gazed through it for a long fiveminutes. Then he began to name the letters, and Bob, who had seized apencil and paper, wrote them down. "_B-a-n-k._" Dan glanced questioninglyat Meg. "What kind of a bank do you suppose it means?" Then to Bob: "Werethere any banks of dirt near the cabin?" That lad shook his head.
Jane suggested: "Would it not be more natural to suppose it to be a NewYork bank, since that had been Mr. Giguette's home for years?"
They all decided this to be true. Then Merry asked: "Meg, or may I sayEulalie, are you willing that I should wire my father all that we know?He is a lawyer in New York and be will gladly find out what he can."
How the dusky face brightened. "Oh, thank you, Merry. Please do!" Then,rising, the mountain girl held out both hands to Jane and Merry. "I mustgo now," she said, "to the dear old couple who have been all the fatherand mother I have ever known."
Dan accompanied Meg up the winding mountain road.