“Here is Creedon Hall,” said the guide, as he turned into a broad opening and flashed his light around.  The party were in a cave, and yet we can hardly call it a cave; it appeared to be merely a huge underline in the side of the cliff, as it was open, as the guide said, facing Creedon Street.

“I will soon have Creedon Hall illuminated for you,” said the guide.  He secured some wood, and as Desmond followed him he saw that he had abundance of it, and the guide said: 

“This wood, some of it, has been stowed here for over ten years, and we can have a jolly fire in a few minutes, and no fear of attracting Indians or any one else.  We are as safe here as though we were making a grate fire in a big hotel in New York.”

Creedon made good his word, and soon Creedon Hall was brilliantly illuminated, and Desmond was delighted.  He exclaimed in his enthusiasm.

“This is just immense!”

“Well, it is.”

Brooks also was delighted; he set to work to make the coffee and prepare the meal, and Creedon lay down on his blanket and lit his pipe, while Desmond wandered around the cave, as he persisted in calling it.  He discovered several outlets from Creedon Hall, and he made up his mind that as soon as his friends were asleep he would steal the mask lantern and go on an exploring expedition.  It was a jolly party that sat down to coffee, cold dried meat, and crackers.  Brooks had been very sparing of his crackers, and had at least five pounds of them at the time he and Desmond met the guide.

“When did you discover this place?” asked Desmond.

“I did not discover the place; it was revealed to me by an old hunter, a Mexican, and how he discovered it he would never tell.  The old man had a great many secrets, and I have sometimes thought that there was gold hidden here somewhere.  I’ve spent days searching for it, but never could find anything of the value of a red cent.”

“Where is the old Mexican now?”

“That’s hard to tell, lad; he died about five years ago, and his body was carried to the ruins of an old Spanish church and there buried as he had requested long before he died.  He was a strange old man; he possessed many secrets, but they died with him.  It is possible he meant to reveal them some day, but death caught him and he went out with his mouth closed as far as his secrets were concerned.  He was a sort of miser in secrets.  I did think that some day the old man would reveal something of value to me; he pretended to think a great deal of me.  I saved his life at a critical moment; he was actually bound to the stake, and I shot the rascal who was about to light the fire.  They intended to burn him alive, and the arrival of myself and party was just in time.”

“Do the Indians still burn their prisoners at the stake?”

“These were not Indians—­they were his own countrymen.  They had tried to force a confession from him, and because he refused to reveal the whereabouts of the gold they thought he had stored away somewhere, they were set to murder him in anger and revenge.”