“Busted minin’ camp called Bright’s Cove,” said he; “they took about ten million dollars out of here before she bust.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Bob.

“Ten year or so.”

The young man gazed about him in amazement.  The place looked as though it might have been abandoned the month before.  In his subsequent sojourn he began more accurately to gauge the reasons for this.  Here were no small boys to hurl the casual pebble through the delightfully shimmering glass; here was no dust to be swirled into crevices and angles, no wind to carry it; to this remote cove penetrated no vandals to rob, mutilate or wantonly disfigure; and the elevation of the valley’s floor was low enough even to avoid the crushing weights of snow that every winter brought to the peaks around it.  Only the squirrels, the birds and the tiny wood rats represented in their little way the forces of destruction.  Furthermore, the difficulties of transportation absolutely precluded moving any of the small property whose absence so strongly impresses the desertion of a building.  When Bright’s Cove moved, it had merely to shut the front door.  In some cases it did not shut the front door.

Saleratus Bill assisted Bob from the saddle.  This had become necessary, for the long ride in bonds had so cramped and stiffened the young man that he was unable to help himself.  Indeed, he found he could not stand.  Saleratus Bill, after looking at him shrewdly, untied his hands.

“I guess you’re safe enough for now,” said he.

Bob’s wrists were swollen, and his arms so stiff he could hardly use them.  Saleratus Bill paused in throwing the saddles off the wearied animals.

“Look here,” said he gruffly; “if you pass yore word you won’t try to get away or make no fight, I’ll turn you loose.”

“I’ll promise you that for to-night, anyway,” returned Bob quickly.

Saleratus Bill immediately cast the ropes into a corner of the verandah.

XXVII

The shadows of evening were falling when Saleratus Bill returned from pasturing the wearied horses.  Bob had been too exhausted to look about him, even to think.  From a cache the gun-man produced several bags of food and a side of bacon.  Evidently Bright’s Cove was one of his familiar haunts.  After a meal which Bob would have enjoyed more had he not been so dead weary, his captor motioned him to one of the bunks.  Only too glad for an opportunity to rest, Bob tumbled in, clothes and all.

About midnight he half roused, feeling the mountain chill.  He groped instinctively; his hand encountered a quilt, which he drew around his shoulders.

When he awoke it was broad daylight.  A persistent discomfort which had for an hour fought with his drowsiness for the ascendancy, now disclosed itself as a ligature tying his elbows at the back.  Evidently Saleratus Bill had taken this precaution while the young man slept.  Bob could still use his hands and wrists, after a fashion; he could walk about but he would be unable to initiate any effective offence.  The situation was admirably analogous to that of a hobbled horse.  Moreover, the bonds were apparently of some broad, soft substance like sacking or harness webbing, so that, after Bob had moved from his constrained position, they did not excessively discommode him.