It was barely light enough to see the outlines of trees and buildings when the five treasure-hunters left for the Brisbee Cemetery. Their anxiety had kept them awake most of the night and it was a strain to drag themselves out of bed, but the adventure ahead eased the weariness. They entered the ornate iron gate, and made their way down the path through the tombstones to the huge chinaberry stump. Sourdough realized he HAD been in the right place the night before! But where was the container? He looked into the hollow .... it was still empty.He confronted Marsh, as he was the only one who knew where the container had been hidden, but Marsh swore to his friend that he had not been there, nor had he removed it. Sourdough knew he was telling the truth, but ... what had happened to it? Had Marsh told anyone about it? Marsh denied that he had. Maybe an animal had dug it out.
By now it was getting light enough to see clearly, and everyone set out in different directions looking for the small can containing the map and letter. They searched for at least an hour, but found nothing. Sourdough was beginning to think he had lost his mind. There was no way that anybody could have seen him place the container there! He had checked all around the area before hiding it!
Just then Molly saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. She swung around in the direction of the motion and saw a small head duck behind one of the massive stone markers. She crept as quietly as she could toward the stone, peered over the top, and was relieved when she saw a pair of mousey-colored pig-tails. She recognized them instantly as belonging to the scruffy little urchin who lived on the far side of the cemetery with her overbearing aunt.
Molly called to the others who came quickly to see what she had found. They coaxed the timid little girl out from behind the grave marker, and began to question her. After a few minutes the child told them that she played there almost everyday. The hollow under the chinaberry stump had been one of her favorite hiding places, and she hid her best rocks and other treasures there. She said she was making her last trip to the cemetery around sunset the day before and had seen Marsh and Sourdough ride up. She hid and watched, and when they left she went to see what they had put in her secret spot.
Sourdough couldn't stand it! He demanded to know what the brat had done with his container! Marsh was chuckling, and the three women were trying to calm the irate cook. Ranting would get him nowhere. He composed himself somewhat and promised the girl a prize if she would divulge the location of his property.
With that the girl led them away from the tree stump and over to an ancient marker. The name etched into the granite tombstone was Rabelais Gordian Hawpe III, a coincidence not lost on the map-seeking group. She reached into a crevice, pulled out two pieces of paper and handed them to Sourdough. It was the Beale letter but ... "Where is the map?", he hollered!
The freckled-faced child gave Sourdough an impish grin and took off, running as fast as her skinny legs would carry her. She yelled back that it would take more than a promise to get that information out of her! Sourdough and the others stood stunned as they watched the girl disappear among the carved head stones. Marsh and Sourdough made an attempt to catch her, but she was too quick, and knew her way too well. What would they do now?
There were two other people wondering what their future held in store as they sat in the Brisbee Jail. Kid Hawpe in a cell, and Demetera Woods seated at a desk across from Sheriff McAlister. The astute sheriff had crossed paths with the school teacher many times before, but not under these circumstances. McAlister was witnessing a much different personality emerging from the engaging woman seated in front of him.
The enterprising woman was beginning to form a new idea in her mind also. She knew that the vision of a fortune in gold could turn the head of even the most upstanding citizen, and she was about to shuffle her deck of cards, and deal a hand to the stalwart sheriff.
