took it with them," he murmured. "But that ain't reasonable, Dave.
The man in charge of this hold-up knew his business. It was smooth
work all the way through. If it hadn't been for bad luck he would have
got away with the whole thing fine. They still had the loot with them
when they got here. No doubt about that. Well, then! He wouldn't
divvy up here, because, if they separated, and any one of them got
caught with the gold on him, it would be a give-away. But if they
didn't have the dough on them, it would not matter if some of the boys
were caught. You can't do anything with a man riding peaceable through
the hills looking for strays, no matter how loaded to the guards with
suspicions you may be. So they would cache the loot. Wouldn't they?
Sure they would if they had any sense. But tell me where, Dave."

His thoughtful eyes had for some moments been resting on something that
held them. He stooped and picked up a little chip of sealing-wax.
Instantly he knew how it had come here. The gold sacks had been sealed
by the express company with wax. At least one of the sacks had been
opened here by the robbers.

Did this mean they had divided their treasure here? It might mean
that. Or it might mean that before they cached it they had opened one
sack to see how much it held. Dingwell clung to the opinion that the
latter was the truth, partly because this marched with his hopes and
partly because it seemed to him more likely. There would be a big risk
in taking their haul with them farther. There was none at all in
caching it.

It was odd how that little heap of ashes in the center of the camp-fire
drew his eye. Ashes did not arrange themselves that way naturally.
Some one had raked these into a pile. Why? And who?