He wanted to hear more about the Johnnywater ghost and about Steve Carson. But the Piutes evidently considered the subject closed, and he could get nothing more out of them. He suspected that he had his sack of Bull Durham to thank for the unusual loquacity while they smoked. After they had eaten they led their horses up to the pool and let them drink their fill. After that they mounted and rode away, in spite of Gary’s urging them to camp where they were until they had brought in the Walking X horses. They would go back, they said, to Deer Lick and camp there for the night. In the morning they would round up his horses and drive them over to Johnnywater. Gary was not quite satisfied with the arrangement, but they had logic on their side so far as getting the horses was concerned. Their own mounts would be fresh in the morning for the work they had to do. But the thing Gary hated most was their flat refusal to spend a night at Johnnywater Cañon. CHAPTER ELEVEN “HOW WILL YOU TAKE YOUR MILLIONS?” “Johnnywater Cañon, “On a Dark and Gloomy Night. “My Princess Pat: “You are the possessor of a possession of which you wittest not. You have a ghost. Wire Conan Doyle, Sir Oliver Lodge and others of their ilk. Ask them what is the best recipe for catching a Voice. The gink up on the bluff that does so much vocal practice is not a gink--he’s a spook. He’s up there vocaling right now, doing his spookish heckest to give me the willies. “Pat, did you send me out here just from curiosity, to see if I’d go goofy? Tut, tut! This is no place for a flabby-souled young man; broad shoulders, my dear girl, don’t amount to a darn in grappling with a man-size Voice. I believe you did, you little huzzy. I remember you distinctly mentioned howling on a hill, and my sitting in the cabin listening to it. Great idea you had. I’m sitting here listening. What am I supposed to do next? “You also indicated business of listening to a horse champing hay in a stable. Well, I have a horse at last, but the property man overlooked the sod-roofed stable. Not having the prop in which my horse should champ, he’s picketed up the cañon, and he’s supposed to be champing sagebrush or grass or something. He isn’t doing it though. He absolutely refuses to follow direction. He’s up there going ‘MMMH-_hmmm-Hmmm_-hm-hm-hm!!!!’ I’m sorry, Pat, but that’s exactly what he’s doing--as close as it can be put into human spelling. He can’t feature this cañon, honey. I suspect he’s flabby souled, too.