And
even though the stones remained in place there would still remain
the fact that almost within arm's length was imprisoned the crushed,
distorted remains of the murdered man.
Toward the end of his second week at Dowd's Tavern, he set out to
climb to the top of the big rock. He had no intention of descending
to the cavern's mouth on this occasion. That feat was to be reserved for
another day. Arriving at the gate, he was surprised and gratified
to discover that it was unlocked. While it was latched, the
padlock and chain hung loosely from the post to which the latter
was attached. Without hesitation, he opened the gate and strode
boldly into proscribed territory.
The ascent was gradual at first, then steep and abrupt for a matter
of fifty or sixty feet to the bald summit of the hill. Once at the
top, he sat down panting and exhausted upon the edge of the shallow
fissure he had followed as a path up the rock, and again his thoughts
went back to the night of the murder. This had been David Windom's
route to the top of the hill. He found himself discrediting one
feature at least of the man's confession. Only a fabled giant could
have carried the body of a man up that steep, tortuous incline.
Why, he was exhausted, and he had borne no heavier burden than
his stout walking-stick. That part of Windom's story certainly was
"fishy."
Presently he arose and strode out upon the rough, uneven "roof" of
the height.
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