We didn’t get to Rhyolite that day. Three truckloads of CCC boys were waiting in front of park headquarters when we came out of the superintendent’s office, having arrived from the barracks near by. Brief instructions were given the drivers by Captain Brown, a sandy-haired, athletic individual, and they pulled away to start a search for the vanished body of a dead man.
Huntoon Rogers and I stood outside park headquarters and watched them go. I suggested Rhyolite, but he apparently did not hear me.
“Just where did you find the body, d**k?” he inquired of the deputy who lingered, leaning against an adobe pillar, uncertain what to do next.
“Well, if you remember where you saw me come into the highway last night—just follow that road ten-twelve miles—”
“Can we find the place by ourselves?
