"It does not strike me so," said she. "A mere confession before witnesses by a man and woman that they are willing to take each other for husband and wife is often a legal ceremony, and if there is any kind of a religious person present to perform the ceremony, it helps, and in a case like this no stone should be left unturned. You see, you have assumed a great deal of responsibility about this. You have stated—and if we were called upon to testify, Miss Markham and I would have to acknowledge that you have so stated—that you claimed this treasure as your discovery, and that it all belonged to you. So, you see, if we keep our consciences clear,—and no matter what happens, we are going to do that,—we might be obliged to testify every cent of it away from ourselves. But if Edna were your wife, it would be all right."

The captain stood silent for a few moments, his hands thrust into his pockets, and a queer smile on his face. "Mrs. Cliff," said he, presently, "do you expect me to go to Miss Markham and gravely propose this scheme which you and that half—tamed African have concocted?"

"I think it would be better," said Mrs. Cliff, "if I were to prepare her mind for it. I will go speak to her now."

"No," said he, quickly, "don't you do that. If the crazy idea is to be mentioned to her at all, I want to do it myself, and in my own way. I will go to her now. I have had my talk with you, and I must have one with her."



CHAPTER XVI

ON A BUSINESS BASIS

Captain Horn found Edna at the entrance to the caves, busily employed in filling one of the Rackbirds' boxes with ship-biscuit.

"Miss Markham," said he, "I wish to have a little business talk with you before I leave. Where is Ralph?"

"He is down at the boat," she answered.

"Very good," said he. "Will you step this way?"

When they were seated together in the shade of some rocks, he stated to Edna what he had planned in case he should lose his life in his intended expedition, and showed her the will he had made, and also the directions for herself and Mrs. Cliff. Edna listened very attentively, occasionally asking for an explanation, but offering no opinion. When he had finished, she was about to say something, but he interrupted her.

"Of course, I want to know your opinion about all this," he said, "but not yet. I have more to say. There has been a business plan proposed by two members of our party which concerns me, and when anything is told concerning me, I want to know how it is told, or, if possible, tell it myself."

And then, as concisely as possible, he related to her Maka's anxiety in regard to the boss question, and his method of disposing of the difficulty, and afterwards Mrs. Cliff's anxiety about the property, in case of accident to himself, and her method of meeting the contingency.

During this recital Edna Markham said not one word. To portions of the narrative she listened with an eager interest; then her expression became hard, almost stern; and finally her cheeks grew red, but whether with anger or some other emotion the captain did not know. When he had finished, she looked steadily at him for a few moments, and then she said:

"Captain Horn, what you have told me are the plans and opinions of others. It seems to me that you are now called upon to say something for yourself."

"I am quite ready to do that," he answered. "A half-hour ago I had never thought of such a scheme as I have laid before you. When I heard it, I considered it absurd, and mentioned it to you only because I was afraid I would be misrepresented. But since putting the matter to you, even while I have been just now talking, I have grown to be entirely in favor of it. But I want you to thoroughly understand my views on the subject. If this marriage is to be performed, it will be strictly a business affair, entered into for the purpose of securing to you and others a fortune, large or small, which, without this marriage, might be taken from you. In other words," said he, "you are to be looked upon in this affair in the light of my prospective widow."

For a moment the flush on the face of the young woman faded away, but it quickly returned. Apparently involuntarily, she rose to her feet. Turning to the captain, who also rose, she said:

"But there is another way in which the affair would have to be looked at. Suppose I should not become your widow? Suppose you should not be lost at sea, and should come back safely?"

The captain drew a deep breath, and folded his arms upon his chest. "Miss Markham," said he, "if this marriage should take place, it would be entirely different from other marriages. If I should not return, and it should be considered legal, it may make you all rich and happy. If it should not hold good, we can only think we have done our best. But as to anything beyond this, or to any question of my return, or any other question in connection with the matter, our minds should be shut and locked. This matter is a business proposition, and as such I lay it before you. If we adopt it, we do so for certain reasons, and beyond those reasons neither of us is qualified to go. We should keep our eyes fixed upon the main point, and think of nothing else."

"Something else must be looked at," said Edna. "It is just as likely that you will come back as that you will be lost at sea."

"This plan is based entirely on the latter supposition," replied the captain. "It has nothing to do with the other. If we consider it at all, we must consider it in that light."

"But we must consider it in the other light," she said. She was now quite pale, and her face had a certain sternness about it.

"I positively refuse to do that," he said. "I will not think about it, or say one word about it. I will not even refer to any future settlement of that question. The plan I present rests entirely upon my non-return."

"But if you do return?" persisted Edna.

The captain smiled and shook his head. "You must excuse me," he said, "but I can say nothing about that."

She looked steadily at him for a few moments, and then she said: "Very well, we will say nothing about it. As to the plan which has been devised to give us, in case of accident to you, a sound claim to the treasure which has been found here, and to a part of which I consider I have a right, I consent to it. I do this believing that I should share in the wonderful treasures in that cave. I have formed prospects for my future which would make my life a thousand times better worth living than I ever supposed it would be, and I do not wish to interfere with those prospects. I want them to become realities. Therefore, I consent to your proposition, and I will marry you upon a business basis, before you leave."

"Your hand upon it," said the captain; and she gave him a hand so cold that it chilled his own. "Now I will go talk to Maka and Cheditafa," he said. "Of course, we understand that it may be of no advantage to have this coal-black heathen act as officiating clergyman, but it can do no harm, and we must take the chances. I have a good deal to do, and no time to lose if I am to get away on the flood-tide this afternoon. Will it suit you if I get everything ready to start, and we then have the ceremony?"

"Oh, certainly," replied Edna. "Any spare moment will suit me."

When he had gone, Edna Markham sat down on the rock again. With her hands clasped in her lap, she gazed at the sand at her feet.

"Without a minute to think of it," she said to herself, presently,—"without any consideration at all. And now it is done! It was not like me. I do not know myself. But yes!" she exclaimed, speaking so that any one near might have heard her, "I do know myself. I said it because I was afraid, if I did not say it then, I should never be able to say it."

If Captain Horn could have seen her then, a misty light, which no man can mistake, shining in her eyes as she gazed out over everything into nothing, he might not have been able to confine his proposition to a strictly business basis.

She sat a little longer, and then she hurried away to finish the work on which she had been engaged; but when Mrs. Cliff came to look for her, she did not find her packing provisions for the captain's cruise, but sitting alone in one of the inner caves.

"What, crying!" exclaimed Mrs. Cliff. "Now, let me tell you, my dear child, I do not feel in the least like crying. The captain has told me that everything is all right between you, and the more I think of it, the more firmly I believe that it is the grandest thing that could have happened. For some reason or other, and I am sure I cannot tell you why, I do not believe at all that the captain is going to be shipwrecked in that little boat. Before this I felt sure we should never see him again, but now I haven't a doubt that he will get somewhere all right, and that he will come back all right, and if he does it will be a grand match. Why, Edna child, if Captain Horn never gets away with a stick of that gold, it will be a most excellent match. Now, I believe in my heart," she continued, sitting down by Edna, "that when you accepted Captain Horn you expected him to come back. Tell me isn't that true?"

At that instant Miss Markham gave a little start. "Mrs. Cliff," she exclaimed, "there is Ralph calling me. Won't you go and tell him all about it? Hurry, before he comes in here."

When Ralph Markham heard what had happened while he was down at the beach, he grew so furiously angry that he could not find words in which to express himself.

"That Captain Horn," he cried, when speech came to him, "is the most despotic tyrant on the face of the earth! He tells people what they are to do, and they simply go and do it. The next thing he will do is to tell you to adopt me as a son. Marry Edna! My sister! And I not know it! And she, just because he asks her, must go and marry him. Well, that is just like a woman."

With savage strides he was about marching back to the beach, when Mrs. Cliff stopped him.

"Now, don't make everybody unhappy, Ralph," she said, "but just listen to me. I want to tell you all about this matter."

It took about a quarter of an hour to make clear to the ruffled mind of Ralph the powerful, and in Mrs. Cliffs eyes the imperative, reasons for the sudden and unpremeditated matrimonial arrangements of the morning. But before she had finished, the boy grew quieter, and there appeared upon his face some expressions of astute sagacity.

"Well," said he, "when you first put this business to me, it was tail side up, but now you've got heads up it looks a little different. He will be drowned, as like as not, and then I suppose we can call our souls our own, and if, besides that, we can call a lot of those chunks of gold our own, we ought not to grumble. All right. I won't forbid the banns. But, between you and me, I think the whole thing is stuff and nonsense. What ought I to call him? Brother Horn?"

"Now, don't say anything like that, Ralph," urged Mrs. Cliff, "and don't make yourself disagreeable in any way. This is a very serious time for all of us, and I am sure that you will not do anything which will hurt your sister's feelings."

"Oh, don't be afraid," said Ralph. "I'm not going to hurt anybody's feelings. But when I first meet that man, I hope I may be able to keep him from knowing what I think of him."

Five minutes later Ralph heard the voice of Captain Horn calling him. The voice came from the opening in the caves, and instantly Ralph turned and walked toward the beach. Again came the voice, louder than before: "Ralph, I want you." The boy stopped, put his hands in his pockets, and shrugged his shoulders, then he slowly turned.

"If I were bigger," he said to himself, "I'd thrash him on the spot. Then I'd feel easier in my mind, and things could go on as they pleased. But as I am not six feet high yet, I suppose I might as well go to see what he wants."

"Ralph," said the captain, as soon as the boy reached him, "I see Mrs. Cliff has been speaking to you, and so you know about the arrangements that have been made. But I have a great deal to do before I can start, and I want you to help me. I am now going to the mound in the cave to get out some of that gold, and I don't want anybody but you to go with me. I have just sent all the negroes down to the beach to carry things to the boat, and we must be quick about our business. You take this leather bag. It is Mrs. Cliff's, but I think it is strong enough. The lantern is lighted, so come on."

To dive into a treasure mound Ralph would have followed a much more ruthless tyrant than Captain Horn, and although he made no remarks, he went willingly enough. When they had climbed the mound, and the captain had lifted the stone from the opening in the top, Ralph held the lantern while the captain, reaching down into the interior, set himself to work to fill the bag with the golden ingots. As the boy gazed down upon the mass of dull gold, his heart swelled within him. His feeling of indignant resentment began to disappear rapidly before the growing consciousness that he was to be the brother-in-law of the owner of all that wealth. As soon as the bag was filled, the stone was replaced, and the two descended from the mound, the captain carefully holding the heavy bag under his arm, for he feared the weight might break the handle. Then, extinguishing the lantern as soon as they could see their way without it, they reached the innermost cave before any of the negroes returned. Neither Mrs. Cliff nor Edna was there, and the captain placed his burden behind a piece of rock.

"Captain," said the boy, his eyes glistening, "there must be a fortune in that bag!"

The captain laughed. "Oh, no," said he, "not a very large one. I have had a good deal of experience with gold in California, and I suppose each one of those little bars is worth from two hundred and fifty to three hundred dollars." What we have represents a good deal of money. But now, Ralph, I have something very important to say to you. I am going to appoint you sole guardian and keeper of that treasure. You are very young to have such a responsibility put upon you, but I know you will feel the importance of your duty, and that you will not be forgetful or negligent about it. The main thing is to keep those two negroes, and anybody who may happen to come here, away from the mound. Do what you can to prevent any one exploring the cave, and don't let the negroes go there for water. They now know the way over the rocks to the stream.

"If I should not come back, or a ship should come along and take you off before I return, you must all be as watchful as cats about that gold. Don't let anybody see a piece of it. You three must carry away with you as much as you can, but don't let any one know you are taking it. Of course, I expect to come back and attend to the whole business, but if I should not be heard from for a long time,—and if that is the case, you may be sure I am lost,—and you should get away, I will trust to your sister and you to get up an expedition to come back for it."

Ralph drew himself up as high as circumstances would permit. "Captain," said he, "you may count on me. I'll keep an eye on those black fellows, and on anybody else who may come here."

"Very good," said the captain. "I am sure you will never forget that you are the guardian of all our fortunes."



CHAPTER XVII

"A FINE THING, NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS"

After the noonday meal, on the day of Captain Horn's departure, Mrs. Cliff went apart with Maka and Cheditafa, and there endeavored to find out, as best she might, the ideas and methods of the latter in regard to the matrimonial service. In spite of the combined efforts of the two, with their limited command of English, to make her understand how these things were done in the forests and wilds of the Dark Continent, she could not decide whether the forms of the Episcopal Church, those of the Baptists, or those of the Quakers, could be more easily assimilated with the previous notions of Cheditafa on the subject. But having been married herself, she thought she knew very well what was needed, and so, without endeavoring to persuade the negro priest that his opinions regarding the marriage rites were all wrong, or to make him understand what sort of a wedding she would have had if they had all been in their own land, she endeavored to impress upon his mind the forms and phrases of a very simple ceremony, which she believed would embody all that was necessary.

Cheditafa was a man of considerable intelligence, and the feeling that he was about to perform such an important ceremony for the benefit of such a great man as Captain Horn filled his soul with pride and a strong desire to acquit himself creditably in this honorable function, and he was able before very long to satisfy Mrs. Cliff that, with Maka's assistance as prompting clerk, he might be trusted to go through the ceremony without serious mistake.

She was strongly of the opinion that if she conducted the marriage ceremony it would be far better in every way than such a performance by a coal-black heathen; but as she knew that her offices would not count for anything in a civilized world, whereas the heathen ministry might be considered satisfactory, she accepted the situation, and kept her opinions to herself.

The wedding took place about six o'clock in the afternoon, on the plateau in front of the great stone face, at a spot where the projecting rocks cast a shade upon the heated ground. Cheditafa, attired in the best suit of clothes which could be made up from contributions from all his fellow-countrymen present, stood on the edge of the line of shadow, his hands clasped, his head slightly bowed, his bright eyes glancing from side to side, and his face filled with an expression of anxiety to observe everything and make no mistakes. Maka stood near him, and behind the two, in the brilliant sunlight, were grouped the other negroes, all very attentive and solemn, looking a little frightened, as if they were not quite sure that sacrifices were not customary on such occasions.

Captain Horn stood, tall and erect, his jacket a little torn, but with an air of earnest dignity upon his handsome, sunburnt features, which, with his full dark beard and rather long hair, gave him the appearance of an old-time chieftain about to embark upon some momentous enterprise. By his side was Edna Markham, pale, and dressed in the simple gown in which she had left the ship, but as beautiful, in the eyes of Mrs. Cliff, as if she had been arrayed in orange-blossoms and white satin.



Reverently the two answered the simple questions which were put to them, and made the necessary promises, and slowly and carefully, and in very good English, Cheditafa pronounced them man and wife. Mrs. Cliff then produced a marriage certificate, written with a pencil, as nearly as she could remember, in the words of her own document of that nature, on a leaf torn from the captain's note-book, and to this she signed Cheditafa's name, to which the African, under her directions, affixed his mark. Then Ralph and Mrs. Cliff signed as witnesses, and the certificate was delivered to Edna.

"Now," said the captain, "I will go aboard."

The whole party, Edna and the captain a little in the lead, walked down to the beach, where the boat lay, ready to be launched. During the short walk Captain Horn talked rapidly and earnestly to Edna, confining his remarks, however, to directions and advice as to what should be done until he returned, or, still more important, as to what should be done if he did not return at all.

When they reached the beach, the captain shook hands with Edna, Mrs. Cliff, and Ralph, and then, turning to Cheditafa, he informed him that that lady, pointing to Edna, was now the mistress of himself and Mok, and that every word of command she gave them must be obeyed exactly as if he had given it to them himself. He was shortly coming back, he said, and when he saw them again, their reward should depend entirely upon the reports he should receive of their conduct.

"But I know," said he, "that you are a good man, and that I can trust you, and I will hold you responsible for Mok."

This was the end of the leave-taking. The captain stepped into his boat and took the oars. Then the four negroes, two on a side, ran out the little craft as far as possible through the surf, and then, when they had scrambled on board, the captain pulled out into smooth water.

Hoisting his little sail, and seating himself in the stern, with the tiller in his hand, he brought the boat round to the wind. Once he turned toward shore and waved his hat, and then he sailed away toward the western sky.

Mrs. Cliff and Ralph walked together toward the caves, leaving Edna alone upon the beach.

"Well," said Ralph, "this is the first wedding I ever saw, but I must say it is rather different from my idea of that sort of thing. I thought that people always kissed at such affairs, and there was general jollification and cake, but this seemed more like a newfangled funeral, with the dear departed acting as his own Charon and steering himself across the Styx."

"He might have kissed her," said Mrs. Cliff, thoughtfully. "But you see, Ralph, everything had to be very different from ordinary weddings. It was a very peculiar case."

"I should hope so," said the boy,—"the uncommoner the better. In fact, I shouldn't call it a wedding at all. It seemed more like taking a first degree in widowhood."

"Ralph," said Mrs. Cliff, "that is horrible. Don't you ever say anything like that again. I hope you are not going to distress your sister with such remarks."

"You need not say anything about Edna!" he exclaimed. "I shall not worry her with any criticisms of the performance. The fact is, she will need cheering up, and if I can do it I will. She's captain now, and I'll stand up for her like a good fellow."

Edna stood on the beach, gazing out on the ocean illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, keeping her eyes fixed on the captain's boat until it became a mere speck. Then, when it had vanished entirely among the lights and shades of the evening sea, she still stood a little while and watched. Then she turned and slowly walked up to the plateau. Everything there was just as she had known it for weeks. The great stone face seemed to smile in the last rays of the setting sun. Mrs. Cliff came to meet her, her face glowing with smiles, and Ralph threw his arms around her neck and kissed her, without, however, saying a word about that sort of thing having been omitted in the ceremony of the afternoon.

"My dear Edna," exclaimed Mrs. Cliff, "from the bottom of my heart I congratulate you! No matter how we look at it, a rare piece of good fortune has come to you."

Edna gazed at her for a moment, and then she answered quietly, "Oh, yes, it was a fine thing, no matter what happens. If he does not come back, I shall make a bold stroke for widowhood; and if he does come back, he is bound, after all this, to give me a good share of that treasure. So, you see, we have done the best we can do to be rich and happy, if we are not so unlucky as to perish among these rocks and sand."

"She is almost as horrible as Ralph," thought Mrs. Cliff, "but she will get over it."



CHAPTER XVIII

MRS. CLIFF IS AMAZED

After the captain set sail in his little boat, the party which he left behind him lived on in an uneventful, uninteresting manner, which, gradually, day by day, threw a shadow over the spirits of each one of them.

Ralph, who always slept in the outer chamber of the caves, had been a very faithful guardian of the captain's treasure. No one, not even himself, had gone near it, and he never went up to the rocky promontory on which he had raised his signal-pole without knowing that the two negroes were at a distance from the caves, or within his sight.

For a day or two after the captain's departure Edna was very quiet, with a fancy for going off by herself. But she soon threw off this dangerous disposition, and took up her old profession of teacher, with Ralph as the scholar, and mathematics as the study. They had no books nor even paper, but the rules and principles of her specialty were fresh in her mind, and with a pointed stick on a smooth stretch of sand diagrams were drawn and problems worked out.

This occupation was a most excellent thing for Edna and her brother, but it did not help Mrs. Cliff to endure with patience the weary days of waiting. She had nothing to read, nothing to do, very often no one to talk to, and she would probably have fallen into a state of nervous melancholy had not Edna persuaded her to devote an hour or two each day to missionary work with Mok and Cheditafa. This Mrs. Cliff cheerfully undertook. She was a conscientious woman, and her methods of teaching were peculiar. She had an earnest desire to do the greatest amount of good with these poor, ignorant negroes, but, at the same time, she did not wish to do injury to any one else. The conviction forced itself upon her that if she absolutely converted Cheditafa from the errors of his native religion, she might in some way invalidate the marriage ceremony which he had performed.

"If he should truly come to believe," she said to herself, "that he had no right to marry the captain and Edna, his conscience might make him go back on the whole business, and everything that we have done would be undone. I don't want him to remain a heathen any longer than it can possibly be helped, but I must be careful not to set his priesthood entirely aside until Edna's position is fixed and settled. When the captain comes back, and we all get home, they must be married regularly; but if he never comes back, then I must try to make Cheditafa understand that the marriage is just as binding as any other kind, and that any change of religious opinion that he may undergo will have no effect upon it."

Accordingly, while she confined her religious teachings to very general principles, her moral teachings were founded upon the strictest code, and included cleanliness and all the household virtues, not excepting the proper care of such garments as an indigent human being in a tropical climate might happen to possess.

In spite, however, of this occupation, Mrs. Cliffs spirits were not buoyant. "I believe," she thought, "things would have been more cheerful if they had not married; but then, of course, we ought to be willing to sacrifice cheerfulness at present to future prosperity."

It was more than a month after the departure of the captain that Ralph, from his point of observation, perceived a sail upon the horizon. He had seen sails there before, but they never grew any larger, and generally soon disappeared, for it would lengthen the course of any coasting-vessel to approach this shore. But the sail that Ralph saw now grew larger and larger, and, with the aid of his little spy-glass, it was not long before he made up his mind that it was coming toward him. Then up went his signal-flag, and, with a loud hurrah, down went he to shout out the glad news.

Twenty minutes later it was evident to the anxiously peering eyes of every one of the party that the ship was actually approaching the shore, and in the heart of each one of them there was a bounding delight in the feeling that, after all these days of weary waiting, the captain was coming back.

As the ship drew nearer and nearer, she showed herself to be a large vessel—a handsome bark. About half a mile from the shore, she lay to, and very soon a boat was lowered.

Edna's heart beat rapidly and her face flushed as, with Ralph's spy-glass to her eyes, she scanned the people in the boat as it pulled away from the ship.

"Can you make out the captain?" cried Ralph, at her side.

She shook her head, and handed him the glass. For full five minutes the boy peered through it, and then he lowered the glass.

"Edna," said he, "he isn't in it."

"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Cliff, "do you mean to say that the captain is not in that boat?"

"I am sure of it," said Ralph. "And if he isn't in the boat, of course he is not on the ship. Perhaps he did not have anything to do with that vessel's coming here. It may have been tacking in this direction, and so come near enough for people to see my signal."

"Don't suppose things," said Edna, a little sharply. "Wait until the boat comes in, and then we will know all about it.—Here, Cheditafa," said she, "you and Mok go out into the water and help run that boat ashore as soon as it is near enough."

It was a large boat containing five men, and when it had been run up on the sand, and its occupants had stepped out, the man at the tiller, who proved to be the second mate of the bark, came forward and touched his hat. As he did so, no sensible person could have imagined that he had accidentally discovered them. His manner plainly showed that he had expected to find them there. The conviction that this was so made the blood run cold in Edna's veins. Why had not the captain come himself?

The man in command of the boat advanced toward the two ladies, looking from one to the other as he did so. Then, taking a letter from the pocket of his jacket, he presented it to Edna.

"Mrs. Horn, I believe," he said. "Here is a letter from your husband."

Now, it so happened that to Mrs. Cliff, to Edna, and to Ralph this recognition of matrimonial status seemed to possess more force and value than the marriage ceremony itself.

Edna's face grew as red as roses as she took the letter.

"From my husband," she said; and then, without further remark, she stepped aside to read it.

But Mrs. Cliff and Ralph could not wait for the reading of the letter. They closed upon the mate, and, each speaking at the same moment, demanded of him what had happened to Captain Horn, why he had not come himself, where he was now, was this ship to take them away, and a dozen similar questions. The good mariner smiled at their impatience, but could not wonder at it, and proceeded to tell them all he knew about Captain Horn and his plans.

The captain, he said, had arrived at Callao some time since, and immediately endeavored to get a vessel in which to go after the party he had left, but was unable to do so. There was nothing in port which answered his purpose. The captain seemed to be very particular about the craft in which he would be willing to trust his wife and the rest of the party.

"And after having seen Mrs. Horn," the mate politely added, "and you two, I don't wonder he was particular. When Captain Horn found that the bark out there, the Mary Bartlett, would sail in a week for Acapulco, Mexico, he induced the agents of the company owning her to allow her to stop to take off the shipwrecked party and carry them to that port, from which they could easily get to the United States."

"But why, in the name of common sense," almost screamed Mrs. Cliff, "didn't he come himself? Why should he stay behind, and send a ship to take us off?"

"That, madam," said the mate, "I do not know. I have met Captain Horn before, for he is well known on this coast, and I know he is a man who understands how to attend to his own business, and, therefore, I suppose he has good reasons for what he has done—which reasons, no doubt, he has mentioned in his letter to his wife. All I can tell you is that, after he had had a good deal of trouble with the agents, we were at last ordered to touch here. He could not give us the exact latitude and longitude of this spot, but as his boat kept on a straight westward course after he left here, he got a good idea of the latitude from the Mexican brig which he boarded three days afterwards. Then he gave us a plan of the coast, which helped us very much, and soon after we got within sight of land, our lookout spied that signal you put up. So here we are; and I have orders to take you all off just as soon as possible, for we must not lie here a minute longer than is necessary. I do not suppose that, under the circumstances, you have much baggage to take away with you, and I shall have to ask you to get ready to leave as soon as you can."

"All right," cried Ralph. "It won't take us long to get ready."

But Mrs. Cliff answered never a word. In fact, the injunction to prepare to leave had fallen unheeded upon her ear. Her mind was completely occupied entirely with one question: Why did not the captain come himself?

She hastened to Edna, who had finished reading the letter, and now stood silent, holding it in her hand.

"What does he say?" exclaimed Mrs. Cliff. "What are his reasons for staying away? What does he tell you about his plans? Read us the letter. You can leave out all the loving and confidential parts, but give us his explanations. I never was so anxious to know anything in all my life."

"I will read you the whole of it," said Edna. "Here, Ralph."

Her brother came running up. "That man is in an awful hurry to get away," he said. "We ought to go up to the caves and get our things."

"Stay just where you are," said Mrs. Cliff. "Before we do anything else, we must know what Captain Horn intends to do, and what he wants us to do."

"That's so!" cried Ralph, suddenly remembering his guardianship. "We ought to know what he says about leaving that mound. Read away, Edna."

The three stood at some little distance from the sailors, who were now talking with Cheditafa, and Edna read the letter aloud:

"Lima, May 14, 1884.

"MY DEAR WIFE: I reached this city about ten days ago. When I left you all I did not sail down the coast, but stood directly out to sea. My object was to reach a shipping-port, and to do this my best plan was to get into the track of coasting-vessels. This plan worked well, and in three days we were picked up by a Mexican guano brig, and were taken to Callao, which is the port of Lima. We all arrived in good health and condition.

"This letter will be brought to you by the bark Mary Bartlett, which vessel I have engaged to stop for you, and take you and the whole party to Acapulco, which is the port of the City of Mexico, from which place I advise you to go as soon as possible to San Francisco. I have paid the passage of all of you to Acapulco, and I inclose a draft for one thousand dollars for your expenses. I would advise you to go to the Palmetto Hotel, which is a good family house, and I will write to you there and send another draft. In fact, I expect you will find my letter when you arrive, for the mail-steamer will probably reach San Francisco before you do. Please write to me as soon as you get there, and address me here, care of Nasco, Parmley & Co."

An exclamation of impatience here escaped from Mrs. Cliff. In her opinion, the reasons for the non-appearance of the captain should, have been the first thing in the letter.

"When I reached Lima, which is six miles from Callao," the letter continued, "I disposed of some of the property I brought with me, and expect to sell it all before long. Being known as a Californian, I find no difficulty in disposing of my property, which is in demand here, and in a very short time I shall have turned the whole of it into drafts or cash. There is a vessel expected here shortly which I shall be able to charter, and as soon as I can do so I shall sail in her to attend to the disposition of the rest of my property. I shall write as frequently as possible, and keep you informed of my operations.

"Of course, you understand that I could not go on the Mary Bartlett to join you and accompany you to Acapulco, for that would have involved too great a loss of time. My business must be attended to without delay, and I can get the vessel I want here.

"The people of the Mary Bartlett will not want to wait any longer than can be helped, so you would all better get your baggage together as soon as possible and go on board. The two negroes will bring down your baggage, so there will be no need for any of the sailors to go up to the caves. Tell Ralph not to forget the charge I gave him if they do go up. When you have taken away your clothes, you can leave just as they are the cooking-utensils, the blankets, and everything else. I will write to you much more fully by mail. Cannot do so now. I hope you may all have a quick and safe voyage, and that I may hear from you immediately after you reach Acapulco. I hope most earnestly that you have all kept well, and that no misfortune has happened to any of you. I shall wait with anxiety your letter from Acapulco. Let Ralph write and make his report. I will ask you to stay in San Francisco until more letters have passed and plans are arranged. Until further notice, please give Mrs. Cliff one fourth of all moneys I send. I cannot insist, of course, upon her staying in San Francisco, but I would advise her to do so until things are more settled.

"In haste, your husband,

"Philip Horn."

"Upon my word!" ejaculated Mrs. Cliff, "a most remarkable letter! It might have been written to a clerk! No one would suppose it the first letter of a man to his bride! Excuse me, Edna, for speaking so plainly, but I must say I am shocked. He is very particular to call you his wife and say he is your husband, and in that way he makes the letter a valuable piece of testimony if he never turns up, but—well, no matter."

"He is mighty careful," said Ralph, "not to say anything about the gold. He speaks of his property as if it might be Panama stock or something like that. He is awfully wary."

"You see," said Edna, speaking in a low voice, "this letter was sent by private hands, and by people who were coming to the spot where his property is, and, of course, it would not do to say anything that would give any hint of the treasure here. When he writes by mail, he can speak more plainly."

"I hope he may speak more plainly in another way," said Mrs. Cliff. "And now let us go up and get our things together. I am a good deal more amazed by the letter than I was by the ship."



CHAPTER XIX

LEFT BEHIND

"Ralph," said Edna, as they were hurrying up to the caves, "you must do everything you can to keep those sailors from wandering into the lake basin. They are very different from the negroes, and will want to explore every part of it."

"Oh, I have thought of all that," said Ralph, "and I am now going to run ahead and smash the lantern. They won't be so likely to go poking around in the dark."

"But they may have candles or matches," said Edna. "We must try to keep them out of the big cave."

Ralph did not stop to answer, but ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the plateau. The rest of the party followed, Edna first, then the negroes, and after them Mrs. Cliff, who could not imagine why Edna should be in such a hurry. The sailors, having secured their boat, came straggling after the rest.

When Edna reached the entrance to the caves, she was met by her brother, so much out of breath that he could hardly speak.

"You needn't go to your room to get your things," he exclaimed. "I have gathered them all up, your bag, too, and I have tumbled them over the wall in the entrance back here. You must get over as quick as you can. That will be your room now, and I will tell the sailors, if they go poking around, that you are in there getting ready to leave, and then, of course, they can't pass along the passage."

"That is a fine idea," said Edna, as she followed him. "You are getting very sharp-witted, Ralph."

"Now, then," said he, as he helped her over the wall, "take just as long as you can to get your things ready."

"It can't take me very long," said Edna. "I have no clothes to change, and only a few things to put in my bag. I don't believe you have got them all, anyway."

"But you must make it take a long time," said he. "You must not get through until every sailor has gone. You and I must be the last ones to leave the caves."

"All right," said Edna, as she disappeared behind the wall.

When Mrs. Cliff arrived, she was met by Ralph, who explained the state of affairs, and although that lady was a good deal annoyed at the scattered condition in which she found her effects, she accepted the situation.

The mate and his men were much interested in the caves and the great stone face, and, as might have been expected, every one of them wanted to know where the narrow passage led. But as Ralph was on hand to inform them that it was the entrance to Mrs. Horn's apartment, they could do no more than look along its dusky length, and perhaps wonder why Mrs. Horn should have selected a cave which must be dark, when there were others which were well lighted.

Mrs. Cliff was soon ready, and explained to the inquiring mate her notion that these caves were used for religious purposes, and that the stone face was an ancient idol. In fact, the good lady believed this, but she did not state that she thought it likely that the sculptured countenance was a sort of a cashier idol, whose duty it was to protect treasure.

Edna, behind the stone barrier, had put her things in her bag, though she was not sure she had found all of them in the gloom, and she waited a long time, so it seemed to her, for Ralph's summons to come forth. But although the boy came to the wall several times, ostensibly to ask if she were not ready, yet he really told her to stay where she was, for the sailors were not yet gone. But at last he came with the welcome news that every one had departed, and they soon came out into the daylight.

"If anything is lost, charge it to me," said Ralph to Mrs. Cliff and his sister, as they hurried away. "I can tell you, if I had not thought of that way of keeping those sailors out of the passage, they would have swarmed over that lake bed, each one of them with a box of matches in his pocket; and if they had found that mound, I wouldn't give two cents for the gold they would have left in it. It wouldn't have been of any use to tell them it was the captain's property. They would have been there, and he wasn't, and I expect the mate would have been as bad as any of them."

"You are a good fellow, Ralph," said Mrs. Cliff, "and I hope you will grow up to be an administrator, or something of the kind. I don't suppose there was ever another boy in the world who had so much wealth in charge."

"You can't imagine," exclaimed Ralph, "how I hate to go away and leave it! There is no knowing when the captain will get here, nor who will drop in on the place before he does. I tell you, Edna, I believe it would be a good plan for me to stay here with those two black fellows, and wait for the captain. You two could go on the ship, and write to him. I am sure he would be glad to know I am keeping guard here, and I don't know any better fun than to be on hand when he unearths the treasure. There's no knowing what is at the bottom of that mound."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Edna. "You can put that idea out of your head instantly. I would not think of going away and leaving you here. If the captain had wanted you to stay, he would have said so."

"If the captain wanted!" sarcastically exclaimed Ralph. "I am tired of hearing what the captain wants. I hope the time will soon come when those yellow bars of gold will be divided up, and then I can do what I like without considering what he likes."

Mrs. Cliff could not help a sigh. "Dear me!" said she, "I do most earnestly hope that time may come. But we are leaving it all behind us, and whether we will ever hear of it again nobody knows."

One hour after this Edna and Mrs. Cliff were standing on the deck of the Mary Bartlett, watching the plateau of the great stone face as it slowly sank into the horizon.

"Edna," said the elder lady, "I have liked you ever since I have known you, and I expect to like you as long as I live, but I must say that, for an intelligent person, you have the most colorless character I have ever seen. Whatever comes to pass, you receive it as quietly and calmly as if it were just what you expected and what you happened to want, and yet, as long as I have known you, you have not had anything you wanted."

"You are mistaken there," said Edna. "I have got something I want."

"And what may that be?" asked the other.

"Captain Horn," said Edna.

Mrs. Cliff laughed a little scornfully. "If you are ever going to get any color out of your possession of him," she said, "he's got to very much change the style of his letter-writing. He has given you his name and some of his money, and may give you more, but I must say I am very much disappointed in Captain Horn."

Edna turned suddenly upon her companion. "Color!" she exclaimed, but she did not finish her remark, for Ralph came running aft.

"A queer thing has happened," said he: "a sailor is missing, and he is one of the men who went on shore for us. They don't know what's become of him, for the mate is sure he brought all his men back with him, and so am I, for I counted them to see that there were no stragglers left, and all the people who were in that boat came on board. They think he may have fallen overboard after the ship sailed, but nobody heard a splash."

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Cliff, "and he was one of those who came to save us!"

At this moment a wet and bedraggled sailor, almost exhausted with a swim of nearly a mile, staggered upon the beach, and fell down upon the sand near the spot from which the Mary Bartlett's boat had recently been pushed off. When, an hour before, he had slipped down the side of the ship, he had swum under water as long as his breath held out, and had dived again as soon as he had filled his lungs. Then he had floated on his back, paddling along with little but his face above the surface of the waves, until he had thought it safe to turn over and strike out for land. It had been a long pull, and the surf had treated him badly, but he was safe on shore at last, and in a few minutes he was sound asleep, stretched upon the sand.

Toward the end of the afternoon he awoke and rose to his feet. The warm sand, the desiccating air, and the sun had dried his clothes, and his nap had refreshed him. He was a sharp-faced, quick-eyed man, a Scotchman, and the first thing he did was to shade his face with his hands and look out over the sea. Then he turned, with a shrug of his shoulders and a grunt.

"She's gone," said he, "and I will be up to them caves." After a dozen steps he gave another shrug. "Humph!" said he, "those fools! Do they think everybody is blind? They left victuals, they left cooking-things. Blasted careful they were to leave matches and candles in a tin box. I watched them. If everybody else was blind, I kenned they expected somebody was comin' back. That captain, that blasted captain, I'll wager! Wi' sae much business on his hands, he couldna sail wi' us to show us where his wife was stranded!"

For fifty yards more he plodded along, looking from side to side at the rocks and sand.

"A dreary place and lonely," thought he, "and I can peer out things at me ease. I'll find out what's at the end o' that dark alley. They were so fearsome that we'd go into her room. Her room, indeed! When the other woman had a big lighted cave! They expected somebody to come back, did they? Well, blast their eyes, he's here!"



CHAPTER XX

AT THE RACKBIRDS' COVE

It was about six weeks after the Mary Bartlett had sailed away from that desolate spot on the coast of Peru from which she had taken the shipwrecked party, that the great stone face might have seen, if its wide-open eyes had been capable of vision, a small schooner beating in toward shore. This vessel, which was manned by a Chilian captain, a mate, and four men, and was a somewhat dirty and altogether disagreeable craft, carried Captain Horn, his four negroes, and three hundred and thirty bags of guano.

In good truth the captain was coming back to get the gold, or as much of it as he could take away with him. But his apparent purpose was to establish on this desert coast a depot for which he would have nothing to pay for rent and storage, and where he would be able to deposit, from time to time, such guano as he had been able to purchase at a bargain at two of the guano islands, until he should have enough to make it worth while for a large vessel, trading with the United States or Mexico, to touch here and take on board his accumulated stock of odorous merchandise.

It would be difficult—in fact, almost impossible—to land a cargo at the point near the caves where the captain and his party first ran their boats ashore, nor did the captain in the least desire to establish his depot at a point so dangerously near the golden object of his undertaking. But the little bay which had been the harbor of the Rackbirds exactly suited his purpose, and here it was that he intended to land his bags of guano. He had brought with him on the vessel suitable timber with which to build a small pier, and he carried also a lighter, or a big scow, in which the cargo would be conveyed from the anchored schooner to the pier.

It seemed quite evident that the captain intended to establish himself in a somewhat permanent manner as a trader in guano. He had a small tent and a good stock of provisions, and, from the way he went to work and set his men to work, it was easy to see that he had thoroughly planned and arranged all the details of his enterprise.

It was nearly dark when the schooner dropped her anchor, and early the next morning all available hands were set to work to build the pier, and, when it was finished, the landing of the cargo was immediately begun. Some of the sailors wandered about a little, when they had odd moments to spare, but they had seen such dreary coasts before, and would rather rest than ramble. But wherever they did happen to go, not one of them ever got away from the eye of Captain Horn.

The negroes evinced no desire to visit the cave, and Maka had been ordered by the captain to say nothing about it to the sailors. There was no difficulty in obeying this order, for these rough fellows, as much landsmen as mariners, had a great contempt for the black men, and had little to do with them. As Captain Horn informed Maka, he had heard from his friends, who had arrived in safety at Acapulco; therefore there was no need for wasting time in visiting their old habitation.

In that dry and rainless region a roof to cover the captain's stock in trade was not necessary, and the bags were placed upon a level spot on the sands, in long double rows, each bag on end, gently leaning against its opposite neighbor, and between the double rows there was room to walk.

The Chilian captain was greatly pleased with this arrangement. "I see well," said he, in bad Spanish, "that this business is not new to you. A ship's crew can land and carry away these bags without tumbling over each other. It is a grand thing to have a storehouse with a floor as wide as many acres."

A portion of the bags, however, were arranged in a different manner. They were placed in a circle two bags deep, inclosing a space about ten feet in diameter. This, Captain Horn explained, he intended as a sort of little fort, in which the man left in charge could defend himself and the property, in case marauders should land upon the coast.

"You don't intend," exclaimed the Chilian captain, "that you will leave a guard here! Nobody would have cause to come near the spot from either land or sea, and you might well leave your guano here for a year or more, and come back and find it."

"No," said Captain Horn, "I can't trust to that. A coasting-vessel might put in here for water. Some of them may know that there is a stream here, and with this convenient pier, and a cargo ready to their hands, my guano would be in danger. No, sir. I intend to send you off to-morrow, if the wind is favorable, for the second cargo for which we have contracted, and I shall stay here and guard my warehouse."

"What!" exclaimed the Chilian, "alone?"

"Why not?" said Captain Horn. "Our force is small, and we can only spare one man. In loading the schooner on this trip, I would be the least useful man on board, and, besides, do you think there is any one among you who would volunteer to stay here instead of me?"

The Chilian laughed and shook his head. "But what can one man do," said he, "to defend all this, if there should be need?"

"Oh, I don't intend to defend it," said the other. "The point is to have somebody here to claim it in case a coaster should touch here. I don't expect to be murdered for the sake of a lot of guano. But I shall keep my two rifles and other arms inside that little fort, and if I should see any signs of rascality I shall jump inside and talk over the guano-bags, and I am a good shot."

The Chilian shrugged his shoulders. "If I stayed here alone," said he, "I should be afraid of nothing but the devil, and I am sure he would come to me, with all his angels. But you are different from me."

"Yes," said Captain Horn, "I don't mind the devil. I have often camped out by myself, and I have not seen him yet."

When Maka heard that the captain intended staying alone, he was greatly disturbed. If the captain had not built the little fort with the guano-bags, he would have begged to be allowed to remain with him, but those defensive works had greatly alarmed him, for they made him believe that the captain feared that some of the Rackbirds might come back. He had had a great deal of talk with the other negroes about those bandits, and he was fully impressed with their capacity for atrocity. It grieved his soul to think that the captain would stay here alone, but the captain was a man who could defend himself against half a dozen Rackbirds, while he knew very well that he would not be a match for half a one. With tears in his eyes, he begged Captain Horn not to stay, for Rackbirds would not steal guano, even if any of them should return.

But his entreaties were of no avail. Captain Horn explained the matter to him, and tried to make him understand that it was as a claimant, more than as a defender of his property, that he remained, and that there was not the smallest reason to suspect any Rackbirds or other source of danger. The negro saw that the captain had made up his mind, and mournfully joined his fellows. In half an hour, however, he came back to the captain and offered to stay with him until the schooner should return. If Captain Horn had known the terrible mental struggle which had preceded this offer, he would have been more grateful to Maka than he had ever yet been to any human being, but he did not know it, and declined the proposition pleasantly but firmly.

"You are wanted on the schooner," said he, "for none of the rest can cook, and you are not wanted here, so you must go with the others; and when you come back with the second load of guano, it will not be long before the ship which I have engaged to take away the guano will touch here, and then we will all go north together."

Maka smiled, and tried to be satisfied. He and the other negroes had been greatly grieved that the captain had not seen fit to go north from Callao, and take them with him. Their one desire was to get away from this region, so full of horrors to them, as soon as possible. But they had come to the conclusion that, as the captain had lost his ship, he must be poor, and that it was necessary for him to make a little money before he returned to the land of his home.

Fortune was on the captain's side the next day, for the wind was favorable, and the captain of the schooner was very willing to start. If that crew, with nothing to do, had been compelled by adverse weather to remain in that little cove for a day or more, it might have been very difficult indeed for Captain Horn to prevent them from wandering into the surrounding country, and what might have happened had they chanced to wander into the cave made the captain shudder to conjecture.

He had carefully considered this danger, and on the voyage he had made several plans by which he could keep the men at work, in case they were obliged to remain in the cove after the cargo had been landed. Happily, however, none of these schemes was necessary, and the next day, with a western wind, and at the beginning of the ebb-tide, the schooner sailed away for another island where Captain Horn had purchased guano, leaving him alone upon the sandy beach, apparently as calm and cool as usual, but actually filled with turbulent delight at seeing them depart.



CHAPTER XXI

IN THE GATES

When the topmasts of the Chilian schooner had disappeared below the horizon line, with no reason to suppose that the schooner would put back again, Captain Horn started for the caves. Had he obeyed his instincts, he would have begun to stroll along the beach as soon as the vessel had weighed anchor. But even now, as he hurried on, he walked prudently, keeping close to the water, so that the surf might wash out his footsteps as fast as he made them. He climbed over the two ridges to the north of Rackbirds' Cove, and then made his way along the stretch of sand which extended to the spot where the party had landed when he first reached this coast. He stopped and looked about him, and then, in fancy, he saw Edna standing upon the beach, her face pale, her eyes large and supernaturally dark, and behind her Mrs. Cliff and the boy and the two negroes. Not until this moment had he felt that he was alone. But now there came a great desire to speak and be spoken to, and yet that very morning he had spoken and listened as much as had suited him.

As he walked up the rising ground toward the caves, that ground he had traversed so often when this place had been, to all intents and purposes, his home, where there had been voices and movement and life, the sense of desertion grew upon him—not only desertion of the place, but of himself. When he had opened his eyes, that morning, his overpowering desire had been that not an hour of daylight should pass before he should be left alone, and yet now his heart sank at the feeling that he was here and no one was with him.

When the captain had approached within a few yards of the great stone face, his brows were slowly knitted.

"This is carelessness," he said to himself. "I did not expect it of them. I told them to leave the utensils, but I did not suppose that they would leave them outside. No matter how much they were hurried in going away, they should have put these things into the caves. A passing Indian might have been afraid to go into that dark hole, but to leave those tin things there is the same as hanging out a sign to show that people lived inside."

Instantly the captain gathered up the tin pan and tin plates, and looked about him to see if there was anything else which should be put out of sight. He did find something else. It was a little, short, black, wooden pipe which was lying on a stone. He picked it up in surprise. Neither Maka nor Cheditafa smoked, and it could not have belonged to the boy.

"Perhaps," thought the captain, "one of the sailors from the Mary Bartlett may have left it. Yes, that must have been the case. But sailors do not often leave their pipes behind them, nor should the officer in charge have allowed them to lounge about and smoke. But it must have been one of those sailors who left it here. I am glad I am the one to find these things."

The captain now entered the opening to the caves. Passing along until he reached the room which he had once occupied, there he saw his rough pallet on the ground, drawn close to the door, however.

The captain knew that the rest of his party had gone away in a great hurry, but to his orderly mariner's mind it seemed strange that they should have left things in such disorder.

He could not stop to consider these trifles now, however, and going to the end of the passage, he climbed over the low wall and entered the cave of the lake. When he lighted the lantern he had brought with him, he saw it as he had left it, dry, or even drier than before, for the few pools which had remained after the main body of water had run off had disappeared, probably evaporated. He hurried on toward the mound in the distant recess of the cave. On the way, his foot struck something which rattled, and holding down his lantern to see what it was, he perceived an old tin cup.

"Confound it!" he exclaimed. "This is too careless! Did the boy intend to make a regular trail from the outside entrance to the mound? I suppose he brought that cup here to dip up water, and forgot it. I must take it with me when I go back."

He went on, throwing the light of the lantern on the ground before him, for he had now reached a part of the cave which was entirely dark. Suddenly something on the ground attracted his attention. It was bright—it shone as if it were a little pale flame of a candle. He sprang toward it, he picked it up. It was one of the bars of gold he had seen in the mound.

"Could I have dropped this?" he ejaculated. He slipped the little bar into his pocket, and then, his heart beginning to beat rapidly, he advanced, with his lantern close to the rocky floor. Presently he saw two other pieces of gold, and then, a little farther on, the end of a candle, so small that it could scarcely have been held by the fingers. He picked up this and stared at it. It was a commonplace candle-end, but the sight of it sent a chill through him from head to foot. It must have been dropped by some one who could hold it no longer.

He pressed on, his light still sweeping the floor. He found no more gold nor pieces of candle, but here and there he perceived the ends of burnt wooden matches. Going on, he found more matches, two or three with the heads broken off and unburnt. In a few moments the mound loomed up out of the darkness like a spectral dome, and, looking no more upon the ground, the captain ran toward it. By means of the stony projections he quickly mounted to the top, and there the sight he saw almost made him drop his lantern. The great lid of the mound had been moved and was now awry, leaving about one half of the opening exposed.

In one great gasp the captain's breath seemed to leave him, but he was a man of strong nerves, and quickly recovered himself; but even then he did not lift his lantern so that he could look into the interior of the mound. For a few moments he shut his eyes. He did not dare even to look. But then his courage came back, and holding his lantern over the opening, he gazed down into the mound, and it seemed to his rapid glance that there was as much gold in it as when he last saw it.

The discovery that the treasure was still there had almost as much effect upon the captain as if he had found the mound empty. He grew so faint that he felt he could not maintain his hold upon the top of the mound, and quickly descended, half sliding, to the bottom. There he sat down, his lantern by his side. When his strength came back to him,—and he could not have told any one how long it was before this happened,—the first thing he did was to feel for his box of matches, and finding them safe in his waistcoat pocket, he extinguished the lantern. He must not be discovered, if there should be any one to discover him.

Now the captain began to think as fiercely and rapidly as a man's mind could be made to work. Some one had been there. Some one had taken away gold from that mound—how much or how little, it did not matter. Some one besides himself had had access to the treasure!

His suspicions fell upon Ralph, chiefly because his most earnest desire at that moment was that Ralph might be the offender. If he could have believed that he would have been happy. It must have been that the boy was not willing to go away and leave all that gold, feeling that perhaps he and his sister might never possess any of it, and that just before leaving he had made a hurried visit to the mound. But the more the captain thought of this, the less probable it became. He was almost sure that Ralph could not have lifted that great mass of stone which formed the lid covering the opening of the mound, for it had required all his own strength to do it; and then, if anything of this sort had really happened, the letters he had received from Edna and the boy must have been most carefully written with the intention to deceive him.



The letter from Edna, which in tone and style was a close imitation of his own to her, had been a strictly business communication. It told everything which happened after the arrival of the Mary Bartlett, and gave him no reason to suppose that any one could have had a chance to pillage the mound. Ralph's letter had been even more definite. It was constructed like an official report, and when the captain had read it, he had thought that the boy had probably taken great pride in its preparation. It was as guardian of the treasure mound that Ralph wrote, and his remarks were almost entirely confined to this important trust.

He briefly reported to the captain that, since his departure, no one had been in the recess of the cave where the mound was situated, and he described in detail the plan by which he had established Edna behind the wall in the passage, so as to prevent any of the sailors from the ship from making explorations. He also stated that everything had been left in as high a condition of safety as it was possible to leave it, but that, if his sister had been willing, he would most certainly have remained behind, with the two negroes, until the captain's return.

Much as he wished to think otherwise, Captain Horn could not prevail upon himself to believe that Ralph could have written such a letter after a dishonorable and reckless visit to the mound.

It was possible that one or both of the negroes had discovered the mound, but it was difficult to believe that they would have dared to venture into that awful cavern, even if the vigilance of Edna, Mrs. Cliff, and the boy had given them an opportunity, and Edna had written that the two men had always slept outside the caves, and had had no call to enter them. Furthermore, if Cheditafa had found the treasure, why should he keep it a secret? He would most probably have considered it an original discovery, and would have spoken of it to the others. Why should he be willing that they should all go away and leave so much wealth behind them? The chief danger, in case Cheditafa had found the treasure, was that he would talk about it in Mexico or the United States. But, in spite of the hazards to which such disclosures might expose his fortunes, the captain would have preferred that the black men should have been pilferers than that other men should have been discoverers. But who else could have discovered it? Who could have been there? Who could have gone away?

There was but one reasonable supposition, and that was that one or more of the Rackbirds, who had been away from their camp at the time when their fellow-miscreants were swept away by the flood, had come back, and in searching for their comrades, or some traces of them, had made their way to the caves. It was quite possible, and further it was quite probable, that the man or men who had found that mound might still be here or in the neighborhood. As soon as this idea came into the mind of the captain, he prepared for action. This was a question which must be resolved if he could do it, and without loss of time. Lighting his lantern,—for in that black darkness it was impossible for him to find his way without it, although it might make him a mark for some concealed foe,—the captain quickly made his way out of the lake cavern, and, leaving his lantern near the little wall, he proceeded, with a loaded pistol in his hand, to make an examination of the caves which he and his party had occupied.

He had already looked into the first compartment, but stopping at the pallet which lay almost at the passage of the doorway, he stood and regarded it. Then he stepped over it, and looked around the little room. The pallet of blankets and rugs which Ralph had used was not there. Then the captain stepped into the next room, and, to his surprise, he found this as bare of everything as if it had never been used as a sleeping-apartment. He now hurried back to the first room, and examined the pallet, which, when he had first been looking at it, he had thought to be somewhat different from what it had been when he had used it. He now found that it was composed of all the rugs and blankets which had previously made up the beds of all the party. The captain ground his teeth.

"There can be no doubt of it," he said. "Some one has been here since they left, and has slept in these caves."

At this moment he remembered the innermost cave, the large compartment which was roofless, and which, in his excitement, he had forgotten. Perhaps the man who slept on the pallet was in there at this minute. How reckless he had been! To what danger he had exposed himself! With his pistol cocked, the captain advanced cautiously toward the innermost compartment. Putting his head in at the doorway, he glanced up, down, and around. He called out, "Who's here?" and then he entered, and looked around, and behind each of the massive pieces of rock with which the floor was strewn. No one answered, and he saw no one. But he saw something which made him stare.

On the ground, at one side of the entrance to this compartment, were five or six pieces of rock about a foot high, placed in a small circle so that their tops came near enough together to support a tin kettle which was resting upon them. Under the kettle, in the centre of the rocks, was a pile of burnt leaves and sticks.

"Here he has cooked his meals," said the captain—for the pallet made up of all the others had convinced him that it had been one man who had been here after his party had left. "He stayed long enough to cook his meals and sleep," thought the captain. "I'll look into this provision business." Passing through the other rooms, he went to a deep niche in the wall of the entrance passage where his party had kept their stores, and where Edna had written him they had left provisions enough for the immediate use of himself and the men who should return. Here he found tin cans tumbled about at the bottom of the niche, and every one of them absolutely empty. On a little ledge stood a tin box in which they had kept the matches and candles. The box was open, but there was nothing in it. On the floor near by was a tin biscuit-box, crushed nearly flat, as if some one had stamped upon it.

"He has eaten everything that was left," said the captain, "and he has been starved out. Very likely, too, he got out of water, for, of course, those pools would dry up, and it is not likely he found the stream outside."

Now the captain let down the hammer of his revolver, and put it in his belt. He felt sure that the man was not here. Being out of provisions, he had to go away, but where he had gone to was useless to conjecture. Of another thing the captain was now convinced: the intruder had not been a Rackbird, for, while waiting for the disappearance of the Chilian schooner, he had gone over to the concealed storehouse of the bandits, and had found it just as he had left it on his last visit, with a considerable quantity of stores remaining in it. If the man had known of the Rackbirds' camp and this storehouse, it would not have been necessary for him to consume every crumb and vestige of food which had been left in these caves.

"No," said the captain, "it could not have been a Rackbird, but who he was, and where he has gone, is beyond my comprehension."



CHAPTER XXII

A PACK-MULE

When Captain Horn felt quite sure that it was not Ralph, that it was not Cheditafa, that it was not a Rackbird, who had visited the treasure mound, he stood and reflected. What had happened was a great misfortune,—possibly it was a great danger,—but it was no use standing there thinking about it. His reason could not help him; it had done for him all that it could, and it would be foolish to waste time in looking for the man, for it was plain enough that he had gone away. Of course, he had taken some gold with him, but that did not matter much. The danger was that he or others might come back for more, but this could not be prevented, and it was needless to consider it. The captain had come to this deserted shore for a purpose, and it was his duty, without loss of time, to go to work and carry out that purpose. If in any way he should be interfered with, he would meet that interference as well as he could, but until it came he would go on with his work. Having come to this conclusion, he got over the wall, lighted his lantern, and proceeded to the mound.

On his way he passed the tin cup, which he had forgotten to pick up, but now he merely kicked it out of the way. "If the man comes back," he thought, "he knows the way. There is no need of concealing anything."

When the captain had reached the top of the mound, he moved the stone lid so that the aperture was entirely uncovered. Then he looked down upon the mass of dull yellow bars. He could not perceive any apparent diminution of their numbers.

"He must have filled his pockets," the captain thought, "and so full that some of them dropped out. Well, let him go, and if he ventures back here, we shall have it out between us. In the meantime, I will do what I can."

The captain now took from the pocket of his jacket two small canvas bags, which he had had made for this purpose, and proceeded to fill one of them with the gold bars, lifting the bag, every now and then, to try its weight. When he thought it heavy enough, he tied up the end very firmly, and then packed the other, as nearly as possible, to the same extent. Then he got down, and laying one of the bags over each shoulder, he walked about to see if he could easily bear their weight.

"That is about right," he said to himself. "I will count them when I take them out." Then, putting them down, he went up for his lantern. He was about to close the lid of the mound, but he reflected that this would be of no use. It had been open nobody knew how long, and might as well remain so. He was coming back as often as he could, and it would be a tax upon his strength to lift that heavy lid every time. So he left the treasures of the Incas open to the air under the black roof of the cavern, and, with his lantern in his hand and a bag of gold on each shoulder, he left the cave of the lake, and then, concealing his lantern, he walked down to the sea.

Before he reached it he had thoroughly scanned the ocean, but not a sign of a ship could be seen. Walking along the sands, and keeping, as before, close to the curving line of water thrown up by the surf, he said to himself:

"I must have my eyes and ears open, but I am not going to be nervous or fidgety. I came here to be a pack-mule, and I intend to be a pack-mule until something stops me, and if that something is one man, he can look out for himself."

The bags were heavy and their contents were rough and galling to the shoulders, but the captain was strong and his muscles were tough, and as he walked he planned a pair of cushions which he would wear under his golden epaulets in his future marches.

When the captain had covered the two miles of beach and climbed the two rocky ridges, and reached his tent, it was long after noon, and throwing his two bags on the ground and covering them with a blanket, he proceeded to prepare his dinner. He laid out a complete working-plan, and one of the rules he had made was that, if possible, nothing should interfere with his regular meals and hours of sleep. The work he had set for himself was arduous in the extreme, and calculated to tax his energies to the utmost, and he must take very good care of his health and strength. In thinking over the matter, he had feared that the greed of gold might possess him, and that, in his anxiety to carry away as much as he could, he might break down, and everything be lost.

Even now he found himself calculating how much gold he had brought away in the two bags, and what would be its value in coined money, multiplying and estimating with his food untouched and his eyes fixed on the distant sea. Suddenly he clenched his fist and struck it on his knee.

"I must stop this," he said. "I shall be upset if I don't. I will not count the bars in those bags. I will not make any more estimates. A rough guess now and then I cannot help, but what I have to do is to bring away all the gold I can. It will be time enough to find out what it is worth when it is safe somewhere in North America."

When the captain had finished his meal, he went to his tent, and opened one of the trunks which he had brought with him, and which were supposed to contain the clothes and personal effects he had bought in Lima. This trunk, however, was entirely filled with rolls of cheap cotton cloth, coarse and strong, but not heavy. With a pair of shears he proceeded to cut from one of these some pieces, rather more than a foot square. Then, taking from his canvas bags as many of the gold bars as he thought would weigh twelve or fifteen pounds, trying not to count them as he did so, he made a little package of them, tying the corners of the cloth together with a strong cord. When five of these bundles had been prepared, his gold was exhausted, and then he carried the small bundles out to the guano-bags.

He had bought his guano in bulk, and it had been put into bags under his own supervision, for it was only in bags that the ship which was to take it north would receive it. The bags were new and good, and Captain Horn believed that each of them could be made twelve or fifteen pounds heavier without attracting the attention of those who might have to lift them, for they were very heavy as it was.

He now opened a bag of guano, and thrusting a stick down into its contents, he twisted it about until he had made a cavity which enabled him, with a little trouble, to thrust one of the packages of gold down into the centre of the bag. Then he pressed the guano down firmly, and sewed up the bag again, being provided with needles and an abundance of necessary cord. When this was done, the bag containing the gold did not differ in appearance from the others, and the captain again assured himself that the additional weight would not be noticed by a common stevedore, especially if all the bags were about the same weight. At this thought he stopped work and looked out toward the sea, his mind involuntarily leaping out toward calculations based upon the happy chance of his being able to load all the bags; but he checked himself. "Stop that," he said. "Go to work!"

Five guano-bags were packed, each with its bundle of gold, but the task was a disagreeable, almost a distressing, one, for the strong ammoniacal odor sometimes almost overpowered the captain, who had a great dislike for such smells. But he never drew back, except now and then to turn his head and take a breath of purer air. He was trying to make his fortune, and when men are doing that, their likes and dislikes must stand aside.

When this task was finished, the captain took up his two empty canvas bags and went back to the caves, returning late in the afternoon, loaded rather more heavily than before. From the experiences of the morning, he believed that, with some folded pieces of cloth on each shoulder, he could carry without discomfort a greater weight than his first ones. The gold he now brought was made up into six bundles, and then the captain rested from his labors. He felt that he could do a much better day's work than this, but this day had been very much broken up, and he was still somewhat awkward.

Day after day Captain Horn labored at his new occupation, and a toilsome occupation it was, which no one who did not possess great powers of endurance, and great hopes from the results of his work, could have undergone. In about a month the schooner was to be expected with another load of guano, and the captain felt that he must, if possible, finish his task before she came back. In a few days he found that, by practice and improvements in his system of work, he was able to make four trips a day between the cove of the Rackbirds and the caves. He rose very early in the morning, and made two trips before dinner. Sometimes he thought he might do more, but he restrained himself. It would not do for him to get back too tired to sleep.

During this time in which his body was so actively employed, his mind was almost as active, and went out on all sorts of excursions, some of them beneficial and some of them otherwise. Sometimes the thought came to him, as he plodded along bearing his heavy bags, that he was no more than a common thief, carrying away treasures which did not belong to him. Then, of course, he began to reason away these uncomfortable reflections. If this treasure did not belong to him, to whom did it belong? Certainly not to the descendants of those Spaniards from whom the original owners had striven so hard to conceal it. If the spirits of the Incas could speak, they would certainly declare in his favor over that of the children of the men who, in blood and torture, had obliterated them and their institutions. Sometimes such arguments entirely satisfied the captain; but if they did not entirely satisfy him, he put the whole matter aside, to be decided upon after he should safely reach the United States with such treasure as he might be able to take with him.

"Then," he thought, "we can do what we think is right. I shall listen to all that may be said by our party, and shall act justly. But what I do not take away with me has no chance whatever of ever falling into the proper hands."

But no matter how he might terminate such reflections, the captain always blamed himself for allowing his mind to occupy itself with them. He had fully decided that this treasure belonged to him, and there was no real reason for his thinking of such things, except that he had no one to talk to, and in such cases a man's thoughts are apt to run wild.

Often and often he wondered what the others were thinking about this affair, and whether or not they would all be able to keep the secret until he returned. He was somewhat afraid of Mrs. Cliff. He believed her to be an honorable woman who would not break her word, but still he did not know all her ideas in regard to her duty. She might think there was some one to whom she ought to confide what had happened, and what was expected to happen, and if she should do this, there was no reason why he should not, some day, descry a ship in the offing with treasure-hunters on board.

Ralph gave him no concern at all, except that he was young, and the captain could foretell the weather much better than the probable actions of a youth.

But these passing anxieties never amounted to suspicions. It was far better to believe in Mrs. Cliff and Ralph, and he would do it; and every time he thought of the two, he determined to believe in them. As to Edna, there was no question about believing in her. He did so without consideration for or against belief.

The captain did not like his solitary life. How happy he would have been if they could all have remained here; if the guano could have been brought without the crew of the schooner knowing that there were people in the caves; if the negroes could have carried the bags of gold; if every night, after having superintended their labors, he could have gone back to the caves, which, with the comforts he could have brought from Lima, would have made a very habitable home; if—But these were reflections which were always doomed to banishment as soon as the captain became aware of the enthralment of their charm, and sturdily onward, endeavoring to fix his mind upon some better sailor's knot with which to tie up his bundles, or to plant his feet where his tracks would soon be obliterated by the incoming waves, the strong man trudged, bearing bravely the burden of his golden hopes.



CHAPTER XXIII

HIS PRESENT SHARE

With four trips a day from the caves to the cove, taking time for rests, for regular meals, and for sleep, and not working on Sundays,—for he kept a diary and an account of days,—the captain succeeded in a little over three weeks in loading his bags of guano, each with a package of golden bars, some of which must have weighed as much as fifteen pounds.

When this work had been accomplished, he began to consider the return of the schooner. But he had no reason to expect her yet, and he determined to continue his work. Each day he brought eight canvas bags of gold from the caves, and making them up into small bundles, he buried them in the sand under his tent. When a full month had elapsed since the departure of the schooner, he began to be very prudent, keeping a careful lookout seaward, as he walked the beach, and never entering the caves without mounting a high point of the rocks and thoroughly scanning the ocean. If, when bearing his burden of gold, he should have seen a sail, he would have instantly stopped and buried his bags in the sand, wherever he might be.

Day after day passed, and larger and larger grew the treasure stored in the sands under the tent, but no sail appeared. Sometimes the captain could not prevent evil fancies coming to him. What if the ship should never come back? What if no vessel should touch here for a year or two? And why should a vessel ever touch? When the provisions he had brought and those left in the Rackbirds' storehouse had been exhausted, what could he do but lie down here and perish?—another victim added to the millions who had already perished from the thirst of gold. He thought of his little party in San Francisco. They surely would send in search of him, if he did not appear in a reasonable time. But he felt this hope was a vain one. In a letter to Edna, written from Lima, he had told her she must not expect to hear from him for a long time, for, while he was doing the work he contemplated, it would be impossible for him to communicate with her.

She would have no reason to suppose that he would start on such an expedition without making due arrangements for safety and support, and so would hesitate long before she would commission a vessel to touch at this point in search of him. If he should starve here, he would die months before any reasonable person, who knew as much of his affairs as did Edna, would think the time had arrived to send a relief expedition for him.

But he did not starve. Ten days overdue, at last the Chilian schooner appeared and anchored in the cove. She had now no white men on board but the captain and his mate, for the negroes had improved so much in seamanship that the economical captain had dispensed with his Chilian crew.

Captain Horn was delighted to be able to speak again to a fellow-being, and it pleased him far better to see Maka than any of the others.

"You no eat 'nough, cap'n," said the black man, as he anxiously scanned the countenance of Captain Horn, which, although the captain was in better physical condition than perhaps he had ever been in his life, was thinner than when Maka had seen it last. "When I cook for you, you not so long face," the negro continued. "Didn't us leave you 'nough to eat? Did you eat 'em raw?"

The captain laughed. "I have had plenty to eat," he said, "and I never felt better. If I had not taken exercise, you would have found me as fat as a porpoise."

The interview with the Chilian captain was not so cordial, for Captain Horn found that the Chilian had not brought him a full cargo of bags of guano, and, by searching questions, he discovered that this was due entirely to unnecessary delay in beginning to load the vessel. The Chilian declared he would have taken on board all the guano which Captain Horn had purchased at the smaller island, had he not begun to fear that Captain Horn would suffer if he did not soon return to him, and when he thought it was not safe to wait any longer, he had sailed with a partial cargo.

Captain Horn was very angry, for every bag of guano properly packed with gold bars meant, at a rough estimate, between two and three thousand dollars if it safely reached a gold-market, and now he found himself with at least one hundred bags less than he had expected to pack. There was no time to repair this loss, for the English vessel, the Finland, from Callao to Acapulco, which the captain had engaged to stop at this point on her next voyage northward, might be expected in two or three weeks, certainly sooner than the Chilian could get back to the guano island and return. In fact, there was barely time for that vessel to reach Callao before the departure of the Finland, on board of which the captain wished his negroes to be placed, that they might go home with him.

"If I had any men to work my vessel," said the Chilian, who had grown surly in consequence of the fault-finding, "I'd leave your negroes here, and cut loose from the whole business. I've had enough of it."

"That serves you right for discharging your own men in order that you might work your vessel with mine," said Captain Horn. He had intended to insist that the negroes should ship again with the Chilian, but he knew that it would be more difficult to find reasons for this than on the previous voyage, and he was really more than glad to find that the matter had thus arranged itself.

Talking with Captain Horn, the Chilian mate, who had had no responsibility in this affair, and who was, consequently, not out of humor, proposed that he should go back with them, and take the English vessel at Callao.

"I can't risk it," said Captain Horn. "If your schooner should meet with head winds or any other bad luck, and the Finland should leave before I got there, there would be a pretty kettle of fish, and if she touched here and found no one in charge, I don't believe she would take away a bag."

"Do you think they will be sure to touch here?" asked the mate. "Have they got the latitude and longitude? It didn't seem so bad before to leave you behind, because we were coming back, but now it strikes me it is rather a risky piece of business for you."

"No," said Captain Horn. "I am acquainted with the skipper of the Finland, and I left a letter for him telling him exactly how the matter stood, and he knows that I trust him to pick me up. I do not suppose he will expect to find me here all alone, but if he gives me the slip, I would be just as likely to starve to death if I had some men with me as if I were alone. The Finland will stop—I am sure of that."

With every reason for the schooner's reaching Callao as soon as possible, and very little reason, considering the uncordial relations of the two captains, for remaining in the cove, the Chilian set sail the morning after he had discharged his unsavory cargo. Maka had begged harder than before to be allowed to remain with Captain Horn, but the latter had made him understand, as well as he could, the absolute necessity of the schooner reaching Callao in good time, and the absolute impossibility of any vessel doing anything in good time without a cook. Therefore, after a personal inspection of the stores left behind, both in the tent and in the Rackbirds' storehouse, which latter place he visited with great secrecy, Maka, with a sad heart, was obliged to leave the only real friend he had on earth.