The Project Gutenberg eBook of My Buried Treasure, by Richard Harding Davis

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MY BURIED TREASURE

by Richard Harding Davis

This is wooden blocks for 10 year olds under 20 dollarsa true story of a search for buried treasure. The only part that is nottrue is the name of the man with whom I searched for the treasure. Unless Ikeep his name out of it he will not let me write the story, and, as it was hisexpedition and as my share of the treasure is only what I can make by writingthe story, I must write as he dictates. I think the story should be told,because our experience was unique, and might be of benefit to others. And,besides, I need the money.

There is, however, no agreement preventing me from describing him as I think heis, or reporting, as accurately as I can, what he said and did as he said anddid it.

For purposes of identification I shall call him Edgar Powell. The last name hasno significance; but the first name is not chosen at random. The leader of ourexpedition, the head and brains of it, was and is the sort of man one wouldaddress as Edgar. No one would think of calling him “Ed,” or “Eddie,” any morethan he would consider slapping him on the back.

We were together at college; but, as six hundred other boys were there at thesame time, that gives no clew to his identity. Since those days, until he cameto see me about the treasure, we had not met. All I knew of him was that he hadsucceeded his father in manufacturing unshrinkable flannels. Of course, thereader understands that is not the article of commerce he manufactures; but itis near enough, and it suggests the line of business to which he gives hislife’s blood. It is not similar to my own line of work, and in consequence,when he wrote me, on the unshrinkable flannels official writing-paper, that hewished to see me in reference to a matter of business of “mutual benefit,” Iwas considerably puzzled.

A few days later, at nine in the morning, an hour of his own choosing, he cameto my rooms in New York City.

Except that he had grown a beard, he was as I remembered him, thin and tall,but with no chest, and stooping shoulders. He wore eye-glasses, and as of oldthrough these he regarded you disapprovingly and warily as though he suspectedyou might try to borrow money, or even joke with him. As with Edgar I had neverfelt any temptation to do either, this was irritating.

But from force of former habit we greeted each other by our first names, and hesuspiciously accepted a cigar. Then, after fixing me both with his eyes andwith his eye-glasses and swearing me to secrecy, he began abruptly.

“Our mills,” he said, “are in New Bedford; and I own several small cottagesthere and in Fairhaven. I rent them out at a moderate rate. The other day oneof my tenants, a Portuguese sailor, was taken suddenly ill and sent for me. Hehad made many voyages in and out of Bedford to the South Seas, whaling, and hetold me on his last voyage he had touched at his former home at Teneriffe.There his grandfather had given him a document that had been left him byhisfather. His grandfather said it contained an important secret, butone that was of value only in America, and that when he returned to thatcontinent he must be very careful to whom he showed it. He told me it waswritten in a kind of English he could not understand, and that he had beenafraid to let any one see it. He wanted me to accept the document in payment ofthe rent he owed me, with the understanding that I was not to look at it, andthat if he got well I was to give it back. If he pulled through, he was to payme in some other way; but if he died I was to keep the document. About a monthago he died, and I examined the paper. It purports to tell where there isburied a pirate’s treasure. And,” added Edgar, gazing at me severely and asthough he challenged me to contradict him, “I intend to dig for it!”

Had he told me he contemplated crossing the Rocky Mountains in a Baby Wright,or leading a cotillon, I could not have been more astonished. I am afraid Ilaughed aloud.

“You!” I exclaimed. “Search for buried treasure?”

My tone visibly annoyed him. Even the eye-glasses radiated disapproval.

“I see nothing amusing in the idea,” Edgar protested coldly. “It is a plainbusiness proposition. I find the outlay will be small, and if I am successfulthe returns should be large; at a rough estimate about one million dollars.”

Even to-day, no true American, at the thought of one million dollars, canremain covered. His letter to me had said, “for our mutual benefit.” I becamerespectful and polite, I might even say abject. After all, the ties that bindus in those dear old college days are not lightly to be disregarded.

“If I can be of any service to you, Edgar, old man,” I assured him heartily,“if I can help you find it, you know I shall be only too happy.” With regret Iobserved that my generous offer did not seem to deeply move him.

“I came to you in this matter,” he continued stiffly, “because you seemed to bethe sort of person who would be interested in a search for buried treasure.”

“I am,” I exclaimed. “Always have been.”

“Have you,” he demanded searchingly, “any practical experience?”

I tried to appear at ease; but I knew then just how the man who applies to lookafter your furnace feels, when you ask him if he can also run a sixtyhorse-power dynamo.

“I have never actually foundany buried treasure,” I admitted; “but Iknow where lots of it is, and I know just how to go after it.” I endeavored todazzle him with expert knowledge.

“Of course,” I went on airily, “I am familiar with all the expeditions thathave tried for the one on Cocos Island, and I know all about the Peruviantreasure on Trinidad, and the lost treasures of Jalisco near Guadalajara, andthe sunken galleon on the Grand Cayman, and when I was on the Isle of Pines Ihad several very tempting offers to search there. And the late Captain Boyntoninvited me——”

“But,” interrupted Edgar in a tone that would tolerate no trifling, “youyourself have never financed or organized an expedition with the object in viewof——”

“Oh, that part’s easy!” I assured him. “The fitting-out part you can safelyleave to me.” I assumed a confidence that I hoped he might believe was real.“There’s always a tramp steamer in the Erie Basin,” I said, “that one cancharter for any kind of adventure, and I have the addresses of enough soldiersof fortune, filibusters, and professional revolutionists to man a battle-ship,all fine fellows in a tight corner. And I’ll promise you they’ll follow us tohell, and back——”

“That!” exclaimed Edgar, “is exactly what I feared!”

“I beg your pardon!” I exclaimed.

“That’s exactly what I don’twant,” said Edgar sternly. “I don’tintendto get into any tight corners. I don’t wantto go tohell!”

I saw that in my enthusiasm I had perhaps alarmed him. I continued moretemperately.

“Any expedition after treasure,” I pointed out, “is never without risk. Youmust have discipline, and you must have picked men. Suppose there’s a mutiny?Suppose they try to rob us of the treasure on our way home? We must have men wecan rely on, and men who know how to pump a Winchester. I can get you both. AndBannerman will furnish me with anything from a pair of leggins to a quickfiring gun, and on Clark Street they’ll quote me a special rate on ship stores,hydraulic pumps, divers’ helmets——”

Edgar’s eye-glasses became frosted with cold, condemnatory scorn. He shook hishead disgustedly.

“I was afraid of this!” he murmured.

I endeavored to reassure him.

“A little danger,” I laughed, “only adds to the fun.”

“I want you to understand,” exclaimed Edgar indignantly, “there isn’t going tobe any danger. There isn’t going to be any fun. This is a plain businessproposition. I asked you those questions just to test you. And you approachedthe matter exactly as I feared you would. I was prepared for it. In fact,” heexplained shamefacedly, “I’ve read several of your little stories, and I findthey run to adventure and blood and thunder; they are not of the analyticalschool of fiction. Judging from them,” he added accusingly, “you have atendency to the romantic.” He spoke reluctantly as though saying I had atendency to epileptic fits or the morphine habit.

“I am afraid,” I was forced to admit, “that to me pirates and buried treasurealways suggest adventure. And your criticism of my writings is well observed.Others have discovered the same fatal weakness. We cannot all,” I pointed out,“manufacture unshrinkable flannels.”

At this compliment to his more fortunate condition, Edgar seemed to soften.

“I grant you,” he said, “that the subject has almost invariably been approachedfrom the point of view you take. And what,” he demanded triumphantly, “has beenthe result? Failure, or at least, before success was attained, a mostunnecessary and regrettable loss of blood and life. Now, on my expedition, I donot intend that any blood shall be shed, or that anybody shall lose his life. Ihave not entered into this matter hastily. I have taken out information, andmean to benefit by other people’s mistakes. When I decided to go on with this,”he explained, “I read all the books that bear on searches for buried treasure,and I found that in each case the same mistakes were made, and that then, inorder to remedy the mistakes, it was invariably necessary to kill somebody.Now, by not making those mistakes, it will not be necessary for me to kill anyone, and nobody is going to have a chance to kill me.

“You propose that we fit out a schooner and sign on a crew. What will happen? Aman with a sabre cut across his forehead, or with a black patch over one eye,will inevitably be one of that crew. And, as soon as we sail, he will at oncebegin to plot against us. A cabin boy who the conspirators think is asleep inhis bunk will overhear their plot and will run to the quarter-deck to givewarning; but a pistol shot rings out, and the cabin boy falls at the foot ofthe companion ladder. The cabin boy is always the first one to go. After thatthe mutineers kill the first mate, and lock us in our cabin, and take over theship. They will then broach a cask of rum, and all through the night we willlisten to their drunken howlings, and from the cabin airport watch the body ofthe first mate rolling in the lee scuppers.”

“But you forget,” I protested eagerly, “there is always onefaithfulmember of the crew, who——”

Edgar interrupted me impatiently.

“I have not overlooked him,” he said. “He is a Jamaica negro of giganticproportions, or the ship’s cook; but he always gets his too, and he gets itgood. They throw himto the sharks! Then we all camp out on a desertisland inhabited only by goats, and we build a stockade, and the mutineers cometo treat with us under a white flag, and we, trusting entirely to their honor,are fools enough to go out and talk with them. At which they shoot us up, andwithdraw laughing scornfully.” Edgar fixed his eye-glasses upon me accusingly.

“Am I right, or am I wrong?” he demanded. I was unable to answer.

“The only man,” continued Edgar warmly, “who ever showed the slightestintelligence in the matter was the fellow in the ‘Gold Bug’. Hekept hismouth shut. He never let any one know that he was after buried treasure, untilhe found it. That’s me! Now I know exactlywhere this treasure is,and——”

I suppose, involuntarily, I must have given a start of interest; for Edgarpaused and shook his head, slyly and cunningly. “And if you think I have themap on my person now,” he declared in triumph, “you’ll have to guess again!”

“Really,” I protested, “I had no intention——”

“Not you, perhaps,” said Edgar grudgingly; “but your Japanese valet concealshimself behind those curtains, follows me home, and at night——”

“I haven’t got a valet,” I objected.

Edgar merely smiled with the most aggravating self-sufficiency. “It makes nodifference,” he declared. “No onewill ever find that map, or see thatmap, or know where that treasure is, until Ipoint to the spot.”

“Your caution is admirable,” I said; “but what,” I jeered, “makes you think youcan point to the spot, because your map says something like, ‘Through theSunken Valley to Witch’s Caldron, four points N. by N. E. to Gallows Hill wherethe shadow falls at sunrise, fifty fathoms west, fifty paces north as the crowflies, to the Seven Wells’? How the deuce,” I demanded, “is any one going topoint to thatspot?”

“It isn’t that kind of map,” shouted Edgar triumphantly. “If it had been, Iwouldn’t have gone on with it. It’s a map anybody can read except a half-castePortuguese sailor. It’s as plain as a laundry bill. It says,” he pausedapprehensively, and then continued with caution, “it says at such and such aplace there is a something. So many somethings from that something are threewhat-you-may-call-’ems, and in the centre of these three what-you-may-call-’emsis buried the treasure. It’s as plain as that!”

“Even with the few details you have let escape you,” I said, “I could findthatspot in my sleep.”

“I don’t think you could,” said Edgar uncomfortably; but I could see that hehad mentally warned himself to be less communicative. “And,” he went on, “I amwilling to lead you to it, if you subscribe to certain conditions.”

Edgar’s insulting caution had ruffled my spirit.

“Why do you think you can trust ME?” I asked haughtily. Andthen, remembering my share of the million dollars, I added in haste, “I acceptthe conditions.”

“Of course, as you say, one has got to take somerisk,” Edgar continued;“but I feel sure,” he said, regarding me doubtfully, “you would not stoop toopen robbery.” I thanked him.

“Well, until one is tempted,” said Edgar, “one never knows whathe mightdo. And I’ve simply gotto have one other man, and I picked on youbecause I thought you could write about it.”

“I see,” I said, “I am to act as the historian of the expedition.”

“That will be arranged later,” said Edgar. “What I chiefly want you for is todig. Canyou dig?” he asked eagerly. I told him I could; but that Iwould rather do almost anything else.

“I musthave one other man,” repeated Edgar, “a man who is strong enoughto dig, and strong enough to resist the temptation to murder me.” The retortwas so easy that I let it pass. Besides, on Edgar, it would have been wasted.

“I thinkyou will do,” he said with reluctance. “And now theconditions!”

I smiled agreeably.

“You are already sworn to secrecy,” said Edgar. “And you now agree in everydetail to obey me implicitly, and to accompany me to a certain place, where youwill dig. If I find the treasure, you agree, to help me guard it, and convey itto wherever I decide it is safe to leave it. Your responsibility is then at anend. One year after the treasure is discovered, you will be free to write theaccount of the expedition. For what you write, some magazine may pay you. Whatit pays you will be your share of the treasure.”

Of my part of the million dollars, which I had hastily calculated could not beless than one-fifth, I had already spent over one hundred thousand dollars andwas living far beyond my means. I had bought a farm with a waterfront on theSound, a motor-boat, and, as I was not sure which make I preferred, threeautomobiles. I had at my own, expense produced a play of mine that no managerhad appreciated, and its name in electric lights was already blinding Broadway.I had purchased a Hollander express rifle, a realamber cigar holder, aprivate secretary who could play both rag-time and tennis, and a fur coat. SoEdgar’s generous offer left me naked. When I had again accustomed myself to thenarrow confines of my flat, and the jolt of the surface cars, I asked humbly:

“Is that allI get?”

“Why should you expect any more?” demanded Edgar. “It isn’t yourtreasure. You wouldn’t expect me to make you a present of an interest in mymills; why should you get a share of my treasure?” He gazed at mereproachfully. “I thought you’d be pleased,” he said. “It must be hard to thinkof things to write about, and I’m giving you a subject for nothing. I thought,”he remonstrated, “you’d jump at the chance. It isn’t every day a man can digfor buried treasure.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “Perhaps I appreciate that quite as well as you do.But my time has a certain small value, and I can’t leave my work just forexcitement. We may be weeks, months—— How long do you think we——”

Behind his eye-glasses Edgar winked reprovingly.

“That is a leading question,” he said. “I will pay all your legitimateexpenses—transportation, food, lodging. It won’t cost you a cent. And you writethe story—with my name left out,” he added hastily; “it would hurt my standingin the trade,” he explained—“and get paid for it.”

I saw a sea voyage at Edgar’s expense. I saw palm leaves, coral reefs. I feltmy muscles aching and the sweat run from my neck and shoulders as I drove mypick into the chest of gold.

“I’ll go with you!” I said. We shook hands on it. “When do we start?” I asked.

“Now!” said Edgar. I thought he wished to test me; he had touched upon one ofmy pet vanities.

“You can’t do that with me!” I said. “My bags are packed and ready for anyplace in the wide world, except the cold places. I can start this minute. Whereis it, the Gold Coast, the Ivory Coast, the Spanish Main——”

Edgar frowned inscrutably. “Have you an empty suit-case?” he asked.

“Why EMPTY?” I demanded.

“To carry the treasure,” said Edgar. “I left mine in the hall. We will needtwo.”

“And your trunks?” I said.

“There aren’t going to be any trunks,” said Edgar. From his pocket he had takena folder of the New Jersey Central Railroad. “If we hurry,” he exclaimed, “wecan catch the ten-thirty express, and return to New York in time for dinner.”

“And what about the treasure?” I roared.

“We’ll’ bring it with us,” said Edgar.

I asked for information. I demanded confidences. Edgar refused both. I insistedthat I might be allowed at least to carry my automatic pistol. “Suppose someone tries to take the treasure from us?” I pointed out.

“No one,” said Edgar severely, “would be such an ass as to imagine we arecarrying buried treasure in a suit-case. He will think it contains pajamas.”

“For local color, then,” I begged, “I want to say in my story that I wentheavily armed.”

“Say it, then,” snapped Edgar. “But you can’t doit! Not with me, youcan’t! How do I know you mightn’t——” He shook his head warily.

It was a day in early October, the haze of Indian summer was in the air, and aswe crossed the North River by the Twenty-third Street Ferry the sun flashedupon the white clouds overhead and the tumbling waters below. On each side ofus great vessels with the Blue Peter at the fore lay at the wharfs ready tocast off, or were already nosing their way down the channel toward strange andbeautiful ports. Lamport and Holt were rolling down to Rio; the Royal Mail’sMagdalena, no longer “white and gold,” was off to Kingston, where onceseven pirates swung in chains; the Clydewas on her way to Hayti wherethe buccaneers came from; the Morro Castlewas bound for Havana, whichMorgan, king of all the pirates, had once made his own; and the Red Dwas steaming to Porto Cabello where Sir Francis Drake, as big a buccaneer asany of them, lies entombed in her harbor. And Iwas setting forth on aburied-treasure expedition on a snub-nosed, flat-bellied, fresh-waterferry-boat, bound for Jersey City! No one will ever know my sense ofhumiliation. And, when the Italian boy insulted my immaculate tan shoes bypointing at them and saying, “Shine?” I could have slain him. Fancy digging forburied treasure in freshly varnished boots! But Edgar did not mind. To himthere was nothing lacking; it was just as it should be. He was deeply engrossedin calculating how many offices were for rent in the Singer Building!

When we reached the other side, he refused to answer any of my eager questions.He would not let me know even for what place on the line he had purchased ourtickets, and, as a hint that I should not disturb him, he stuffed into my handsthe latest magazines. “At least tell me this,” I demanded. “Have you ever beento this place before to-day?”

“Once,” said Edgar shortly, “last week. That’s when I found out I would needsome one with me who could dig.”

“How do you know it’s the rightplace?” I whispered.

The summer season was over, and of the chair car we were the only occupants;but, before he answered, Edgar looked cautiously round him and out of thewindow. We had just passed Red Bank.

“Because the map told me,” he answered. “Suppose,” he continued fretfully, “youhad a map of New York City with the streets marked on it plainly? Suppose themap said that if you walked to where Broadway and Fifth Avenue meet, you wouldfind the Flatiron Building. Do you think you could find it?”

“Was it as easy as that?” I gasped.

“It was as easy as that!” said Edgar.

I sank back into my chair and let the magazines slide to the floor. Whatfiction story was there in any one of them so enthralling as the actualpossibilities that lay before me? In two hours I might be bending over a pot ofgold, a sea chest stuffed with pearls and rubies!

I began to recall all the stories I had heard as a boy of treasure buried alongthe coast by Kidd on his return voyage from the Indies. Where along the Jerseysea-line were there safe harbors? The train on which we were racing south hadits rail head at Barnegat Bay. And between Barnegat and Red Bank there now wasbut one other inlet, that of the Manasquan River. It might be Barnegat; itmight be Manasquan. It could not be a great distance from either;for sailors would not have carried their burden far from the ship. I glancedappealingly at Edgar. He was smiling happily over “Pickings from Puck.” Wepassed Asbury Park and Ocean Grove, halted at Sea Girt, and again at Manasquan;but Egdar did not move. The next station was Point Pleasant, and as the traindrew to a stop, Edgar rose calmly and grasped his suit-case.

“We get out here,” he said.

Drawn up at the station were three open-work hacks with fringe around the top.From each a small boy waved at us with his whip.

“Curtis House? The Gladstone? The Cottage in the Pines?” they chantedinvitingly.

“Take me to a hardware store,” said Edgar, “where one can buy a spade.” When westopped I made a move to get down; but Edgar stopped me.

I protested indignantly, “I haven’t muchto say about this expedition;”I exclaimed, “but, as Ihave to do the digging, I intend to choose myown spade.”

Edgar’s eye-glasses flashed defiance. “You have given your word to obey me,” hesaid sternly. “If you do not intend to obey me, you can return in ten minutesby the next train.”

I sank into my seat. In a moment the mutiny had been crushed. Not even a cabinboy had fallen! Edgar returned with a spade, an axe, and a pick. He placed themin the seat beside the boy driver.

“What is your name, boy?” he asked.

“Rupert,” said the boy.

“Rupert,” continued Edgar, “drive us to the beach. When you get to the bathingpavilions keep on along the shore toward Manasquan Inlet.” He touched the spadewith his hand. “I have bought a building lot on the beach,” he explained, “andam going to dig a hole, and plant a flagpole.”

I was choked with indignation. As a writer of fiction my self-respect wasinsulted.

“If there are any more lies to be told,” I whispered, “please let metell them. Your invention is crude, ridiculous! Why,” I demanded, “shouldanybody want to plant a flagpole on a wind-swept beach in October? It’s not theseason for flagpoles. Besides,” I jeered, “where is your flagpole? Is itconcealed in the suit-case?”

Edgar frowned uneasily, and touched the boy on the shoulder.

“The flagpole itself,” he explained, “is coming down to-morrow by express.”

The boy yawned, and slapped the flanks of his horse with the reins. “Gat up!”he said.

We crossed the railroad tracks and moved toward the ocean down a broad, sandyroad. The season had passed and the windows of the cottages and bungalows oneither side of the road were barricaded with planks. On the verandas hammocksabandoned to the winds hung in tatters, on the back porches the doors of emptyrefrigerators swung open on one hinge, and on every side above the fields ofgorgeous golden-rod rose signs reading “For Rent.” When we had progressed insilence for a mile, the sandy avenue lost itself in the deeper sand of thebeach, and the horse of his own will came to a halt. On one side we weresurrounded by locked and deserted bathing houses, on the other by emptypavilions shuttered and barred against the winter, but still inviting one to“Try our salt water taffy” or to “Keep coolwith an ice-cream soda.”Rupert turned and looked inquiringly at Edgar. To the north the beach stretchedin an unbroken line to Manasquan Inlet. To the south three miles away we couldsee floating on the horizon-like a mirage the hotels and summer cottages of BayHead.

“Drive toward the inlet,” directed Edgar. “This gentleman and I will walk.”

Relieved of our weight, the horse stumbled bravely into the trackless sand,while below on the damper and firmer shingle we walked by the edge of thewater.

The tide was coming in and the spent waves, spreading before them an advanceguard of tiny shells and pebbles, threatened our boots’ and at the same time insoothing, lazy whispers warned us of their attack. These lisping murmurs andthe crash and roar of each incoming wave as it broke were the only sounds. Andon the beach we were the only human figures. At last the scene began to bearsome resemblance to one set for an adventure. The rolling ocean, a coaststeamer dragging a great column of black smoke, and cast high upon the beachthe wreck of a schooner, her masts tilting drunkenly, gave color to ourpurpose. It became filled with greater promise of drama, more picturesque. Ibegan to thrill with excitement. I regarded Edgar appealingly, in eagersupplication. At last he broke the silence that was torturing me.

“We will now walk higher up,” he commanded. “If we get our feet wet, we maytake cold.”

My spirit was too far broken to make reply. But to my relief I saw that inleaving the beach Edgar had some second purpose. With each heavy step he wasdrawing toward two high banks of sand in a hollow behind which, protected bythe banks, were three stunted, wind-driven pines. His words came back to me.

“So many what-you-may-call-’ems.” Were these pines the three somethings fromsomething, the what-you-may-call-’ems? The thought chilled me to the spine. Igazed at them fascinated. I felt like falling on my knees in the sand andtearing their secret from them with my bare hands. I was strong enough to digthem up by the roots, strong enough to dig the Panama Canal! I glancedtremulously at Edgar. His eyes were wide open and, eloquent with dismay, hislower jaw had fallen. He turned and looked at me for the first time withconsideration. Apology and remorse were written in every line of hiscountenance.

I’m sorry, he stammered. I had a cruel premonition. I exclaimed with distress.

“You have lost the map!” I hissed.

“No, no,” protested Edgar; “but I entirely forgot to bring any lunch!”

With violent mutterings I tore off my upper and outer garments and tossed theminto the hack.

“Where do I begin?” I asked.

Edgar pointed to a spot inside the triangle formed by the three trees andequally distant from each.

“Put that horse behind the bank,” I commanded, “where no one can see him! Andboth you and Rupert keep off the sky-line!” From the north and south we werenow all three hidden by the two high banks of sand; to the east lay the beachand the Atlantic Ocean, and to the west stretches of marshes that a mile awaymet a wood of pine trees and the railroad round-house.

I began to dig. I knew that weary hours lay before me, and I attacked the sandleisurely and with deliberation. It was at first no great effort; but as thehole grew in depth, and the roots of the trees were exposed, the work wassufficient for several men. Still, as Edgar had said, it is not every day thatone can dig for treasure, and in thinking of what was to come I forgot my handsthat quickly blistered, and my breaking back. After an hour I insisted thatEdgar should take a turn; but he made such poor headway that my patience couldnot contain me, and I told him I was sufficiently rested and would continue.With alacrity he scrambled out of the hole, and, taking a cigar from my case,seated himself comfortably in the hack. I took my comfort in anticipating thethrill that would be mine when the spade would ring on the ironbound chest;when, with a blow of the axe, I would expose to view the hidden jewels, thepieces of eight, coated with verdigris, the string of pearls, the chains ofyellow gold. Edgar had said a million dollars. That must mean there would bediamonds, many diamonds. I would hold them in my hands, watch them, at thesudden sunshine, blink their eyes and burst into tiny, burning fires. Inimagination I would replace them in the setting, from which, years before, theyhad been stolen. I would try to guess whence they came from a jewelled chalicein some dim cathedral, from the breast of a great lady, from the hilt of anadmiral’s sword.

After another hour I lifted my aching shoulders and, wiping the sweat from myeyes, looked over the edge of the hole. Rupert, with his back to the sand-hill,was asleep. Edgar with one hand was waving away the mosquitoes and in the otherwas holding one of the magazines he had bought on the way down. I could evensee the page upon which his eyes were riveted. It was an advertisement forbreakfast food. In my indignation the spade slipped through my cramped andperspiring fingers, and as it struck the bottom of the pit, something—a band ofiron, a steel lock, an iron ring—gave forth a muffled sound. My heart stoppedbeating as suddenly as though Mr. Corbett had hit it with his closed fist. Myblood turned to melted ice. I drove the spade down as fiercely as though it wasa dagger. It sank into rotten wood. I had made no sound; for I could hardlybreathe. But the slight noise of the blow had reached Edgar. I heard thesprings of the hack creak as he vaulted from it, and the next moment he wastowering above me, peering down into the pit. His eyes were wide withexcitement, greed, and fear. In his hands he clutched the two suit-cases. Likea lion defending his cubs he glared at me.

“Get out!” he shouted.

In his hands he clutched the two suit-cases. . . . “Get out!”he shouted.

“Like hell!” I said.

“Get out!” he roared. “I’ll do the rest. That’s mine, not yours! Getout!”

With a swift kick I brushed away the sand. I found I was standing on a squatwooden box, bound with bands of rusty iron. I had only to stoop to touch it. Itwas so rotten that I could have torn it apart with my bare hands. Edgar wasdancing on the edge of the pit, incidentally kicking sand into my mouth andnostrils.

“You promisedme!” he roared. “You promisedto obey me!”

“You ass!” I shouted. “Haven’t I done all the work? Don’t I get——”

“You get out!” roared Edgar.

Slowly, disgustedly, with what dignity one can display in crawling out of asand-pit, I scrambled to the top.

“Go over there,” commanded Edgar pointing, “and sit down.”

In furious silence I seated myself beside Rupert. He was still slumbering andsnoring happily. From where I sat I could see nothing of what was going forwardin the pit, save once, when the head of Edgar, his eyes aflame and his hair andeye-glasses sprinkled with sand, appeared above it. Apparently he was fearfullest I had moved from the spot where he had placed me. I had not; but had heknown my inmost feelings he would have taken the axe into the pit with him.

I must have sat so for half an hour. In the sky above me a fish-hawk driftedlazily. From the beach sounded the steady beat of the waves, and from the townacross the marshes came the puffing of a locomotive and the clanging bells ofthe freight trains. The breeze from the sea cooled the sweat on my aching body;but it could not cool the rage in my heart. If I had the courage of myfeelings, I would have cracked Edgar over head with the spade, buried him inthe pit, bribed Rupert, and forever after lived happily on my ill-gotten gains.That was how Kidd, or Morgan, or Blackbeard would have acted. I cursed theeffete civilization which had taught me to want many pleasures but had left mewith a conscience that would not let me take human life to obtain them, noteven Edgar’s life.

In half an hour a suit-case was lifted into view and dropped on the edge of thepit. It was followed by the other, and then by Edgar. Without asking me to helphim, because he probably knew I would not, he shovelled the sand into the hole,and then placed the suitcases in the carriage. With increasing anger I observedthat the contents of each were so heavy that to lift it he used both hands.

“There is no use your asking any questions,” he announced, “because I won’tanswer them.”

I gave him minute directions as to where he could go; but instead we drove inblack silence to the station. There Edgar rewarded Rupert with a dime, andwhile we waited for the train to New York placed the two suit-cases against thewall of the ticket office and sat upon them. When the train arrived he warnedme in a hoarse whisper that I had promised to help him guard the treasure, andgave me one of the suit-cases. It weighed a ton. Just to spite Edgar, I had aplan to kick it open, so that every one on the platform might scramble for thecontents. But again my infernal New England conscience restrained me.

Edgar had secured the drawing-room in the parlor-car, and when we were safelyinside and the door bolted my curiosity became stronger than my pride.

“Edgar,” I said, “your ingratitude is contemptible. Your suspicions areridiculous; but, under these most unusual conditions, I don’t blame you. But weare quite safe now. The door is fastened,” I pointed out ingratiatingly, “itand this train doesn’t stop for another forty minutes. I think this would be anexcellent time to look at the treasure.”

“I don’t!” said Edgar.

I sank back into my chair. With intense enjoyment I imagined the train in whichwe were seated hurling itself into another train; and everybody, includingEdgar, or, rather, especially Edgar, being instantly but painlessly killed. Bysuch an act of an all-wise Providence I would at once become heir to onemillion dollars. It was a beautiful, satisfying dream. Even MY conscienceaccepted it with a smug smile. It was so vivid a dream that I sat guiltilyexpectant, waiting for the crash to come, for the shrieks and screams, for therush of escaping steam and breaking window-panes.

But it was far too good to be true. Without a jar the train carried us and itsprecious burden in safety to the Jersey City terminal. And each, with half amillion dollars in his hand, hurried to the ferry, assailed by porters,news-boys, hackmen. To them we were a couple of commuters saving a dime bycarrying our own hand-bags.

It was now six o’clock, and I pointed out to Edgar that at that hour the onlyvaults open were those of the Night and Day Bank. And to that institution in ataxicab we at once made our way. I paid the chauffeur, and two minutes later,with a gasp of relief and rejoicing, I dropped the suit-case I had carried on atable in the steel-walled fastnesses of the vaults. Gathered excitedly aroundus were the officials of the bank, summoned hastily from above, and watchmen inplain clothes, and watchmen in uniforms of gray. Great bars as thick as my legprotected us. Walls of chilled steel rising from solid rock stood between ourtreasure and the outer world. Until then I had not known how tremendous thenervous strain had been; but now it came home to me. I mopped the perspirationfrom my forehead, I drew a deep breath.

“Edgar,” I exclaimed happily, “I congratulate you!” I found Edgar extendingtoward me a two-dollar bill. “You gave the chauffeur two dollars,”’ he said.“The fare was really one dollar eighty; so you owe me twenty cents.”

Mechanically I laid two dimes upon the table.

“All the other expenses,” continued Edgar, “which I agreed to pay, I havepaid.” He made a peremptory gesture. “I won’t detain you any longer,” he said.“Good-night!”

“Good-night!” I cried. “Don’t I see the treasure?” Against the walls of chilledsteel my voice rose like that of a tortured soul. “Don’t I touch it!” I yelled.“Don’t I even get a squint?”

Even the watchmen looked sorry for me.

“You do not!” said Edgar calmly. “You have fulfilled your part of theagreement. I have fulfilled mine. A year from now you can write the story.” AsI moved in a dazed state toward the steel door, his voice halted me.

“And you can say in your story,” called Edgar, “that there is only one way toget a buried treasure. That is to go, and get it!”

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